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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Ghost · #1437468
A short fiction about a man coming to grips with the loss of his girlfriend.
Eidolon:

At first I didn’t believe them.  They had to be lying. The fight hadn’t been that bad.  A simple silly little argument, I don’t really even remember what it was about anymore.
I’d been waiting at the house.  Waiting for you, waiting to tell you I’m sorry.  Waiting to make everything okay, so I could just hold you for the rest of the night, like we always do.  But now I can’t.  They say I’ll never get to tell you I’m sorry, That I’ll never see you again, that I’ll never hold you.
I didn’t believe them, couldn’t believe them.  You had just been there, I’d seen you not four hours before.  It was such a small argument.
And so I found myself sitting in the wreckage of the car.  Sitting here in the passenger seat, just where I would always have sat.  because you loved to drive, and I wouldn’t have taken that from you.  But things weren’t right.  The bloodstains on the steering wheel and dash weren’t the red color I thought they’d be.  They were so much darker, dried and crusty.  That’s not what blood is supposed to look like.  The crimson I was expecting wouldn’t have been so scary, I think.
Laying my hand on the steering wheel I could feel the strange dry texture of the stains beneath my fingers.  You laid your hand on mine. It was strange that I couldn’t feel it.
I said, “I’m sorry.”
You said, “Shhh.”
I looked over and you smiled at me vacantly.  You were wearing nothing but a head wound.  I still found you beautiful.  I could tell you were as lost and confused as I was.  I beckoned you to me. You crawled slowly up into my lap, leaning against me. I resisted the urge to hold you, because I knew it wouldn’t work.  But to know you were that close to me was comforting.
You said, “I’m sorry.”
I said, “Tell me about it.”
And you did. About the party, the drive, and the truck.  I didn’t really want to know how scared you were when you began to swerve, or how much it hurt when you hit.  But I got the feeling you needed to tell someone, so I listened. 
And it was all too soon when you told me you had to go.  Then you smiled that smile.  The one I always knew was just for me, and no one else.  I turned away because I knew I couldn’t watch you go. 
The walk was cold.  But I was numb so it didn’t really matter.  My thoughts were clouded with a deep emptiness I knew I could never fill again.  And I ached for that last touch I had been denied.
But my feet trudged on, heedless of my own inability to make a decision about where I wanted to go.  My toes were wet and numb when I finally found myself at the park.
I think I smiled a little when I saw you sitting there on the swing, looking at me, waiting for me.  This time you were wearing that lacy white dress you liked.  You giggled as I approached.  I knew what you wanted.
And so as I pushed you on the swing and you laughed like you did when we were younger, I remembered why I fell in love with you.  My thoughts and heart drifted back to all the good times that we’d had.  We talked about the day that we met, about that first shy kiss.  I remembered how innocent you’d looked, dancing there by yourself to a little radio sitting in the corner of the room.  I remembered telling my friends that night that I was in love, They had laughed at me.
And then you started to swing higher and higher, Letting out a final laugh you jumped from the swing, and then you were gone.  I think I knew you would be.
As I made my way home the wind whispered secrets to me I couldn’t quite hear.  But I felt like I’d forgotten something.
The house was still crowded by family and officials.  They wouldn’t seem to leave me alone.  I just wanted to go to bed.
I finally made it to the bedroom, I may have gotten in a fight on the way, my knuckles were scraped and my hand hurt.  But I can’t remember.  It didn’t matter anyway.
I laid down next to you  under the comforter.  You looked like you were sleeping, but I knew you were faking it.  I always knew, But I pretended to be surprised when you pounced on me.
You laughed that sultry little laugh you always did at such times and leaned down to kiss me.  I knew I wouldn’t feel it.  But it still hurt that I didn’t.
You said, “Don’t cry.”
I sniffed, “Okay”
And you smiled.
“Tomorrow’s the big day,” You said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
And so we went to sleep.  I didn’t expect you to be there when I awoke.  But I had hoped.  I saw you in the mirror a few times as I was brushing my teeth.  But I think that was just my imagination.
At breakfast your brother had a black eye.  He wouldn’t tell me where he got it.  He just got mad when I asked, so I decided to leave it alone.
I stepped out the door to go to work.  But somehow I didn’t get there.  I hope my boss wasn’t angry.
I sat down in the pew when I got to the church.  I knew that it would be empty.  We were supposed to be here today.
I approached the podium when you got there.  And we stood across from each other.  You wore that beautiful dress that you and your mother picked out.  You didn’t know that I’d sneaked a peek at it.  But that didn’t make it any less beautiful on you. You didn’t seem to mind my jeans and zepplin t-shirt.
We talked about what the future would be like, and in my mind I saw the years, the children, and the life that I had always dreamed about.
When you started to cry I knew that this would be the last time.
And you said, “I’m sorry.”
I said, “Shhh.”
Even knowing that I couldn’t feel it I held you.  I think you needed it.  I may have as well.
Then I remembered what I’d forgotten.
As you left for that last time I said, “I love you.”
I’m not sure.  But I think I felt that last kiss.
And so as I stand here in an empty church holding a diamond ring as lost and useless as I am, I pray, “To all those gods and saints that I don’t know if I believe in, grant me this.  A chance to earn another moment with her.  When my time is done and you weigh my faults against my virtues, give me that one chance to hold her.”
I think I can go on with a life if that’s waiting for me at the end.
© Copyright 2008 Warren Lynx (chaoticshadow at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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