Audrey Hepburn's Pearls: Part I

Chapter 65.2: 1995, Georgina

Chapter 65.2: 1995, Georgina

Blue-green eyes unsmiling. Sweet blood cascades down, down and down, falling off a chin so young. The skin, so young. Lips, petal soft and blank of emotion. On the sidewalk, still warm. Too slender in his suit, he is so young. 

He is too young.

Black darkness. Darting from left to right, there was a bear dressed in a yellow rain slicker on the dresser. Darting up, there was a white fan on the ceiling with glass bulb holders which looked like bell flowers. The light green bedspread in my hands was made of a fine, soft wool. 

My skin was moist from sweat. His face. 

I saw his face.

It was...

I couldn't help myself. I was screaming. I was screaming, and I was so sorry. 

The door opened, and light flooded in peeling away with darkness. A familiar head popped through the doorway, the light framing it. Messy black curls cascaded as she searched, finding me in the newly illuminated dark.

"Georgina, are you okay?" Her voice was foggy from sleep. I woke her up, and the guilt... The covers came with me as I sat up and pressed myself to the headboard, pressing the blankets gathered in my hands to my body. 

"No," I whispered, unable to say anything else.

"Was it a bad dream? What did you dream about? We can talk about it. I don't mind. I just want you to be okay." She sat on the bed, almost touching me but not. Her short nightie looked almost like it was made of many layers of green organza. It looked pretty against her skin.

"No," I repeated myself, the blankets squeezing harder in my fingers. I realized I was breathing too hard. 

"No? What's wrong? Are you in pain?"

"No."

"Georgina...I'm going to turn on the light, okay? I want to see you." In the bare light, I could see the concern on her face. What was she thinking? Her weight left the bed, making me feel even more alone. I wanted her to come back. 

At the doorframe, she stood there for a second as if pausing, but flipped the switch on suddenly. I blinked in the flood of light, the colors in the room so bright. Fulfilling my wish, she sat back on the bed but this time her behind was touching my leg just lightly. The warmth was small comfort.

"Georgina, look at my finger, okay?" she said. I could tell there was fear in her voice. Her finger. It was in the air now, going slowly from side to side. My eyes followed it, obeying her. At this, her shoulders fell down into place and I could tell she was relieved. "You feel numb anywhere? Move your tongue? Headache? Raise your arms for me?"

I obeyed this, too. I opened my mouth, moving my tongue. I raised my arms forward. I knew what she was doing. She was testing me for a stroke. But this wasn't a stroke. However, I wanted her to be assured.

"Swallow," she said lastly, her eyes still mirroring her concern. I did this, too. A big swallow, so she knew. "Good. Thank you," she breathed in relief.

I nodded, staring at her. My heart was still beating a mile per minute, but seeing her there, feeling her warmth. I felt a bit calmed. 

"What's wrong? You were screaming," she said, taking one of my hands away from the blanket. "Are you sure it wasn't a bad dream?" Her hand enveloped mine. It was hot compared. "Oh, you're so cold. Do you need more blankets? Do you want me to turn the heat up?"

I shook my head, my voicebox still partially paralyzed from what I had seen. His face was still there, in my head. His beautiful eyes were staring at the sky unblinking. 

I knew he had died in his bed. He was shot in his bed, his father on the floor nearby. But he was outside in my dream. My nightmare. He was outside of our favorite little theater, the Venice Room. Because I was holding his hand. He was shot because I was holding his hand. 

And I had cried out in the dream when I'd realized what had happened. Shoot me, too. Please, shoot me, too.

I let out a tiny noise in my throat, my voicebox coming back to life. He was there, I was there. I was holding him. But he couldn't feel me. He couldn't see me. I felt warmth on my face, and I knew I was crying.

"Oh, Georgina. Oh," Cha Cha whispered to me. Suddenly, her entire warmth was enveloping me. "Its okay. Was it a nightmare? You can tell me. I won't tell anybody."

But I couldn't speak, just make that tiny noise. She leaned me on her body, holding me. Holding me like I held him in my dream. Rocking me back and forth like I had rocked him back and forth. I was crying now like in the dream, but holding somebody else completely different. Somebody alive, somebody who loved me still.