One Shots/WHAT IF.....(Freddie Mercury & Cherie)

No One But Myself to Blame

Freddie
Age 45
November 22:

"Mary, dear," my hoarse voice immediately startles her as she starts to fluff my pillow and fuss over me.

"What is it, Fred? Need some more water? Tea? Do you have to use the bathroom?," I sigh at her and slowly shake my head.

"No, none of that, love. Just help me to my feet....please?," I try my best to keep a smile on my face, but I'm headed for that stormy weather soon.

"I want to take a final look around...I want to take it all in..," I feel my every aching muscle as they have dwindled down and deteriorated my mobile agility.

Mary helps guide me around the upstairs, the couple of guests rooms, that have been used most recently than ever before. My night watchers, as I call them- Mary, Phoebe and John. The only ones who have stood by my side as I skim away to nothing.

Stopping at the guest room next door from my bedroom- it's always been a bit too small for company. I usually used it for my cats bedroom or a little library. I like use to like to come in here and curl up with Oscar and read a good bit before leaving the room. It never failed, after spending too much time in here, I always feel a mild sensation in my heart. A racing, melancholy.

"Do you want me to leave you?," Mary, who has silently stood by, supporting my weight on her shoulders, studies me with knowing eyes.

She knows, the time has come.
It's almost time to say goodbye.

I breath out heavy and nod my head; the stiffness in my neck is due to weeks of bedrest. Thankfully, Mary and I have always been in sync with each other- she knows what I am thinking without having to say much. That's the way I like it.

As she leaves the room, I shuffle over to the rocking chair at the other end of the room. I don't recall where I picked up this piece of furniture, perhaps an antique store that I can't remember. The bookshelf full of literature has dust bunnies covering their binds. I run my fingers over the titles, strolling for a good memory. I miss my friends.

We've grown apart for years now. The only one still at my side being my little brother, Deacy. Brian went back to finish his schooling- and rock n roll was history. And Roger...

Well, for being my very best friend at the time, I still don't know what went wrong in our friendship. I guess it had a lot to do with his life speeding ahead of me, thanks to my amnesia. I hurt everyone with my forgetfulness. After a while, they got tired of twirling around me or having to explain things I should very well know.

I try to swallow against my dry pallet as I reach for a book I didn't know I had in my library. I know I've joked a lot to people about hating reading. But, when Queen was done, the stories kept me company. Everyone had their lives, their families, and I had everything- but no one to share it with.

Mary is the closest thing I've ever had to a real marriage or a wife. Too bad for me that I could never fully reciprocate her feelings. She'd say she loved me in that kid of way, but I respected her far too much to lie to her. Not again.

Casablanca is a love story I can relate to. When it's late, but not too late. I've felt that feeling for the longest time throughout my life. Never had I found a specific place to put it. But, I've always felt that there was a piece of me that I missed somewhere along the line.

Flipping through the book, I try to remember the film. I know I watched it, the chemistry between Rick and Ilsa was sparked in every scene they shot together. I wish I would have found my own flame to heat my heart alive. As I close it to the back cover, a glance of penmanship catches my eye.