Age Six
When I reached for those memories, I usually cowered back and tried to hide myself. I couldn’t stand to think about the old me. The one who was happy, had a family surrounding her, laughing around a dinner table. When I thought of those times, my heart clenched and all I could do was whimper, trying not to cry.
Yet I still found myself drawn to one same park. The park with the simple red slide, the blue ladders, the choppy wood-chips. The small rock climbing wall to one side, a couple swings on the other. Train tracks past a fence, trees surrounding the place. A small lake nestled in between, hidden from public view.
I sat on the bench and glanced every once in awhile at the scenery, enveloped in my thoughts. Like how my life was intertwined with this place, how this place changed it, how I should’ve hated it with all my heart. I didn’t feel that hatred though. All I felt was one thing- emptiness.
Those were unusual thoughts and feelings for a six year old girl, but for me, it was a regular occurrence. I couldn’t go back to my old life. Nothing in my life was happy- everything was coated in a layer of dismal, depression, and resentment. Only, I didn’t understand the concept of depression, and I didn’t know who I resented. Maybe I resented myself. Who knows?
When I looked into the distance, into the forest, a little further, past the fence, I saw the train tracks. I remembered, every time I saw them, the jolt in my stomach, the screams piercing the air. The horrified expressions on every passengers’ face, until I’d blacked out. If I looked at the train tracks, I felt sick to my stomach and the sounds keep ringing in my ears. I still remembered the way my father had jumped over to Iris and how it felt when my mother had jumped over to me, wrapping me in her arms and clutching onto me for dear life. Only at age six did I know she’d protected me, as father had protected Iris, making us the only two survivors of the horrific train crash.
Then I remembered Iris’s expressions. When we’d both woken up and heard the news. Her face crumpled up, while I had no change in expression. It was only a year ago, so I was only five, but I still didn’t understand the concept of dying. Where did a person go after their heart stopped?
Iris had immediately broken down into tears. She was fifteen at the time, we were ten years apart. Like it happened just yesterday, I could see her in the hospital waiting room, falling down, grabbing a chair, short of breath. Her breathing was labored, coming out in short puffs as her eyes shut and she clutched the head. The doctors just gave her a sympathetic look while I looked horrified. I knew something bad had happened, but what? And why hadn’t they comfort her? She was obviously in pain.
Then when I looked into the lake, I found myself in the world of my five year old self.
Age Five
“Sis!” I yelled, tugging at Iris’s sleeve. “Want some cookies?” I asked, showing her some of my cookies, but flinching when I saw her reaction. Her eyes were dark, her makeup smudged. Her hair was a rats’ nest, and she stared at me with a blank stare. She slowly rubbed her eyes and didn’t look at the warm, chocolate chip cookies I had on the baking pan.
Without a word, she took my hand, and started to take me out of the door. In a barely audible voice, she whispered, “Cypress, let’s go to the park for some fresh air.” I just nodded, confused by her words verses her actions, and started walking with her.
As we walked down the sidewalk throughout the small town we called home, we started getting stares from people: friendly neighbors and strangers alike. Some neighbors waved to us, staring at Iris with a wary expression though, but the majority looks scared and apprehensive of her. It was as if she were some sort of crook.
Shaking the thoughts from my head, I just followed Iris without looking at anyone else. When we reached the park, I laughed and smiled, hopping onto the swings.
“Iri! Come push!” I squealed, oblivious to any change in mood she had. She didn’t come over though, and her gaze moved further into the distance, not meeting my gaze.
“I’ll be right back,” she whispered. She hurried off into the forest and passed the fence through a small gate. When she approached the banks of a lake nestled into its surroundings, I didn’t realize what she was going to do until it was too late. She stepped forward slightly, as I tried to jump over, screaming, trying to get her to stop. She turned her head toward my direction, finally meeting my eyes with an apologetic look on her face, which basically said, “I’m sorry.”
Then she jumped.
Age Six
A cold feeling surged through my body when I thought of Iris. I didn’t remember Mother or Father as much, just Iris. Iris’s dark brown hair. Iris’s old, caring smile. Iris’s roll of her eyes when she had to babysit me. She was my best sister, my only sister.
She used to read those books on kids committing suicide. She said they were stupid and dismissed them. She said she would never do that, no matter how sad she was. Yet, she gave up and ended up killing herself. She lied.
When I walked up to the lake, I stared at the clear, cool, water. What seemed to be a calm and relaxing thing was a murderer. When I saw my reflection in it, it was almost as if the water was saying, “You’re next.”
I walked back to the bench and sat there, alone, staring at the sky. It was early in the morning- around five, so there was no one up and about. The sky suddenly began to lighten from its dark purple, grey state, into a warmer yellow-orange one. As the sun came up, all I could do was sigh in relief as what seemed to be a burden lifted from my chest. The pain dissipated and dissolved, and a smile spread across my face as, across the sky, danced beautiful colors. Streaks of red and lighter purples, until blue overtook it again and it looked like a normal sky again. Between the dark purples, blues, and blacks, to the light blues or whites, were short periods of dancing colors. The colors that usually were abandoned during the day and night. The only time they could come out would be during the break of dawn, or sunrise, and dust, or the sunset.
I looked down at my hands, knowing, since it was a Saturday, people would begin to come. No one usually paid any attention to me, but the occasional person would come up and comment on my clothes. After all, what I wore was a small, tattered, used to be white blouse and ripped black, baggy jeans. I owned no shoes. I usually stayed at a foster home, but the place was run down, the workers rude and not caring. I always left the place as soon as I woke up-- which was very early--- after all, I was burdened with terrible nightmares of any memories I had--- and traveled to the playground. You’d think some parents wouldn’t be that psyched to have someone in such poor condition for their kids to see. All they did was pass me quickly, ushering their child into the playground. The kid’d be so happy to play they wouldn’t care.
Not until another year passed and I turned seven.
Age Seven
I was sitting there, minding my own business, when a small boy came up to me. My eyes darted around, nervous because I rarely said anything to anyone except a rare, “Thank you.” None of his parents were in sight, even though he only looked a couple years older than me.
“When’s the last time you’ve taken a shower?” he sneered, laughing as a confident smirk crossed his face. Though I knew no one understood anything that’d happened to me, even my neighbors didn’t remember, since I was shifted into foster care, I was still taken aback.
“I-I’m not sure,” I stuttered, intimidated by the taller boy standing in front of me.
He folded his hands across his chest and stared down at me with a cold expression, so cold you’d think he ruled the world. I didn’t respond. Then his smirk changed into a laugh again as he stepped forward. A couple other boys around seemed to take notice as they watched, small smiles appearing on their faces.
Suddenly, a fist came out of nowhere and slammed hard against my cheek. I clutched my face, in pain, as I stared into his laughing blue eyes. My face flamed in embarrassment and my hazel eyes threatened to allow tears to fall. I failed in trying to hold them in, when the sadness swept in and overtook my body, shudders rippling through. I stood up though, and despite my fear of him, I clenched a fist. All the people at the park went silent, as I punched him in the gut.
A surge of pride welled up inside me when he doubled over, coughing. I never knew I could be so strong. In between wheezes, he huffed, “You will, pay, dirty” and then some word I didn’t recognize (but now I know to be the “b-word”, the one that starts like a buzzing “bee” and ends with an “itch”). All I did was glare at him and manage, “Don’t make fun of me, you don’t know me,” before another wave of tears rose to my eyes and I sat on the bench, crying my eyes out, while the boy scurried away, his friends following him. Any other family present quickly left, giving me scared looks. I knew it would be best if I left, somewhere else. But where could I have gone? I had nowhere else to go unless I went back to that run down place. There was just the forest past the tracks where my mother and father had died, and the lake my sister had commit suicide within.
All I could do was sit there, feeling miserable, hugging my knees, knowing that watching the sunrise and the hope come every morning was the only thing to cure me.
Age Eight
Whenever the sky was grey, or about to rain, and I missed the sunrise, I would stay in a daze, wondering to myself why I kept going on. I lost everything I had, with an extra series of bullies nearly every day from the point where I’d punched the blonde kid.
I’d learned his name was Sam. His parents were separated, and he had a ton of buddies. His buddies were pretty good fighters, which I had learned the hard way. Eventually, I began to ignore their harassment, hoping they’d stop once they got no reaction.
No luck. Even though I didn’t seem to care, they kept hurting me in every way possible- physically by punching and kicking me, and mentally, by attacking everything about my being- the way I dressed, the way I didn’t shower, the way I was always at the park (assuming I didn’t have a home), the way I didn’t seem to ever play. Little did they know, even with my poker face, every word, every punch was a blow to my chest. If I didn’t have a tinge of hope, I knew I’d be at the bottom of the lake where no one looked for Iris’s body. We were a forgotten family. The world was really too big to notice a family shatter to pieces.
I sat there, it was late in the evening, wishing it were dawn again. I barely slept or anything, scared of attackers and those creepy men with creepy smiles. If I moved from the bench and into the forest, I’d have to cope with the memories at an even higher level and never see the sky until I was out of the maze of trees.
Sam approached me from the slide. I looked at him warily, but then averted my gaze and tried to look as if I was paying him no attention.
He walked up to me, with his eyebrows raised. I didn’t move, but felt something tense in the air.
He stopped when he was right in front of me, his mouth twisted. One of his hands were behind his back, his entire arm shaking. Then he took what was behind his back out into my line of vision.
It was a knife.
I froze and began shaking, knowing there was no way I could run or fight back. I had no weapon. I glanced at the shining blade, its silver edge glinting like a mastermind’s teeth, and hissed a breath. Would he kill me? Would some elementary school student be able to kill someone? How’d he even get a knife?
He inched forward, his jaw set and glaring at me. It was like he’d never gotten over the fact I’d punched him a year ago. A punch, in exchange for a knife. Was that fair?
I felt the cold metal against my cheek. Almost indiscernible slices flew across my face, and blood slowly seeped out of the wounds. I didn’t move, I was petrified. I had lost all hope of living until I saw the flicker of doubt on his face.
Something must’ve happened to him. Something at home.
He clenched his fist around the knife, his glare wavering. Suddenly, the glare dropped from his face as the knife clattered to the bench. Shaking, his eyes wide, he got up and fled, and I swore I saw a couple tears in his eyes. There was no way I was going to blame that kid for any of the blood shed that night.
Age Nine
Sam’s attacks had stopped. Actually, I never saw him at that park ever again. When I listened to his old friends’ conversations, they said things about how he moved, how he seemed more scared of everything, went to live with his mom. They said something about his dad getting arrested, but not sure why. When the boys caught me listening, they turned on me and picked on me.
It was much worse than just Sam. When Sam had hurt me, he did it independently. He barely let any of his other friends join in. When Sam left, I was left to the mercy of all the small boys. Some of them ranged from around age five to middle school age. If I had gone to school, I’d have been in fourth grade. They all were different boys, obviously, but I noticed one particular trait. Every single one of them had a hard frown, always, across their face. They seemed bothered by something, like Sam had. They seemed... hurt.
But even seeming hurt, when they banded together and came after me, all I could do was run. I ran past the tracks and past the lake, deep into the forest until I’d lost my way. Occasionally they’d find me up a tree. Usually they found me running. They’d beat me until they could smile and see the purple bruises on my skin. They seemed to get pleasure from getting me. No matter where I hid in the forest, they always seemed to find me. It was like a rapid version, a much more fearful version, of the game hide-and-seek. Just the seekers outnumbered the hiders. The hider.
Every night I would crawl back in the direction of the park again, knowing there was no use hiding. I’d have seen my face in the lake, it’s inviting face looking at me. Then I’d have turned my head away, remembering Iris’s expression when she’d jumped. Even though my heart had been worn and worn, almost a tattered small, empty thing in my chest-
I’d find myself on the bench again and staring into the dawn.
I sat there alone until a boy came up to me. Apprehensive and scared he would strike, I tensed and sank backwards into the chair. When he sat down though, next to me, I was taken by surprise.
“Hello,” was all he said, taking a book out and starting to read.
I saw that the book was upside down, and I could help but crack a smile and chuckle. “Hello,” I whispered, in between the rare laughs and smiles I hadn’t given anyone since I was six.
He grinned and put the book down, obviously before trying to cheer me up. He looked me in the eye, with his bright blue eyes, under his dark, matted, almost black hair. I stared right back at him.
“What’s your name?” he asked me. I could detect no malice in his voice, no feeling that he wanted to hurt me. He was different from those boys. He had a soft expression on his face. It wasn’t a frown, but a full blown smile. Something I usually only saw on the tiny children playing at the park with their parents. It usually pained me to see those smiles, but for some reason, his was warm and comforting. I felt no jealousy, just an immediate bond of friendship.
“Cypress,” I said, my voice slightly stronger than the feeble “hello” I’d given him. “Yours?”
“That’s a pretty name. Cypress trees really are pretty. I’m quite a fan of Van Gogh. I’m Dashiell Carter,” he said, rolling his eyes at presumably his name. “But call me Dash, ‘cause Dashiell sounds like a girl’s name.”
A short tinkle of a laugh escaped my lips and I smiled at him. Not only was his name adorable, I’d heard of Van Gogh, and his paintings of cypress trees were absolutely exquisite. “That’s a cute name,” I said, grinning at him.
He scowled and rolled his eyes a second time.
“So, you come here every day?” he asked nonchalantly, oblivious to my problems. After all, he wouldn’t know. I’d just met him under the rising sun.
“Uhh,” I hesitated, unsure of whether to tell him or not, “I kind of spend most of my life here?” I whispered.
His eyes widened slightly but he didn’t say anything, even though I’d braced myself for a long string of questions and incredulous looks. All he did was stare into my eyes, figuring out the truth, and sighing.
“Oh,” was all he said. “So how old are you? What grade?”
“Nine, but I don’t go the school. And you?”
“I’m nine too!” he exclaimed. “I’m in fourth grade.” He didn’t bother to ask why I didn’t go to school. Either he was being considerate of my feelings or he was just a straight-out idiot. I hoped it was the first and not the latter, but even if he was an idiot, an idiot of a friend was better than no friend at all.
“So...” I prompted, “How’s life?” It was as if we’d been friends for a long time, and were just having a normal conversation. Not like a dirty orphan girl talking to some boy for the first time.
“Fine, I guess. Mama wants to have a daughter, but she’s had five boys in a row, me being the youngest, and she doesn’t want to risk it. And Papa thinks adopting will take too long and too much effort, so both of them are certainly tense at the moment.”
“Oh,” was all I said.
Then he looked at me, not with a prying look, but one filled with more of, let’s say, a curious feeling to it. “How about you? Family? Life?”
Not knowing what to say, I just stared into my lap, face flushing slightly red. I decided someone knowing about me, whether I trusted him or not, would make me feel slightly better. If it backfired, I barely had any choices except Iris’s. I chose to take the risk.
“My mom and dad were killed in an accident,” I whispered. Dash’s eyes widened slightly but he didn’t say anything, a sign that he probably wanted to know more. “My sister died too.” He sucked in a breath, as I continued, “I’ve no family, no friends, no school, no nothing. I’m alone.”
He took one of my hands in his, and a slight blush spread across my face. He looked me in the eye and gave me a small smile. “You’re not alone anymore.” Then he looked up at the sky, while I followed his gaze. The streaks of orange were leaving the sky, like ballerinas dancing off the stage. The sky turned blue, and my heart sudden lowered slightly. Dash seemed to notice my change in mood, when he wrapped me in a hug and we talked, talked casually and became better and better friends.
Age Ten
Dash and I had hung out every single day after that. He always came to the park, really early in the morning, before he’d go to school. We’d watch the dawn together, and then he’d leave to learn. After school,he’d rush over and we’d chat, him occasionally doing his homework there and asking me to help him, even though I didn’t know much. I could barely add and subtract, much less do multiplication with decimals and division with fractions. I’d just sit there, a smile on my face, as I looked at his concentrated expression, his tongue poking out of his lips as he thought hard.
The boys’ attacks had lessened, since the only time they could come to the park would be when Dash was there. Dash wasn’t a menacing type, but if Dash had witnessed any of the harassment, he could easily go to the police and they’d believe him. They’d never believe me. I never would’ve known that crowd of boys could actually think that deep into things. I’d taken them for blockheads, fools.
Occasionally some boys would skip school just to come and hurt me. What pleasure did they get from beating a girl they’d beaten countless times already? If I ever had bruises, Dash would try and help me. I’d just keep quiet about it, not wanting to make a commotion.
“Hi,” I whispered, when he sat down and took out some of his homework. I nearly got dizzy from looking at the math worksheet, but we talked while he did the homework. I was almost turning eleven, while he was already eleven. I still hadn’t told him exactly how my parents or sister died, but really wanted to. Every time he came during the break of dawn, my heart would feel lighter, healed, less tattered. If my heart were a piece of cloth, and before it was in need of patches and sewing, Dash was almost like he was patching them together.
A shudder rippled through my body suddenly when the wind came by. Dash looked up at me and took the jacket from his shoulders, draping it around my body. I smiled gratefully at him and he put his homework away, and we sat there, silent, as the wind howled and the trees swayed.
“Dash,” I whispered, aching to tell someone, relieve the burden.
“Mmm?” he asked.
I frowned and stared at my lap. “We’ve known each other for a long time, I guess. But have you ever wondered how my parents died? Or my sister? If you didn’t.... I know that’s a weird question, sorry,” I stammered quickly.
I didn’t know what to make of the small shrug of the shoulders Dash gave me, until he whispered, “It’s not a strange question, really.”
I bit my lip and stared at a couple sudden clouds that had taken over the sky. A small drizzle began to drip on my skin, matting down his black hair and my slightly reddish hair. I always thought it odd that I had red hair--- Mom had black hair, Papa blond, Iris dirty blond that changed from nearly dark brown/black to pale blond, so pale it could’ve appeared to be white.
“My Mama, Papa, died protecting me and my sister.” I paused for a slight moment, gathering the thoughts together. Even with the countless hours of memories, the countless moments of time to think about them, I still hadn’t wrapped my head around the situation. “Have you ever heard about that train crash? The one from five years back?”
He nodded slightly, but a questioning arch of an eyebrows brought me to the conclusion he didn’t, really.
“My sis and I were the two survivors. We were the only ones to survive that---Mom and Dad held onto us. Nearly thirty people died. Yet people have forgotten.”
His eyes were getting slightly wider.
“My sis, Iris, was fifteen. She was amazing- even though her reaction to the news about our parents not making it was heartbreaking, she stayed strong for nearly a year and we didn’t have to go into foster care, for some reason. Maybe they thought we could handle being two sisters living alone. After all, she was almost an adult.” I swallowed, thinking about Iris again. “Sis, one day, looked worse than usual. Her makeup was smudged, her hair a mess.” And then my voice abandoned me.
He frowned.
I gulped and kept talking. “She jumped. Right into that lake,” I whispered, pointing to the lake. “Most people in town had forgotten about our family by then, or thought we were getting along fine. With Iris gone, I wandered the streets, crying, until a police found me and brought me to the foster home.” I sighed. “But oh, foster care is horrible.”
He nodded sympathetically.
“The place is in horrible condition- there’s dust everywhere. The people who work there don’t care about the kids- the food is disgusting and unfilling. If we wake too early and wake them up we’ll get punished. If we go to bed too late we get punished even further.”
He seemed deep in thought.
Who knew his next words would change my life forever.
“Maybe my family could adopt you.”
Age Thirteen
Three years had gone by, three years of paperwork, digging through the past and moving toward the future. The Carters were content on adopting me, as were the workers in that living h*ll. Through those three years, I’d continued to meet with Dash, talking like there was no tomorrow.
As I grew older, the other boys (hopefully you know who I’m referring to) seemed to have realized what morons they’d been, what idiots. They seemed to realize there was no point in attacking me. And if they did, I soon retaliated and got sent to the police a couple times, which delayed the adoption even further (Yeah, yeah, I’m stupid), but the Carters were still set on adopting me. It really made me smile and brightened my day, making me feel like I could survive without the sunrise, just for a little while.
I started going to school then. I obviously needed supplementary schooling, but I would’ve felt alone and out of place, so they let me join Dash’s grade: Eighth grade. I quickly caught up with Dash’s intelligence and tutoring, and could almost pass as a normal kid after awhile. Basically everyone accepted me, and with a new expression and look on life---I wasn’t hanging on by a thread anymore--- the boys that used to torment me didn’t seem to recognize me. I held no grudges--- because, after all, I soon learned from classmates each of their stories- each one sadder and more heartbreaking than the rest.
I was then officially adopted into the Carter family, living with Dash, his four brothers, his mom, and his dad. They were all great people, super nice and helpful, treating me like one in the family. After all, I kind of was. As time went on, the burden on my heart slowly lifted and joy penetrated through its depths and I could smile nearly every hour of the day.
Even though I was happy, I still stood on the porch of the house every day, during the dawn, to watch the sunrise. The colors were still breathtaking, and now I had Dash to join me. We’d sit in silence and watch the sky change colors. It was my way of remembering my old family, cherishing those memories and not further lamenting on them.
Age Fifteen
On my fifteenth birthday, the age Iris was during both the accident and her death, I suddenly felt a wave of emotions wash over me. I visited the lake, feeling tempted to taunt the water. I sneered at it, it hadn’t managed to get me “next.”
Dash grabbed my hand as we walked through shops around the town center- ones we’d never been to, and ones we went to nearly every day. A man was on the sidewalk, playing the violin. Feeling deeply moved by the melody, I tossed a couple bills into his case. He offered both Dash and I a thankful smile.
A newspaper man stood there trying to sell the Sunday paper. In vain. People jostled him as they scrambled through the small streets. Dash and I stopped to buy one, which the man smiled at us, but we didn’t read the paper. After my birthday, after school, Dash and I stopped by, every single day, to give money to these two and a couple others. Pride of helping others surged through me-something I’d never felt. I’d either felt useless or on the same, poor side as many people on the streets.
Age Seventeen
We were at home. The brothers were out- doing the things they liked best--- football, lacrosse, hockey, painting. Mother was out at a college friend reunion. Father was at a business trip. Dash and I sat in the couch, staring at the TV and watching random movies.
After what was probably the third or fourth movie, and having no clue what time it was, I yawned. Dash was looking at me. I looked back at him, cocking my head to the side, confused.
He inched closer until our faces were inches apart. A blush spread across my face as I stared into his bright blue eyes. His face made my hazel eyes nearly melt, his breath my legs weak.
And the next thing I knew, our lips were touching. He tasted sweet, as our lips moved in perfect unison. His tongue traced the bottom of my lip, and I responded by opening my mouth slightly.
My first kiss--- the most perfect kiss in existence.
***
We ended up just curled on the couch, watching the fourth or fifth movie. My head was buried deep into his chest, inhaling his sweet scent. I relaxed as he wrapped his arms around me, another blush flooding my face.
We fell asleep like that--- perfectly on the couch as the ending credits rolled and the music played.
***
When I woke up, I suddenly realized something was wrong. First of all, Dash wasn’t there, and the sun hadn’t even come up yet. And then, when I looked to the floor, he had his head in his hands and was shaking uncontrollably. I quickly darted to his side and ran my hand over the side of his head.
“Dash?” I whispered questioningly.
He responded with a low moan, and another series of shivers and convulsions. His breath came out in short puffs.
“Dash!” I screamed, tears coming to my eyes. What was wrong with him? I dialled 9-1-1 and the next thing I knew, I was holding Dash’s hand and he was in a snow white bed with snow white sheets and snow, deathly pale, white pillows.
Dash’d stopped shaking by that point, and doctors were treating him to and fro. I sat there, petrified and shocked, still unable to comprehend what’d happened.
After what seemed like hours, his breathing seemed to get better and I sighed with relief, as the family piled in through the door.
“Oh Dashiell Logan Carter!” Mother yelled, throwing herself onto him, sobs heaving out of her chest. I still didn’t know, still couldn’t comprehend.
“Will he be alright?” Father asked the doctor from the doorway. Each of the brothers quickly exchanged a couple words with the weak Dash, but at least he could talk. They eyed our interlocked hands, but didn’t question it.
The doctor replied, soft and low, “We’re not sure. It seems he may get better, but it’s far in the process and who knows. The best thing we can do for him now is to hope.”
I still didn’t understand. Stupidly, I asked, “What?”
The doctor gave me a sympathetic look, guessing immediately I was his lover. He didn’t answer, however, and I didn’t learn until Dash squeezed my hand and stared into my eyes, into my eyes like the time we kissed.
“I have cancer,” he whispered.
***
How had he known? Had he been tested before? How come nothing had been done about it? How come I didn’t know? I thought I had been part of the family, were the thoughts that flew through my head. I could taste the metallic taste in my mouth of the suspense. A shiver flew down my spine until I was almost crying.
Then I realized I was crying.
“Don’t cry, Cy. Don’t cry,” Dash whispered, patting my head affectionately. All I had left in me was to whimper. “How long have you been tested positive? Will you be okay?”
He ruffled my hair, but I couldn’t help but notice it was weaker than before. “They said I might’ve had this for quite the while, but I’ll be fine.” He leaned forward slightly and kissed my red hair. “I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you too,” I whispered back.
Age Eighteen
Turning eighteen, most people jump for joy. They are considered adults. Some are done with high school and entering college- a new page in the story of their life. They are granted many privileges they didn’t have before.
Me? I felt none of that. I nearly forgot it was my birthday that day. I was by Dash’s side, laying down on his pale white sheets next to him. It was only until he reminded me and told me to go outside and enjoy myself that I remembered.
He seemed to get weaker day by day. As his heart started to sink, I tried to cheer him up. It worked slightly, but not to make him smile again. Then I began to show him the sunrise- my old symbol of hope- something that resided in my heart forever. The color started coming back into his cheeks. The sky always provided us with the most beautiful sunrises, never missing a day.
I told him I wouldn’t leave him, even if it was my birthday. Then he told me he wanted me to, and that he would be sad if I didn’t. I didn’t have anything to say to that.
I just exited the hospital for a short while, walked through the streets of the town, visiting the stores we’d visited when I turned fifteen. The same men and women we used to help were still there- but smiles on their faces as they played, sold, asked. There was joy and hope in life- that was for sure. Yet, there were things that brought us down. But we had to pick ourselves off those hardships. We had to survive happy. We had to help others.
A sorrowful piece erupted through the street, nearly drawing tears to my eyes. When I looked at the violinist, the same one I’d seen when I was fifteen with Dash, he seemed slightly familiar. His blond hair, his blue eyes. I gave him a wave and he grinned at me. As if nothing had happened to us in the past. Nothing really did, though. I wasn’t going to hold a grudge.
I walked back to the hospital, thinking deeply about life, happiness. When I sat down next to Dash, he offered me a weak smile. I smiled back, as widely as I could.
I took in his appearance. He was frail and pale. His hair was mostly gone- he wore a large wool hat on his head. His eyes were not as bright- filled with sadness yet no tears. I leaned into him and felt his soft heartbeat, as love radiated off my skin, love radiating off his also. I closed my eyes and kissed him.
***
He was even paler than usual. I nervously glanced out the window. Dash seemed to be hanging on the thread of life- the only thing holding him there was the dawns, the sunrises, like I had so many years back. His speech was slurred and his breathing labored, barely managing to say “I love you” to me. I said the words strongly to him, meaning every word, every syllable.
Outside, the skies were grey and rain had begun to fall. The last couple months, the sun had risen with no avail. If there was rain, it never happened during the moments of sunrise and dawn. Thunder sounded and lightning struck, illuminating Dash’s face from where I could see with an eerie glow.
He looked at me, his eyes sunken. He laid back in the wheelchair he used to go outside with. He hadn’t seemed to notice the rainstorm yet, his senses were dulled.
He asked me, “Are we going to see the colors?”
I shook my head for a moment. “Sorry, I don’t think we can today.”
He put on a puppy-dog face that he knew I couldn’t resist. I bit my lip. If he saw the storm, he wouldn’t be able to see the dawn. If I wheeled him back in, or had left him in the room, he wouldn’t have been able to see the dawn. His last hope may have been crushed. Was it the end?
Scolding myself from such thoughts, I wondered what I should’ve done next.
He finally seemed to notice the storm.
“Ahhh,” he whispered, staring at the howling winds, the raging clouds, the torrents of rain. “I see,” was all he said.
He leaned back in the wheelchair, and closed his eyes. Tears began flowing down my face, as my hand was still in his, while I screamed his name over and over again, trying to get him to wake.
“Dash!”
“Dash!”
“Dash!”
A couple words escaped his mouth in a feeble tone.
“Thank you for everything, Cypress,” was what he said. Then his head rolled to the side and he was gone.
Tears were pouring down my face at that point, as I laid my head in his lap and sobbed, my chest heaving.
He was one of the only things I’d learned to love. And he was gone too.
I stared out of the window, at the rain and the storm. I’d sat there so long, it was already an hour after what should’ve been flying colors, weren’t there.