Requiem

by London Saint James

  I heard a voice break through my silent thoughts. “Winter?” I looked up, filled with the sense of irritation at the interruption to my current plans of death, to see Doctor Carlyle. His face smooth with a hint of a smile, but also tented with the same sadness, the same grief I had seen in the hospital. “I did not mean to disturb you. I can go and give you and your mother some time,” he suggested.

  “Stay,” I mumbled.

  “Hello, Doctor,” My mother greeted. Doctor Carlyle glanced beyond me, obviously seeing me mother and nodded once before he turned his attention back toward me.

  “I am glad to see you, Winter. I kept up with your progress while you were in the hospital. I hope you are physically doing better?”

  “My injuries are healing,” I said.

  We were sure to understand each other. Only my outward condition was healing, my inward condition never would.

  “I was going to come see you. I have something for you. I was not sure when it might be the right time.” Doctor Carlyle paused. “I doubt there is ever a right time. I did not expect to see you here, but….” He sighed and reached into his inner coat pocket. He pulled out an envelope.

  I reached out and took it in my hand.

  “What is it?”

  “I found this at home. It’s Austin’s wedding vows. I don’t know if you want to read them now, but someday you may. I think you will need to read what my son felt. I believe it will be important for you.”

  Tears rolled down my cheeks. If Austin were here he would wipe them away. This thought sent me into a sob. “Thank you.” I mumbled with a broken voice which was more than raspy.

  “Winter, you will always be a part of our family. My wife and I love you. Come see us when you can,” he said. Doctor Carlyle touched my cheek then patted my mother’s shoulder before he turned to walk away.

  I held the envelope in my hand then placed it to my heart. I tried to breathe but found it hard to take in the air. My lungs protested as the sobbing sounds continued to rip from my body. My mother placed her arms around me, giving me support while I wavered on my crutches. I placed my left hand on top of the cold marble headstone then sucked in the crisp air.

  “Give me a moment, Mother. I need to be alone,” I said.

  “Are you sure?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  My mother’s arms drop from me. I heard her walk away as the dead ground crunched under her retreating steps. I looked up at the sky then back down at the soil beneath my feet. As impossible as it seemed, the earth continued. The sky was in its rightful place, and the ground remained solid beneath my feet. I was the questionable one, wobbly and weak.

  I pressed the envelope to my lips for a brief moment. Austin’s hands once touched it. My hands were tremulous, my right arm protesting, but I steadied my crutches and hands holding firm to the envelope. I opened it up, pulled out a piece of gray paper which I knew was in actuality snow white paper. Slowly, I unfolded the parchment to see Austin’s handwriting. It was him, his words. Austin wrote this. I traced my fingertips over the indentations. The gray melted away and turned into dark blue ink. I focused on the writing.

  Austin wrote….

  Winter, you are the breath of my life. For you, I would give all that I am. You are my strength, the beating of my heart, the very life which courses through me. It is because of you I have found who I am. Your love takes me to such heights it is impossible to see heaven without looking down, and then I find it, my own heaven, perfectly beautiful, tranquil there, lost inside the emerald color of your eyes. I could stay there in my heaven. I thank God for giving me this gift, for giving me you. I bind my life to yours. I tie my heart to your heart and my soul takes your soul for as long as I draw breath and even in death. I take you for the entirety of my lifetime and beyond. I belong beside you. Everything I am is yours. Everything I have, it is yours. So it is here on this day, here before our family, our friends, and before God, who I know created us for each other, that I take you as my wife and ask you to take me for your husband. I love you and will love you for all time.

  I read the words written on the page, and in that instant, I found him. I found the man I loved, the soul which would always be a part of my soul. I ran toward the memories of Austin which flooded my mind. I was back with him, the day I first saw him, the color of his eyes. Back on the bridge, the day he took me into his arms and kissed me for the first time, the warmth of his mouth on mine. The moment he told me he loved me, the night he first made love to me. I saw Austin bent down on one knee asking me to marry him. I saw his beautiful breathtaking smile. I remembered how Austin looked when he was happy, on stage. I saw him laughing; heard the musical sounds of his laugh. The tone and texture brushed through me.

  I closed my eyes and recalled walking through Central Park hand-in-hand while he whispered in my ear. Sitting on the couch, snuggled together watching football while he ate popcorn then kissed me with butter-salted lips. The Saturday mornings we would spend in bed talking, holding each other and how Austin’s arms felt wrapped around me. I sensed the warmth of his breath against the hollow of my throat. I heard the sound of his breathing when he slept, the beating of his heart.

  I found the love, the joy, the very breath of his words washing through me. Hearing his voice, the smooth silk texture, sent a familiar tingle across my skin. I experienced the power, the pull, and the connection. His words filled the empty feeling but could not fully extinguish the pain. I would live with the pain, but I would live. Austin had saved me without knowing it. His words were to be the light to keep me with him, even within my darkest moments. I knew my heart had no other choice but to be broken, however, it would continue to beat for him. I held onto his words, kept them close to me. Austin’s vows were the link I needed to draw another breath.

  “I love you, Austin,” I said. The tears flowed freely and hit the cold ground at my feet. “Forever.”

  Chapter Four

  IT IS TIME

  “You are cordially invited to the Spring Showcase.” Those few words printed upon the invitation sent anxiety rippling through me. It was May, and I was set to attend a memorial in honor of Austin, hosted at Julliard. While totally unsure if I would be able to go back to the place Austin and I had once spent so much time at, I slowly proceeded to get ready. As I sat at my vanity, attaching the clasp on my snowflake necklace, all I could see was Austin standing up on stage, see myself setting with homework there in the first row of seats, watching him as he practiced. I cried many tears as I got ready to go. Fear along with uncertainty filled me, unsure if I could make it through the evening; however, I pushed myself to attend.

  Amazing, is the only word to describe how it felt to see all the people there who knew Austin and loved him. The hall was packed full, with every seat taken. Julliard staff awaited my arrival. They were welcoming and thoughtful and made sure myself and Austin’s parents obtained front row seats. After we were seated, introductions of the Arts Department were completed. Several of Austin’s friends along with faculty members spoke. They told different stories of Austin and his accomplishments during his time at the school. Then the curtain on the stage rose. The lights dimmed….

  “Tell us, Austin, how do you think your performance went tonight?” a deep male voice had asked. It rang out like a specter from hidden speakers.

  “I’m never completely pleased with my performances. I have some ideas how to improve it….” Austin’s voice hesitated. “If you will excuse me, I see the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  I heard his voice. Oh God, his voice.

  The deep male voice asked, “Who?”

  “The woman I am going to marry,” he answered. “Winter….” Austin called out.

  The stage lights appeared, slowly. On stage were numerous pictures of Austin. A large white screen fell between the pictures and there in front of my eyes I saw Austin Wells Carlyle again.

  “Well,” the dark-haired boy said. I saw the boy who spoke earlier. He had the same deep voice.
“I guess the interview is over.”

  In the background, us. I’d been waiting for Austin. He saw me, bounded over to where I stood, and took me into his arms. Austin twirled me round then we kissed. I never knew we were caught on camera.

  I watched, cried silently, and remembered that moment. Then the moment captured on film was gone, changing to one of Austin’s practice sessions. They had taken several different recordings of Austin, some in practice sessions, others in different programs and plays and showed the compilation there on stage. The end was a portion of his role in the foreign film then finally a snippet from his last play. The play he completed before our trip to California.

  As I watched, I felt more tears well up beneath my eyelids. Unable to hold them back, they escaped and streamed without stop down my cheeks. Doctor Carlyle put his arm around me and squeezed my shoulders. He tried to help me hold myself together. While watching the recording was more painful than words could ever tell, it perhaps would be best to say my emotions were bitter-sweet. Happiness to see my love filled me while the senselessness of his untimely death gripped me. But regardless of my feelings, he was my Austin, forever beautiful, forever young, perfectly captured in time, full of life and back on the stage which he loved.

  As we left the building, Doctor Carlyle held firmly to my arm. His other hand remained intertwined into his wife’s hand. Wes stopped us. He gave me a box. I took the box. I did not need to ask what it was. I suspected inside were the recordings I just watched. Wes never said a word. He hugged me, kissed my tear covered cheek then walked away.

  As impossible as it may be, time moves on. Even when you believe time should stop, stand still and keep you frozen, it moves on. The days turn into weeks, the weeks into months. The seasons change, and strangely you find yourself maybe not fully living but moving somehow. Those first movements are surprising, and you find the destination is of little importance. The fact you have keep on moving is all you can ask for.

  When you lose someone, those tiny strands which bind you, connecting your life along with the lives of others, snap. With the passing of time, each connection, each strand expands, eventually stretching then snapping one, by one, by one. This may not be done on purpose, not done on any conscious level, the passing of time doing what it must. It must move forward. Time, it keeps changing.

  You wake-up one day to find the friends you had, they changed with the times as well. You do not blame them. You do not hold them accountable for this change or find their need for change in any way a betrayal. While they mourned their loss and yours, they had to find a way to live, to breathe. Their way, their path was a different path than yours. They allowed themselves to heal, and move on with their lives. It is within this change you find a large expanse separates you from who you were and who you are. So while in many ways you will always find fond thoughts and consider the memories of your friends special, your friends move on as well. As they should. They continue living their lives, making new connections, new strands. They spend time with their families and their current circle of unbroken friends. You understand this because while you are not quite whole, you find yourself taking one day at a time, living such a strange twisted version of a life on your own.

  You witness this change on their faces, in their eyes when they come to see you or when you try to go out together. The change is too much. Without the person who made your life and theirs brighter, you find you have little to talk about, surprisingly even less in common. You find the common thread to be your mutual loss. This pain is more than they can handle. Seeing you, they are reminded of the pain in which they have worked so hard to put behind them. You, of course, live with the pain. It is part of you so you find it necessary to allow those strands to break, setting them free while allowing yourself to stay within the confines of what completes you. Your friend, your constant companion, is the familiar warmth of your loss. You cling to this loss.

  In time, you begin to find in the little things you are actually capable of success. It is with those little victories a sense of accomplishment comes. You start to give yourself credit. You found some way to keep on moving. When you hear a song which no longer brings on tears, a sense of healing does creep in, an achievement. The melody sends sweet memories in its place, removing the tears. You know this small victory, this healing, is not quite permanent. You know the holes which riddle your heart are not sealed over. You know those little fault lines which outline the holes will break through somewhere else, but for this day, this song, you did not cry.

  When the screaming stops and the nightmares fade, not mattering how many years it took for them to go, you find a strange empty feeling arrive. You became use to the nightmares. They were a part of you, so when they fade, leave from you, you again feel a sense of sorrow for their loss. You know yet another part of you has changed. Another part of you has moved.

  While this may sound impossible, disheartening, unnatural, unrealistic, or untrue, it is in reality my truth. I found myself moving. I placed one foot in front of the other in an attempt to make myself budge. Eventually, I no longer remained connected to the strands which kept me grounded in this place. It was time to leave New York. To pack up the vestiges of Winter Perri and leave behind my former life. I would try to forge ahead with what would never be a better life, but hopefully be something to call my own. So, I said my goodbyes to Austin’s parents, wished them love, and trusted they would understand my need to leave.

  Jewel was my last tie to Austin’s friends. She tried hard to stay connected to me, but she would be the last strand to break.

  “I love you, Winter,” Jewel said as she cried.

  “I love you, too, Jewel. Take care of yourself.”

  “I will, you too.”

  Jewel helped me pack the last few boxes into my car, kissed my cheek, hugged my neck then stood crying, waving on the sidewalk as I pulled away from my past. With tears streaming down my face I reached up and wiped them away, refusing to glance into the review mirror. I headed out into my unknown future. I never looked back, never once.

  Chapter Five

  COLORADO

  Without any real idea of where to go, I followed my mother’s urging to move back home. I headed to Colorado, except not back to my childhood home. I had to find a way to live on my own, finding a home an hour or so from Denver. The winters can be brutal. But I enjoy the winter now. I remember how much Austin loved the snow, and how much he wanted me to embrace the beauty of myself, my name, as well the season.

  I kept Austin’s words with me, imprinted inside of a gold locket. His wedding vows always hang next to my heart. They give me the strength to continue. I think of him often only to find the color of his eyes, the lines of his face, the feel of his body in many different memories. While some memories are crisp, others are harder to recall. So those are the memories I try to focus on the most. I need them. All I have are my memories, so I cling to them.

  I would like to tell you my existence went on, improved, that I found a way to be if not happy at least content. I would like to give you some pearl of wisdom, some kernel of truth so as to show you Winter Perri did survive, bounced back, found joy, happiness, love…but I can’t. What I can admit is I have found many different ways to isolate myself. However I am able to do some things with less pain.

  The full blown panic attacks left from me, changed. Only now I suffer from a constant underlining anxiety, a constant tugging, nagging, need to move. It is always present, lurking just beneath the surface as if it waits to boil to the top. My sense of color did return from the shades of gray to dull shades of color, but never the full vivid color of my youth. I still cannot find the color red, seeing my blood spill from my arm, pooling into the shapes of roses blooming gray on the white bed sheets of the hospital which once held me. But the one thing which still eludes me, even after all these years, is the brightness, the warmth of the sun. My world never regained its balance. You see it maintains within a permanent winter solstice. I may see the sun but it hold
s no brilliance, no warmth for me.

  For the first few years after Austin’s death, it was hard to look at myself in the mirror. I hated the reflection looking back at me. I avoided the pain, pulled myself deeper into the world without reflection. I couldn’t see my eyes without seeing the pain, and knew the eyes which looked back at me were not the eyes which Austin loved. In truth I worried, not able to find any semblance of the girl or the woman Austin loved.

  With the passage of time, I can look into the mirror, but I still don’t find the Winter which belonged to Austin. It is impossible to find that person, that Winter, being so altered by my loss. It’s improbable, as well silly to believe I could ever return to Austin’s Winter. She exists as a distant memory locked inside other memories of her past life with Austin. So I do not allow anyone a look or find a deeper reflection than what is at present seen upon the surface.

  Maybe I am like an old novel: read and worn. A novel once loved but pieces, parts, pages of what was loved is no longer identifiable by the contents or by the cover. Those pages are missing in the tattered, frayed, lost pages of time. Perhaps I am like an old photograph which has lost its color, fading into ghostly shades, only finding a pale reminder, an aberration of what I was once. But it is this face I know, this version of Winter I have come accept.

  My smile has changed. The life in my eyes dimmed yet it is my new smile, my new eyes. While I am nowhere near whole, I have made some small progress. I can breathe here in Colorado. Not the same deep pain free breaths of my past life or the breaths I took with Austin, but the kind of breaths which allow me to exist. And to exist even faintly so is all I can ask for.

  “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one…. Happy New Year!”