It was mostly dark.
She was six.
“Do you remember what she said before she went away?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“She said: ‘You can’t die; the world needs you.”
“That’s right; that’s what she did say. And what did you say after?”
“I said: ‘Ok.”
“And then?”
“And then I said: ‘I love you.”
“Mmhm.”
“And then I cried.”
“I know. It’s ok.”
“It’s hard.”
“I know.”
“When will it be ok?”
“I can’t tell you that, sweetness; you’ll have to decide for yourself when it’s ok.”
“But I want it to be ok now. It hurts.”
“I know. Think back; what did she tell you to do when someone says hello?”
“She said to be nice and say hello and please and thank you, and to look at them in their eyes and not be ascared of them.”
“That’s right; that’s what she did say. And I want you to remember that, because she went away from here, but she’s still in *here*, and when she comes to you in your thoughts, I want you to treat her the way she told you to.”
“What do you mean?”
“When she comes to you in your thoughts, don’t treat her like a stranger, and turn away from her; go to her, and treat her the way you know she’d want you to.”
“Ok.”
“It will be hard, but if you don’t treat her like a stranger in your heart, it’ll be okay someday.”
“How will I know it’s ok?”
“You’ll know because it won’t be not-ok anymore.”
“It’s hard.”
“I know.”
“I miss her.”
“I know. Me too.”
* * *
It was mostly dark.
I was surprised to see that she was here.
A summer breeze danced lightly through the window she had opened when she came, gently offering a mellow bouquet of the marigolds in the garden. My time fluttered in the breeze the way a robin does when alighting.
I saw my tenth birthday party.
I saw myself tossing and moaning through the dream I had had that night; about a strange older girl I didn’t know yet, yelling. About her hitting me.
My time fluffed itself a bit, and settled.
I felt like I might be sick.
* * *
She was saying things, but they didn’t seem to be aimed in my direction, particularly; as though her company fell around me coincidentally because I just happened to have been unwittingly standing in the same faraway field that the artillerymen of her love for me used for training exercises.
She was saying things, but they were mostly to herself, like I was a very small child, or a particularly obnoxious crossword puzzle.
The mortars of her love crashed quietly around me.
“Whatever you’re chasing, it must be important, ’cause you’ve got that look again. You’re very far away right now; I can tell.”
She raised her eyebrows and sighed, reloading.
“But when are you not? I wish you could tell me what you’re thinking about.”
She looked away; around my room, as her batteries fell silent.
“Time.”
She startled a bit at the report of unanticipated return fire; looked in my direction. Crosswords don’t talk back, you see.
“What?”
“I’m thinking about time. About how…about how it passes strangely, if you let it, you know?”
“I don’t understand what you-”
She came to stand by the bed, and put her hand in mine; squeezed.
At her touch, my time startled, dashing forward in a zig-zag, and then slamming to a halt, the way a squirrel does when there are teenagers about.
I saw the morning three years from this past spring when I asked her to marry me.
I saw myself making breakfast bareass in the kitchen; heard myself grumble to shut the damn window she had just opened; that it wasn’t that warm out yet.
“No, it’s beautiful outside. And don’t talk to me like I’m your wife.”
“Well..would you like to be?”
I watched as I proposed, naked in our tiny kitchen over on Baldwin; as I bent her over the breakfast table, and we celebrated.
As the eggs burned, and the fire alarm went off.
As our cries folded themselves into love notes and fell from the open window.
As the weird kid downstairs called his roommate to come listen.
I saw the fights we had when I started forgetting when I was.
I saw the night we fought, and I pushed her.
I saw the hospital.
I saw her leave.
I saw the dreams I still had 26 years later of my first girlfriend.
I saw her die when our daughter was six.
I saw our daughter grow up, and cut me out of her life like the Cancer I was.
I saw our daughter die.
I saw the ash cloud, and watched as the sun went out in America.
I saw Boston die.
She squeezed my hand again, and my time slammed to a halt so suddenly it made me feel sick to my stomach. I dry-heaved, but there was nothing in left in me.
I felt confused, and empty.
I looked at her with all of my attention, realizing for the first time in decades how radiantly beautiful she had been at 29. How the light crows tracks at her temples accentuated her eyes, and only made her more beautiful; just how easily I could see the architecture of the house her father’s mother had built for her before she was born; just how badly I would miss her for thirty-four years. I blinked and she doubled, and I realized I was crying.
I had bitten my lip during the time shudder, and I suddenly tasted copper.
She squeezed again.
“Can you hear me?”
“It’s not important. We’re not there anymore.”
She leaned forward with a tissue pulled from the box at my bedside, dabbing at the blood.
“Sorry, can you say that again? I didn’t understa- “
“It’s okay, I promise. It’s really not important anymore, I’m just…my time has been passing strangely, like she said it would, and I’ve started meeting people I met in my dreams years ago.”
“Can you please try a little harder to make the words? I can’t understand what you’re saying.”
She burst into tears, and I realized that I was dying.
Time shuddered one last time.
I saw her pick our daughter up from her crib, and sing her the lullaby her father teased her with on our wedding day.
“Shh, my dearest, Shh my love Be still, my heart; for I cannot be where you are not, and if you left… well… where you ought go, I could not follow.”
She kissed our daughter’s forehead.
“Shh sweetness, you can’t cry, the world needs you.”