Lessons Learned

Part 2

Where am I?" I came to in the middle of a stage. The hundreds of rows of empty seats glared back at me like disproving eyes and I ducked my head in shame. That's when I noticed I was dressed as if I was going to work out, in sneakers, yoga pants, and an oversized tee shirt.

"What's going on?" I picked myself up off the floor and shouted out over the empty room. "Did I do it? Did I die?" My voiced echoed back at me, raw and ragged with suppressed emotion.

"Hi Annabelle."

I spun around at the sound of the boy's strange accent. Approaching me from backstage was a tall, olive skinned boy with black hair and gorgeous brown eyes. Nervously I took a step back. "Who are you and how do you know my name?"

"I'm Zayn," he held out a hand. I ignored it and he finally let it drop to his side. "I'm here to help you."

"Help me? What do you mean?"

Zayn didn't answer. He continued to walk towards me and I continued to back away, unsure of where I was or what was going on. Zayn finally stopped, "I'm not going to hurt you Annabelle. You don't have to be scared."

"Who are you?" I screamed. I was confused and alone and terrified. I thought dying would fix those things. I thought dying would take away the pain.

"I told you, my name is Zayn and I'm here to help you."

"Help me with what? I'm dead. I succeeded. It's a little too late for help now."

Zayn gave a small half smile, "It's never too late to help, Annabelle."

Suddenly the scene changed. I found myself standing on the same stage, but it was no longer empty. Men and women milled around, their eyes on a man holding a microphone. Zayn was nowhere to be seen.

"Boys to the front!" the man with the mic called and I watched as everyone stepped back except a few lines of boys.

"Oh sorry," I moved out of the way of a black haired girl. She didn't even look in my direction. "Rude much?" I huffed. I turned on my heel and stalked away, accidently running straight into an older, motherly looking woman.

I screamed out in shock when I passed right through her.

I took a deep breath to control my pounding heart. "You're dead Annabelle," I whispered to myself. "Of course you can walk right through people." But if I was dead, how did I still have a heartbeat?

A faint voice in my head answered the question. "This is a memory."

Very Harry Potterish I thought, remembering the books and movies my grandmother spoke so highly of. As I watched the boys dance I wondered why I had been brought here.

"Wait, where's Zayn?" A male voice called out in a sharp British accent.

A few seconds of harried whispering later I saw a gray haired man stand. I recognized him as Simon Cowell, a musical guru from my grandmothers' time. Why had I been brought so far back into the past?

I saw Simon head backstage and I followed, hoping he would lead me to Zayn. I had a lot of questions that needed to be answered.

"Zayn why aren't you out there?" Simon sat down next to a younger looking Zayn.

"I can't dance," Zayn answered. "I don't want to go out there and look stupid."

"You're ruining this for yourself," Simon gave him a disapproving look. "Don't throw it all away."

This was Zayn's memory; that much I had figured out. But why was he showing it to me?

"All right?" Simon clapped him on the back. "Let's go."