Children of Memories

by Matthew Fish

  Andrew paces about his apartment nervously. He knows now that he has to leave. He has spent enough time in the purgatory of his apartment, trapped away from the outside world. He knows that there is nothing past the door to Red Manor Apartments that awaits him; he has no reason to leave. However, as he puts on his heavy black jacket and slides his Walkman MP3 player into his jeans, he comes to realize that he has no plans to return here. Not to this place of sadness and memory. He goes over to the blank spot on the wall and hangs Anna’s picture back up, covering the patch of grey against the red wallpaper.

  “Another life, perhaps,” Andrew says as he touches the cold glass of the photo frame.

  Andrew stops outside the bathroom and looks to the mirror, most intently on its contents behind the mirrored door. He thinks to take his remaining Xanax with him but figures that at this point he no longer cares. In a way, this is an ending. He does not yet know how things will end, but he knows that the waiting for him will soon be over. Although he did not receive any kind wish of love, opportunity, or a chance to feel alive again that he was waiting for, he knows that there is at least one thing that we all await that lies out there in the cold. Despite the grimness of this realization it gives him small amount of comfort: finally, the pain will be gone, and whatever comes after that could be no worse than his mock existence here in this red-walled apartment.

  Andrew gives his apartment one final look from the door. He descends the spiral staircase down to the first floor. He takes a deep breath as he pulls open the large arched white doorway ahead of him and steps out into the street lined with oak trees. He begins to walk, his pace almost a light sprint. He takes no notice of the life that surrounds him—people on their way home from work, cars passing by. The snowflakes falling from the sky grow thick and sting as they come touch his bare cheeks. His nose grows red and his breath escapes his lips in wispy tendrils. He walks on, never slowing his pace despite the burn in his chest and legs.

  The buildings and busy roads slowly give way to countryside. The sidewalk ends and he finds himself walking on the side of the unlined road. A fine layer of snow covers the ground and has piled onto the branches of trees that still desperately cling to their autumn leaves. Andrew has not been out this way in such a long time, not since he was a teen. It takes him hours to reach his destination as nightfall comes to greet him.

  Andrew stands on the side of the road—before him is a field, and off from that field is a small patch of trees off in the distance. The field glows a faint orange from the reflection of the city lights and the thick clouds overhead.

  “I’m here, Emily,” Andrew whispers as he awaits the impossible. He sits against the cold ground and rubs his bare hands together for warmth. It grows later and later and nothing comes. After all, to expect either Emily or the fireflies is a foolish notion of someone who has lost all hope and notion of reality. Andrew shakes his head as he feels the anxiety grow from deep within him. Part of him feels as though he should run home and medicate himself. The other part knows the truth: he has come here to die—in a manner of his own choosing, on his own terms, and in the last place he shared a memorable moment with Emily Jones. He figures the combination of the cold, the lack of food, and the anxiety from withdrawal will not allow him to survive the night.

  It is past midnight as Andrew sits, still as stone and, for once, not lost in thought. His mind is a blank canvas. His eyes focus off into the tree line as he sees something flash between the treetops. Perhaps he is hallucinating. Still, curiosity draws him in like a moth to the flame. He gets to his feet and coaxes his sore muscles to perform the function of walking through the snow-covered field. He covers the distance and finds himself in a thick forest of tall bur oak trees. All about him are the spent leaves from fall; there is no sign of the brilliant flash of light he is sure that he saw earlier. Instead he is left only with the darkness and the sound of soft leaves rustling in the wind. He props himself up against a tree as he lets his exhausted legs rest. His body cries out in protest from the exhaustion. His mind races with thoughts of madness as though the anxiety kept as bay has been completely released. He thinks to reach for his cell and dial 911 so that he may be rescued, but realizes that he tossed his phone. There is no way back; he is far too tired to even attempt such a feat.

  He rests his head against the cold, rough surface of the tree bark behind his head and allows himself to drift away—for what Andrew assumes may even be the last time. He is so tired, so worn, that, despite his anxiety, he finally just lets himself go. Blackness overcomes him; he can feel his body shivering in the cold but is far too weak to do anything about it. A dreamless sleep begins. He is at least thankful that his final dream will be of neither Emily nor Anna, yet an unsettling void, an abyss.

  Andrew is roused by the crunching sound of footfalls upon fall leaves. He painfully opens his eyes and next to him, spotting a white doe walking so closely that he might reach out and touch it. The creature is so beautiful he wonders if he has not passed on to something else, but the pain in his body roots him back into reality.

  Andrew looks off to the distance as he hears another sound. There is someone else in the forest with him. He makes out the image of a man perched behind a tree dressed in tan camouflage. The man steadies a hunting rifle in his gloved hands. The hunter is taking aim at the white doe that stands beside him on the other side of the tree.

  Andrew jumps to his feet and rushes to startle the doe away from the hunter’s aim—instead he finds himself in the line of fire as he takes a bullet to his side. His body erupts in pain as blood shoots forth, staining the white doe in brilliant red spatters.

  The hunter sprints toward Andrew.

  “What…?” the hunter mumbles in shock as he drops the gun. Confused and bewildered by the situation he mutters only one shaky word: “Why?”

  “Why not…,” Andrew whispers as his body screams out in pain and he attempts to place a hand to the wound.

  Without a reply the hunter rushes off and disappears from view.

  Thinking that he is now alone Andrew is shocked to find a young teen beside him, staring at his wound as though both confused and deeply concerned. Although Andrew’s vision is hazy he can barely make out her features of dark hair and familiar green eyes. There is blood staining her face and white dress.

  “Are you an angel?” Andrew asks, looking to his blood-covered hands as the pain eases — he figures it must be the shock.

  “I am not…,” the girl says as she places a hand to Andrew’s forehead.

  “Emily?” Andrew asks, his vision growing hazy.

  “Elise,” the girl replies.

  “Why do all girls remind me of her,” Andrew asks as he coughs up a bit of blood.

  “Why did you do that?”

  “Seemed like a shame to harm something so beautiful,” Andrew whispers as he nods off for a moment. “I came out here to die anyway. At least…I’ve made a difference in some small way. I suppose.”

  “Why do you want to die?”

  “I can’t seem to figure out a future that has me in it.” Andrew chuckles and then instantly regrets it as he doubles over in pain. “There is no point. I am not needed here anymore.”

  “You have a very short amount of time,” the mysterious girl, Elise, says as she pulls a red book from behind her back and places it in Andrew’s bloody hand. She then pulls out a silver pen and places it in his other.

  “I leave everything to you,” Andrew whispers with a painful half smile as he fumbles with the book, the title of which reads The White Stag.

  “This is not a will…. Write down whatever you wish in this book and it will come true—a reward for your sacrifice.”

  “Anything?”

  “Anything you desire; I owe you that for your act of unselfish kindness.”

  “So you are…were…the white doe?”

  “Please,” Elise adds as she presses Andrew’s hand to the paper.

  Andrew scrawls out in terrible, anguished writing. I wi
sh her happiness… I wish her love.

  “Who do you wish this for?”

  “Anna.”

  “Do you not wish anything for yourself?” Elise asks as she holds Andrew’s hand to the paper.

  He can only think of one last thing he’d like to see before dies so he scribbles down I want to see fireflies again, with Emily.

  “And that is all?”

  “Yep.”

  “Do you not wish to be saved?”

  “Not particularly,” Andrew says as he rests his head against the ground and looks upward to the oncoming batch of new snowflakes.

  “Thank you,” Elise whispers as she takes the book and pen from Andrew’s hand.

  “Just take care of Anna, do whatever you can to make sure she is happy…” Andrew whispers in reply.

  Andrew’s heavy eyes search out the girl but he can find no trace of her. His hazy vision makes out the white doe once more rejoining a larger majestic, white stag, then in an instant they are both gone. He rests his head against the leaves beneath him and closes his eyes as everything fades to black. An eternity seems to pass in pain before that, too, disappears.

  Andrew finds himself standing back at the familiar street. The coldness and pain that surrounded him has disappeared. He looks to the field ahead and the fireflies begin to glow one by one until thousands surround him. Andrew smiles as he shakes his head. He feels better than he has in years.

  A short distance away, in the faint light from the full moon, Andrew can make out a familiar yellow car. A girl is seated upon the hood looking out toward the same fireflies upon which he was transfixed. As he walks over to the car, she smiles, her green eyes glowing in the brilliant moonlight.

  “Emily?” Andrew asks. He knows that it is her, just faced with the impossibility of the situation he does not exactly know how to react to what is going on around him.

  “Andrew,” Emily replies as she pats her hand against the hood of the car.

  Andrew pulls himself up nervously and looks to Emily. He wants to put his arms around her, for he has missed her dearly. Still, he feels that same apprehension that he felt with Anna many times before. However, luckily, he does not need to act as she reaches over and embraces him.

  “Where are we?” Andrew asks as he holds on to Emily, afraid that at any moment she might disappear.

  “Our favorite spot,” Emily says with a short laugh as she kisses Andrew on the cheek.

  “I’ve missed you,” Andrew whispers.

  “I have missed you as well,” Emily says as she runs a hand across Andrew’s cheek.

  “Are you disappointed in me?”

  “I could never be,” Emily says as she smiles happily. “I never was, and…I will never be.”

  “I’m glad,” Andrew says as he hugs Emily tightly.

  “I’m sorry I never went to your funeral…I just. I just couldn’t bring myself to go. I always regretted that. I never really got to properly say goodbye. I felt like such a coward. Do you forgive me?”

  “There is nothing to forgive,” Emily says as a single tear streams down from her eye that catches the moonlight and gleams like a diamond. “I didn’t go myself, so I don’t figure you missed out on too much.”

  “Even now with the jokes?”

  “Do you mind them?”

  “I never did,” Andrew says as he finds that he can no longer hold back the tears.

  “Don’t cry, Andrew,” Emily pleads as she hugs him tightly and kisses away the tears from his cheeks.

  “What happens now?”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “Of course,” Andrew says as he allows Emily to lead him away from the car by hand.

  Together in silence they walk into the field. The fireflies dance about them playfully as the warm summer breeze blows through the air, casting the lights astray. The pair reach the forest in the distance and walk into the clearing that Andrew found himself in earlier.

  In the darkness, Emily lies Andrew down against the ground next to the familiar oak tree. She kisses him on the lips for what seems like an eternity then finally withdraws.

  “Are you leaving?” Andrew asks. He attempts to get back up but finds himself unable to move. It is as though he is frozen to the spot. He wonders if he is finally passing on.

  “For now—yes.”

  “I love you, Emily.”

  “I will always love you, Andrew.”

  Andrew’s eyes force themselves shut as darkness comes once more. Soon the warmth of summer is gone. The fireflies are no longer visible beneath the veil of his closed eyes. Andrew is fearful, saddened—yet grateful at the same time to whatever magic, if that is what it might be, that allowed him to have one last moment with Emily—it was more than he could have ever possibly wished for. He allows himself to fade away, contented with what he has experienced. Soon the fear and the sadness disappear into the infinite darkness. Andrew begins to lose himself. He can feel himself slipping away, like a flag being ripped away in a hurricane—a feeling that is both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time, like the first drop on a rollercoaster. A tunnel appears its borders like a raging thunderstorm. Andrew flies through so quickly that he cannot even comprehend anything that is happening, and then finally it all ends in an apex of brilliant white.

  Then something happens that Andrew does not expect. He opens his eyes. His body is filled with the dull ache of pain once more. Breathing is difficult; he reaches a free hand to his face and finds a tube attached to his nose. His mind reels as he attempts to piece together what has happened to him. Disoriented, he stares at the IV in his wrist and the turned-off television that hangs above his bed. The smell of medication and cleaner is full in the air. Curled up next to him in the hospital bed, and holding tightly on to his other hand is Anna—asleep.

  He reaches down, careful of his IV, and runs his hand down her cheek. She rouses slightly, and then opens her eyes.

  “Anna…,” Andrew whispers as though he is still lost in dreams.

  “Don’t get any ideas; we’re not married now or anything like that,” Anna says with a smile as she reaches a hand around Andrew and hugs him tightly, careful to avoid his bandages.

  “I’m just glad you’re here,” Andrew says as he holds tightly on to Anna’s hand.

  “What were you thinking?”

  “That I had lost you forever…I don’t know. I was in a bad place.”

  “How do you feel now?”

  “Hopeful,” Andrew says as looks down to Anna. “How do you feel about this?”

  “The same. I think that…perhaps we can go from here and just see what happens. Who knows, maybe in three years we’ll be getting married atop a mountain somewhere as a choir of kitties sings us Rod Stewart covers.”

  “Atop a mountain—you know I am afraid of heights,” Andrew added with a painful laugh.

  “I never said I wasn’t going to make you work for it—so, you don’t mind the jokes?”

  “I never did. Don’t ever change.”

  “All right, but you aren’t going to stand the smell of me in about three weeks or so.”

  “I’m okay with that.”

  Anna pulls out Andrew’s MP3 player from her pocket and hands it to him, “I got you a present…It’s kind of a re-gift. I know you can’t live without this thing.”

  Andrew places one of the ear buds in his ear and shares the other with Anna, he hits the shuffle button on the Walkman and the song begins—This is the first day/of the rest of your life. Your head was in the worst way, so you cast it aside. Open up your window/breathe in the air. The present is around you now/will you be there? All you got to do is follow through, don’t you dare deny something that you’ll never know/you’re about to realize/ Don’t you know that it’s not fair to yourself to cast aside, all your never-ended dreams screaming out to come alive, to come alive. To come alive.

  —Todd Carey “The First Day”

  All lyrics used with Permission

  Special thanks to: Todd Carey