Remember the Little Things

October 27, 2011
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I remember. I remember autumn’s leaves falling like winter’s snow. I remember the blue jays and the sparrows singing the day’s cheerful songs, and the flowers’ graceful blooms that show the world their beauty.

I remember the preachers requiems, the people’s cries of sorrow; the casket’s lid closing. You disappearing. I will always remember.

Your mother screams and yells for you as your father drags her away. I watch as everyone leaves your freshly covered grave; leaving me alone to stand there, replaying that fateful night in my head like a broken record: over and over again.

I lay down next to you, feeling the cool dirt under my shaking fingers; letting my tears run freely as they water your Earth. I close my eyes and our life replays, ending behind my eyelids.

Our first date consisted of a giant stuffed, purple elephant from the local fair. I laughed until my abs hurt when we got our faces painted like safari animals, to support the local children’s hospital.

You talked about life after high school. You thought it would be fun to work at McDonalds so you could invite me over to have free fries and shakes. You talked on-and-on about all of the positives of life —never the negatives. I fell in love with you for that. The night ended with a kiss on the cheek and an invitation to the senior prom.

Months after, summer said good bye and winter said hello with cold kisses on our cheeks in the mornings. When rain gave us a visit, we laughed and danced in my backyard, not caring if our clothes got soaked with so much rain that they clung to our bodies. I remember how the rain felt on my skin and in my hair, on your skin when you held me in your arms. You looked so beautiful and handsome that day; the way your hair went from light brown to dark chocolate as soon as the rain touched you. All of your hidden features came out, outlined by the dripping water. That’s when I noticed all the detail on your face; your strong chin and the almond shape of your azure eyes. The little beauty mark at the top of your lip, on the left side of your face. Every detail was perfect, like you were Rain’s Arch Angel — to me you were.

I laughed and squealed joyfully as you tackled me to the ground, causing the muddy Earth to enclose around us. You kissed me and told me you loved me for the first time. It sounded perfect and true coming from your lips. I never wanted anyone else to tell me that. I told you I loved you too. We never stopped saying those three important words.

I cried when the door slammed shut and your car peeled away from my house. This was our first fight. We were fighting over whether or not we should move in together. I told you that I would think about it. You asked, “What is there to think about?” and I responded with, “Life.”. You stood up and told me that I was your life and that you thought that I felt the same way. I did. I do. In the end we moved into a little studio apartment for the official start of our life together.

Senior year of college was coming to an end. You proposed to me the night of our graduation. Tears of happiness rolled down my cheeks as I told you I would marry you.

You always talked about how many kids we would have, even before we were to get married. Two was the lucky number — one boy and one girl. Their names would be Anna for the girl and Alexander for the boy. I agreed with you. You said that we were going to live in a huge house with two dogs that would bark at intruders and protect our children. We were going to have three cars; one for you, one for me, and one for the family — but of course we were going to be in the family car more.

I loved you for that. I still do. You told me nothing’s going to stand between us. Not even the world.

On the eve of our wedding day we went for a drive to get away from the chaos, to just be together one more time before things got complicated. It felt like a life time since we had seen each other. During the drive to nowhere, we talked about high school and college memories — memories about us. We told our favorite stories about one another. You said that you loved it when it snowed because I layered up so much that you could only see my eyes. You told me that you thought I was adorable then, and that I still am now.

I told you that I loved it when it rained because we would dance for hours in our backyard. We didn’t care if we got sick or if we ruined our clothes because we had each other and that’s all that mattered. I love you.

We talked on and on until it got late and dark out. We were on our way home when the world came between us.

The semi-truck struck us from the side — your side. According to the police, the driver’s breaks gave out, so he went through the stoplight and hit our car.

The paramedics said that you died instantly and that you didn’t feel a thing. I hope you didn’t feel anything. I hope you just felt relief. I hope you’re in a new, beautiful, painless world.

Two months ago we found out that we were going to have Anna and Alexander, the boy and girl that we had always dreamed about. I remember the shock and happiness that spread through your face the moment I said, “Guess what?”. We called our families as soon as we knew for sure that the pregnancy was going to be permanent. We were so happy then.

They weren’t injured and are now known as our miracle babies to the press, to our families, to the world. They survived.

I survived and you didn’t. I am so, so sorry. I love you more than the man loves his moon, more than the genie yearned for his freedom, and more than the rich man craves his gold.

I opened my eyes and reluctantly said my good-byes. I promise you, I will come back. I will tell you everything about our children and about the world. About me. I love you, forever and always.

For seventy years I have visited you almost every day, like I said I would, not wanting to leave you alone. When our children grew up, they had their own children. Anna named our granddaughter after you, Brady. She’s with me now. She’s eighteen and beautiful. She looks a lot like Anna.

Brady helps me down next to you like it was the first time — for the last time.

I still cry for you. I still let my tears run freely and water your Earth, soon to be ours. I still close my eyes, but this time when I do, I know that this is the last.

Colors blend together forming a colorful blanket of safety around us as we dance, not caring if the music has stopped or not, because this time when we dance we know it’s not our last. We know that we are forever and always in each other’s arms, not even the world can come between us. Not this time. Not ever.

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