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Do You Remember?
by Tyde

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As the strains of a lonely violin seep into my mind and underneath my skin, I feel a shiver. There is a dinky radio sitting on the bench behind the counter, with dents and scratches, and tiny speakers on the side. It doesn’t seem possible that it could produce such a sound, but it has. The notes are thrumming loudly in my head now and my heart starts thumping out of time.

The sales assistant plonks the change into my hand and I feel so weighed down. It’s just sixty cents, but it feels like a tonne. She chews her gum slowly and methodically, already bored with me and my purchase. Only giving her a seconds reprieve in this stale atmosphere before it’s back to mindlessly flipping through a magazine and twirling a loose chunk of hair around her nicotine stained fingers.

I drop the coins in my pocket and shake myself out of the trance I was in. I look nervously at the radio but it’s scratchy sounds aren’t giving anything away now. I push through the beaded curtain and out onto the steaming footpath, a newspaper and a bottle of water tucked under my arm.

My mind wants to take me on a path since hearing that familiar tune, but the rest of me is trying just as hard to forget. I quickly pull open the door of my dusty Commodore and sink gratefully into the bucket seats. It is a hot, sticky day and despite only been closed up for a few minutes the inside of the car is like a furnace. As the engine splutters into life I jab at the dashboard, trying to find the air-conditioning button as I pull out into the traffic.

It takes me a second or two to realise that the sound filtering through the car isn’t the air-conditioning roaring into life but the hum of a guitar being lovingly plucked, the chorus is about to start. My first instinct is to slam on the brakes, but there is a multitude of cars behind me and now is not the time to be in a car pile up.

Instead I flick the indicator and pull over to the side of the road safely. My hands are shaking and my eyes are threatening to spill over with a torrent of tears. I make no move to turn off the radio but instead look towards it as if within the buttons and dials it will suddenly contain the image of you. My eyes are only rewarded with bits of black plastic and white markings. I run a hand through the hair that is sticking unpleasantly to my neck with sweat. My eyes glaze over and I retreat into a world when you were still alive.

I can still see you running towards me when I returned home from work, ready for cuddles and kisses. I would smooth your hair down with one hand as I placed my handbag on the floor. Then I’d chase you around the lounge room and we’d collapse in a state of giggles. It was our little routine and we’d do it every night, no matter what time I’d arrive home – even if you were supposed to be in bed.

No matter how long I live I will never forget that grin of yours. It would take over your whole face, always extending to your eyes too. You never half-heartedly smiled; you always gave it your all.

The singer’s voice climbs into those high notes and despite the stifling heat of the car, I shiver. The words are dancing in my head, making me think of that last car ride. You were sitting in the seat beside me and I knew that you were dying.

You put on a brave face, a faint smile through the pain as you slowly slipped away. I didn’t want to leave you in that place, I wanted to go in with you but they told me that I needed to go home and rest. They would look after you and keep me updated by phone. I was only a quick drive away. I don’t know why I didn’t stay, I just felt like a robot, I did whatever they told me to. I promised myself I would go back to see you in an hour or so. I needed to go home, collect myself and inform the family what was going on.

This song was playing on the radio when I drove you there. It was registering vaguely in the back of my mind, it was a song I’d heard so often and really liked, but I didn’t think of how relevant the words were until later.

I was headed out the door, I was ready to go and see you, to hold you and kiss you softly and tell you that it was going to be all right. I didn’t want to have to lie to you, but I wanted you to be happy, to go, knowing that we all loved you and that we were there for you.

I didn’t get the chance.

The phone rang when I placed my hand on the door handle. I gasped and turned towards the living room. I didn’t want to answer the phone, I knew it would be the doctor and I didn’t want to hear her say those words.

I picked up the phone with shaking hands and held it to my ear.

“I’m sorry, he’s gone. Just now.”

“Thank you.”

I hung up the phone feeling like I’d just fallen through the floor. I dropped to the ground, my bottom painfully hitting the tiles and the dog scampering out of my way. I rested my head on a chair and I screamed. I screamed louder than I’d ever screamed before – I could feel it coming from my stomach. A raw, primal scream.

The dog hid under the table, shying away from me as the sobs wracked my body. I needed to hold onto somebody, anybody. I crawled under the table and reached for him. I pulled him towards me by his front legs and clasped his little body to mine. I muttered into his soft, curly fur and let my tears drench him. He rested his head on my shoulder, not quite knowing what was going on. After a while he struggled against my grasp, desperately wanting to be let go.

He wandered around the house, trying to find you and then I think he realised what my outburst had been about. I cuddled him into my lap as I made the phone calls. Everyone said they would be heading home as soon as possible.

My sister made it first, we just grabbed each other desperately into a hug and cried for ages. I wanted to explain to her, how it had been for me, how I’d watched him slowly deteriorate but I couldn’t speak about it. I thought it was my fault. I was so afraid that if I told them they’d confirm my worst fears and blame me for it.

If only I’d taken you there earlier, not listened to what the doctor had said in the morning. If only I’d kept you there then maybe you’d still be here with us. I hate the gaping hole that was left in my heart. I hate that I never really open up to people until it’s too late. I need to appreciate more and savour every moment. I hate that I left you there in that place to die, you hated hospitals.

I should have kept you at home with me but then I don’t think I could have stood to see your last moments. I hope you don’t think that I abandoned you. I loved you so much and it tears me up inside that you’re gone. I’ll keep blaming myself, even if it’s not justified.

I couldn’t stop the tears at the funeral. I went to the morgue, insisting that you be wrapped in the baby blanket. I had expected you to look peaceful, isn’t that the way it is in the movies?

Your eyes had been open and your mouth slightly ajar. With trembling hands I’d shut your eyelids and lifted your jaw gently but it wouldn’t stay shut. It hung open like in the middle of a gasp of pain. I thought I could hear it echo through the cold, sterile room. My sister had led me out of the room then. I pressed your favourite toy into your hands as I left and I could hear Dad blasting the morgue technician for not doing his job properly.

I hadn’t been able to talk much during the ceremony. For once, words failed me and I ended up bumbling through a eulogy. As much as it hurt to do, every day there would be fresh flowers on your headstone.

The last notes of the piano sound and the last lingering words drift through the car speakers. Without you.

I shake myself out of the memory and look in the rear vision mirror and am startled by my puffy, red face. Tears streak my cheeks and untold pain radiates from my eyes.

I grab the water bottle, greedily gulping a few mouthfuls before starting up the engine again. As I look out into the road I see someone across the road. It looks just like you, he has a faint smile on his face as he stands there patiently waiting for something.

I don’t know what possesses me to do it but I raise a hand in greeting – waving at that little face that reminds me so much of you. The face splits into a huge grin and he waves back. He licks his ice cream happily, the contents dripping down his hand and onto his shorts. It’s two scoops of chocolate, just like you used to have.

He turns around suddenly, having heard a voice calling him from a shop entrance. He walks quickly, the same jaunty walk you had, and is instantly scooped up into his mother’s arms. I can see her scolding him for getting ice cream all over his outfit.

I smile sadly and say more to myself than anybody, “Hold onto him, lady...cause you never know”

I pull back out into the traffic and another song comes on the radio. It’s upbeat and it’s pop. I’ve never heard it before and I don’t care. It’s something to drag me out of my memories, and that’s what I need right now. I need to forget, not because I want to but because I need to. If I don’t, I might not survive it next time.

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THE END

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Author’s note: This was brought to the forefront by listening to The Song Remembers When performed by Trisha Yearwood. Words have a great impact in my life, but music is definitely a close second. There is a song that when I hear it, brings up memories both good and bad, and that’s why this story is here.