Spring Afternoon

The worst thing is, I cannot even remember what we were talking about. It's been a full month, and the circumstances will be scarred into my soul forever, but for fucks sake, I cannot remember for the life of me what we were talking about. Oh, I suppose it was about her ex-boyfriend, or what we were about to do. We were going to the Vondel Park, you see, accompanied by beer and a bottle of bubbly lambrusko wine. We would enjoy the sun and the breeze, and we'd talk about everything and nothing in the way friends talk. About her ex-boyfriend, about my boyfriend, about school, the weather, life, the universe, and everything.

It was a beautiful spring day, the sky azure blue, puffy clouds contrasting white, and the sun was strikingly silver. It was one of those first spring days when you're not used to the bright sunlight yet and you're spending your days squinting against it, but you're loving every minute of it anyway. One of those days. I'm sure you know them.

I remember what I was wearing that day. Isn't it strange how some details stand out in your memory while you're blacking out where it comes to others? I was wearing my boyfriend's baggy pants, a black halter-top and a jacket. She was wearing a red halter-top, a black jacket and blue jeans. She had her hair tied back in a ponytail, dark hair sleek and tight against her head, curling into the ponytail in such tiny little curls that would make me jealous anytime I saw them. We were laughing about something. I can't remember, I can't remember, dammit! .and we walked arm in arm, on our way to the supermarket.

The traffic light was red, but fuckit, this was Amsterdam, and no one cares about traffic lights in Amsterdam. You just glance over your shoulder and you're going to be fine. No problem. Usually.

So we were talking and laughing and enjoying the sunshine and each other's company, and I don't know what we were discussing, and Sara decided we should cross the street. We had just jumped out of the tram and we were going to get ourselves beer and sweet wine. I can remember I was thinking how I wanted to drink something sweet, how I longed for something sweet, and how I didn't want to drink beer. I wanted something light and bubbly, because that's how I felt that day. Light and bubbly and looking forward to a nice day in the Park with Sara and some other of our friends.

I had no idea. No gut feeling. Nothing. Usually you know deep down inside when something's wrong, you know you're going to run into someone, win some prize money, when your bike is stolen. Everyone has premonitions once in a while. At some level, somewhere hidden in your unconscious mind, you know things in advance. You feel it. It's your sixth sense or simply your gut feelings telling you this.

I didn't feel anything that day. Nothing at all.

Perhaps it was because I felt so good. Perhaps it was the spring sun shining in my eyes. Or perhaps not. Maybe it was because when life kicks your ass, you really are not supposed to feel anything, just to feel the kick harder. So that when your gut wrenches and you feel the bile in your throat and the hot tears in your eyes, life can have the last laugh and spit in your face. Maybe it's really like that.

I never thought of it that way before that day. I probably sound bitter but that's just the way it is, the way it happened. That's how I feel. And that's how I recall what happened.

In the beautiful capital of the Netherlands, on a beautiful spring day in April, my best friend got run over by a tram. She never even knew what hit her.

I don't even recall clearly what happened. One moment, we were crossing the street, because Sara deigned it safe, the next moment we almost get hit by a car in our backs. So Sara spins around, a laugh on her face, to pull me away, and the next moment a shrill tram bell sounds, and with a thud she is jeered away from me, twisting my arm painfully. I think our bones broke at the same moment.

I'll never forget that sound of our bones braking and the nerve-shattering sound of screeching breaks. Of course it was too late by then. The blood splattered on my face the next moment, and pain screamed through my right arm as I found myself on the gravel, my cheek on the cool, cool gravel, blood so hot on my face. One, two, three heartbeats. The world was completely still.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

My mind tried to process what happened, but failed miserably. It was the agony in my broken arm that jerked me back to reality. I knew it was broken; it was my right arm again. I had broken it before as a little girl. Twice. It had been more than a decade before, but the feeling was awfully familiar. Pain; redhot, familiar, searing. It felt like my arm was on fire, or being grounded to dust, or both.

Then the sounds returned. Screaming, of course. Sobbing. Talking, panicky, almost hysterical talking.

"Oh my God, oh my fucking God, look at that!"

"I couldn't help it, she was right before my wheels, I couldn't break in time."

"She's dead."

"Someone take a look at the red-head!"

That would be me.

The face of an older man hovered over me. "Are you alright, girl?"

I just stared at him, seeing his face more clearly than anything else in the world, and yet completely looking through him. Right through him, at the cables of the tramline and the pure sky. So pure blue. Like my boyfriend's eyes.

"Can you say your name for me?" The man continued. He had saliva on his under lip, and his grey eyes looked worried. His eyelashes were as silvergrey as his hair.

"Lena," I heard coming from afar. It was a breathless voice. Dazed.

The blood on my face is warm, so warm.

"Is your name Lena?" he repeated, grey eyes clouding even more with worry.

I tried to roll over and bit on my lip as the searing pain of my broken arm protested. I had blood in my hair as well. My head was aching. Where is Sara? OH MY GOD where is she?

I must have said it out loud, because the man tried to calm me down and said that everything's ok, everything is going to be alright, the ambulance is on its way and it's all fine.

"Is it?" The world swayed drunkenly as I tried to sit up and look at the tram on my side. It was a Chello tram. There was an ad for fucking Chello Broadband Internet on it. The orange color of the ad was tainted by dark red and colors I couldn't really name. But the crimson, the dark dark red.

Not my blood. Sara.

"Don't look at it!"The man tried to block my view, but I'd already seen her.

My best friend, that beautiful girl with dark curly hair and a red tank top and levi jeans, that beautiful girl I'd shared laughter and tears with, that mourned about the breakup between her and her boyfriend and that bitched about how little money there was on her bank account and how she still had half a month to go, that wonderful sweet girl I send text messages on her mobile phone, that beautiful girl I was going to the Vondelpark with, was lying half under the metro, facing down, steel buried in her gut. Blood and gore was splattered all around and over her.

Only half a minute ago we were still laughing and joking and everything was alright. Only half a minute ago she was breathing and thinking, and a living creature with hopes and dreams and a life, missing her ex-boyfriend, looking forward to a beautiful spring day in the park.

Only half an hour ago we had decided to go to the park instead of the pub, because the weather was so pretty. It would be a waste to sit inside all day. It had been my idea.

We should be entering the supermarket right now. It's only twenty meters away.

Only half a day ago she sms'ed me that she wouldn't go to work today and come and have a drink with me, feigning migraine. She didn't feel like working today, she wanted to spend it with friends.

Only half a minute ago everything was still alright, her arm was hooked around mine, and she had laughed at me, the sunlight had caught her dark brown eyes and her smile, and we had been talking and I don't KNOW what the fuck it was about anymore, and I hate it I hate it I FUCKING hate it and this cannot be true Sara, we were fucking going to the park and we were going to have a good day. This can't be happening Sara, we are going to the PARK!

As I faded into nothingness, the last sound I heard was my own hysterical screaming.

And up until today, I still don't know what we were talking about that day.

~Lanfir Leah

April 2002