If I Stay (Larry Stylinson)

Chapter Three

Am I dead? I actually have to ask myself this. At first, it seemed quite apparent that I was. If I was dead, how could I feel, smell and see the horror that was unravelling right in front of my eyes. Am I in between life and death? So many unanswered question that just didn't make any sense of how I was seeing all of this. Although, it looks like I'll be able to find out soon as the piercing screech of the sirens and the blinding blue lights came to a stop. The medic van pulls up no further than about 20 yards away from me... I mean... My spirit?

Everything seems like such a blur. The police and fire department are moving around me at an incredible pace, while the paramedics retrieve the equipment from the back of the vehicle and shortly after, they join the chaos. 
Someone has put a small sheet over my mother and a fireman has put Robin's lifeless body into a bag. All these emotions are consuming my body and yet, not a single tear drop falls down my face. I'm trying to cry, I'm trying to scream but nothing seems to be working. 

But am I dead? I can't help but think. I run over to the me that is laying on the side of the road - barely alive. I am surrounded by a bunch of men and women who are performing all sorts of procedures on me that I don't seem to recall knowing about - considering I watch a lot of A&E/ER programs. I see myself, half naked, the paramedics having ripped the buttons of my shirt off. All of my tattoos exposed - I have to turn away as I feel somewhat embarrassed. 

The police have lit flares along the dangerously icy roads and instructing the cars to go a different way. They must have places to be and other people to see - the people in cars - but half of them don't seem to turn away. They park up, get out whilst trying to warm themselves and examine the horrific scene. Some cry, some have a pitiful expression plastered on their innocent faces and some pray. I can feel the praying.

The medics manage to wrap my body in a warm and comforting blanket and strap my to the stretcher. They roll me straight into the ambulance, not wasting any time as I quickly clamber into the back of the van, beside myself. The friendly medic, who has practically held my hand through everything, also climbed in beside me. She pumps fluid into me and carefully adjusts my IV drip. Then she slowly lifts her gentle hand up to my forehead to brush away a lock of my blood-drenched hair right before she leaned into me and whispered, "hang in there, darling'.

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I played my first cello concert at the age of ten. I had been playing for almost three years before that. At first, I used to play at school choirs - nothing huge - and now, I have the privilege of playing large music halls and festivals. I always had to borrow the school cello - not like they minded as I always kept it in pristine condition. Unfortunately, I never owned one myself as they were extremely expensive and very fragile.

When I announced to my parents that I wanted to become a professional cello player, they both just burst into bouts of laughter as I just sat there, awkwardly staring at their reaction. They later explained that it was the image of 'little old me' lugging a huge and heavy cello that made them giggle but as soon as they realised I was being deadly serious, the smile immediately washed off their faces. However, in my family, playing music was way more important than what type of instrument you played. Soon enough, my parents rented a cello for me when I was around the age of eleven. My secondary school didn't have much in the way of a music club, so my mum kindly arranged for a private tutor to give me lessons. This continued until I was in Year 10, when Robin who knew Professor Maureen from when he'd worked at a record store, asked if she might be willing to offer me private lessons.

A few months after, Robin came rushing home on his bike from the 70's - I believe that bike had 22 wheel repairs, 14 body repairs, 7 brake repairs and 16 handle repairs - he laid the bike down on the slightly damp grass on our front lawn and came dashing through the door. "Harry!" he yelled from the bottom of the stairs. I ran out of my 'nest' I call bedroom and quickly marched down the stairs, trying not to trip over. As I entered the living room, my eyes lit up and I was almost in tears. I raced over to Robin, "thankyouthankyouthankyou" I shouted in one breath. I laid it down on its back and slowly unclasped the case, only to be greeted with a shiny mahogany, rich brown cello. My very own cello. Words could not describe how I felt at that very moment. It was possibly the best feeling in the world.