Life Goes On

An entry into the WPNinjas holiday writing contest. Thanks in advance for reading.

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Life Goes On

Matthew. When I first met you, you were all wide eyes and vivid dreams. You were different from anyone else I had ever met before. You did not evade your flaws but admitted to them. You did not talk with a cutting, hurtful edge as most humans unknowingly do. You were, and still are, like me but unlike me at the same time. We have agreed on many things but have also disagreed. With care and a soothing tone, you explained the world to me in someone else’s point of view. I take this as a blessing, because who else but you could help me become a better person without making me feel inadequate?

Do you remember how we used to sit at Cafe di Arozzo, down on Bridge Street, morning after gorgeous morning? We would sit outside so that the warm sun could shine down on us with its blessings. As we breathed in the hot, savoury smell of melted cheese and the sharp, slightly bitter aroma of coffee, you would tell me about everything you ever wanted to be. I drank in your ambitions and aspirations that were displayed so brilliantly in those warm, brown eyes of yours. You couldn’t talk fast enough – it was as if you had not spoken properly in decades. I felt privileged that I was being granted the opportunity to see your heart so raw and open, unveiled just for me.

In just a short amount of time, your dreams became my dreams. They bloomed without restraint in my heart. I wanted more than anything to see your dreams come true. As I watched you sleep peacefully next to me, I swore that I would do everything in my power to make you happy, to see your dreams live on in full glory. You could not imagine my disappointment when I was the one who brought those lovely dreams crashing down.

I withered, like a forgotten, lone flower, despite your limitless love and patient, tender care. Each morning I would painfully open my eyes to have the harsh sunlight stabbing into them like daggers, if only to see your face. When you realised that sunlight hurt me, you pulled shut all the curtains and forgot what the glorious warm light looked and felt like, only for me.

It shattered my heart to see you black out the windows of your soul to the bright lights of happiness in the distance. It shattered my heart to see that you were still as in love with me as those days when grey hairs and laugh lines were still strangers to us. Even as I sat uselessly in that cursed wheelchair with unsightly tufts of hair on my head and my skin as wrinkly as scrunched up love letters, I saw in your eyes that you still thought I was terribly beautiful.

The doctors lied, as usual, and said I was getting better. You were just as aware of these lies as me, but grinned and shrieked with excitement anyway. “Did you hear that, June? You’re getting better! You’re going to be dancing around like before in no time!” When I protested you put a gentle finger to my lips to silence me and announced, “We’re going on a date.”

I remember the expansive turquoise sea stretching out like carpet in front of me as far as my eyes could see. I remember blocking out the glaring sun with my thumb. I remember hearing the excitement in your voice as you pointed out the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House. I remember listening to the solid, unfailing beat of your heart as I rested my head against your chest, pretending to fall asleep.

But more than anything, I remember the way you lifted me from my wheelchair, as if I were as fragile as a porcelain doll. The train station predictably had no wheelchair accessibility ramps, and so, without a single complaint or even an irritated sigh, you carried me carefully up that mountain of stairs. My traitorous legs were too weak to carry me themselves. You smelt of sandalwood and faintly of cologne. You were panting slightly but not once did you tell me I was a burden on you. As you set me gently on the bench on the platform, you smiled at me and told me to wait just a second. Ironically, it was almost as if you were apologising to me for making me wait. Then you mounted the stairs again, dragging yourself up them to go back and retrieve that despicable wheelchair. Your footsteps got heavier and heavier as you dragged the unwieldy thing to the other side of the station to me. With a grin on your flushed, tired face you laughed and said, “Well, that was a good workout!”

I’m not reminding you of all this to hurt you or bring back painful memories to sting you, Matthew. As I sit next to you, staring out at the black night sky which will soon glow with the resplendent colours of fireworks, I only wish for one thing. I want to see you smile again. I want to hear you laugh like you really mean it. I want you to watch those New Year’s fireworks with excitement and hope in your eyes. As I see you now, you are forlorn and lost, as if there is nothing left for you in this world. But listen, Matthew, there is so much in the world left for you to see, so much left for you to feel. I want to see, through your eyes, the exotic countries you spoke of with such awe. And I don’t just mean flipping through brochures, either! Nothing is stopping you from seeing that huge world out there. All I can do is apologise to you for taking away the joy of the best years of your life and beseech you to do something worth smiling about again.  

This is the last time I can visit you and to be honest I had hoped you would be able to sense me, at least. I feel like a little bit of an idiot standing here talking to myself. Wait! Yes, you’re looking right at me! I swear you can see me!

Please, heed my advice. See all there is to see and make your life noteworthy. Live it in such a way that you can be proud when you look back on it in your dying moments. This is a new year, Matthew, a new start. Goodbye now, I have to go. Maybe I’ll see you up here in heaven one day, hopefully not too soon in the future though. Then you can tell me all about your adventures.

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 I actually saw the wheelchair scene at the train station the other day. It was the saddest thing, the way the man carried the woman up all those stairs. It's what inspired this story. So thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. Live your life to the max!! Zarin.