The Sign.

I first saw it three years ago. I’d drive by it everyday, and each time I would slow down, drawn by something I can’t quite understand. Well, maybe I could. It was her name. Desdemona. A bit of a different name, but there it always was, in plain site: Desdemona Blvd. Strange how a simple street sign could have so much hold over me. I sometimes felt the pull of this mystery so strongly, that I wondered if anyone else could feel it. Maybe I was crazy. Or maybe it was a sign within itself.
She died when I was fourteen… three years ago. She was my first love. But it was more than a love… it was a creation of time, a delicacy of life, a slice of heaven if you will. I would lye awake at night and count the twinkles in her eyes. When I walked down the street with her I would sometimes have to stand back and stare in amazement how incredulous all of her glory seemed. Some might’ve called me obsessed. But what is love without obsession?
She was my last love. I never could find even a glimmer of her in any other girl. Who could compare to the long, graceful flow of her delicate brown hair? Or the soft glow of her pale, silk skin? Her eyes… oh, how I longed to stare into those deep, blue pools for all eternity. Nothing, no one, could compare to those eyes.
It was a normal day. She never saw it coming. And neither did I. It’s strange because you sometimes hear stories of people who knew, or felt, a strange tug in theirs hearts when their loved ones were in trouble. I didn’t feel a tug… or a pull. I didn’t feel anything.
She was walking to meet me. We liked to walk to the library together. I was already their. Otherwise I would’ve been with her. I was sitting in a dark corner in a poorly upholstered chair, reading a very good book very intently. I was reading while she was dying.
They say the driver looked away for only a moment. To change to radio station or something. It doesn’t matter. It happened anyway. The driver went to the emergency room. Flourence died before the ambulance was even called. At least she didn’t feel much.
I didn’t even get to be there when her soul ascended. I always thought we’d be together. I was called a few hours later… Her mother was very upset. I managed to calm her down as much as a mother who has just lost her only daughter would. Then I went to the hospital.
Her skin looked just as soft, just as tender. Her hair was flowing by her sides. I would’ve thought she was sleeping. Except I couldn’t see her eyes. And I didn’t want to. I knew they’d be gone. The sharp blue, the loving glaze… that’s what hurt the most.
It’s been three years since today. I’ve always been afraid to drive down this road. I’ve always wondered why it didn’t look more like her. But today, the trance of her name was much too strong. I turned down the road in my hulky, yet quiet, Honda civic. I drove slowly down the softly paved street, looking for the slightest thing but not really sure of what I was to find.
Down the road a ways there was a construction site. Filled with dirt and trash and loud, rude voices. Bulldozers… no trees at all. Then I saw it. A small bit of color. I pulled to the side of the road and quickly rushed up to it.
Kneeling down, my face barely inches away, I watched the flower. It was blue. A very familiar blue. Surrounded by all the hassle and chaos of the ruining earth around it. Yet there it stood, elegant… a deep pool of beauty.
I laid down next to it, curling my body around the wonderful thing.
“Happy anniversary,” I whispered to her softly.
Then the tears came.
And I let her hold me.