Farewell

Harsh light exposes the bluish tone his lips have taken, his locks matted and bristly. The vibrant spring has left his eyes as they now look past me, glassing over. The warmth of his skin is grimly muted. My eyes rest upon his hand, waiting for another light squeeze, but none come. His eyelids flutter shut and a darkness descends on his vision. A gut-wrenching sob tears through my chest.

Sunlight paints his soft lips a dark apricot, his windswept locks a deep brown. His eyes as bright as a blooming forest. His skin resembling warm honey. My eyes rest upon his hand, in his tight grip he holds a bouquet of pink tulips, so sweet its perfume fills my soul and a colour so vivid I’m reminded how it feels for your heart to fill. We hold each others gaze from across the street, eyes like magnets, softening at the sight of each other. I am blinded to the rest of the world when I see him, my heart is nourished in his presence.

We stand on opposite sides of a bustling street, flowers line the window ledges of pastel buildings towering over us, small stalls filled with antiques and nicknacks take up some of the pathway. A deep red bus blurs my vision and brings me out of my trance, but as it passes and descends deeper into the city, he is still there, standing tall with a giddy grin plastered across his face.

It feels like if I take a step closer he will disappear, would it be so greedy of me to venture across the street into his arms? Or will it end in torture when he fades away, like he always does. It was never a question if I broke after his passing, and it becomes more evident every time I see him, my mind is playing cruel tricks on me, still, I feel a wolfish hunger to venture to him, so I do. Crossing the street I clench my purse tightly as if it’s the only anchor to keep me stable, when I reach him his smile grows wider. He doesn’t fade yet, and I’m glad my wreck of mind gave me the luxury of a few more minutes with him.

✶

I remember when a few minutes with him wasn’t a luxury, I thought our time together was unlimited, that our love for each other would defeat anything that tried to get in our way. It was a Sunday morning when I first met him, after a long and grim winter, spring had finally come and flowers were in blossom, popping up everywhere even the tree’s looked to fresh I practically leaped outside to breath in their air. I had decided to take a walk and I passed a bakery with its door propped open onto the street, no doubt to let the scent of baking bread fill it. It was a clean, slightly-sweet aroma that somehow smelt warm, like you were curled up on the couch under a warm blanket. I almost felt hypnotised by the scent as it pulled me into the store.

I was greeted by a handsome young man, around my age at the counter. He wasn’t the type of stereotypical handsome, he was different, the type were you find yourself happier by just seeing him, the type were you feel like you’d just stumbled upon buried treasure. He was well-built but also had a softness to him, light freckles painted his face highlighting his curious eyes. I felt my cheeks darken and myself smile as he greeted me;

“It’s a good morning to smile isn’t it?” He says while his eyes roam my face,

“It really is” I agree, taken aback by his curiosity.

“Spring has really sprung!” He jokes, and after he does he almost curses to himself, as if he’s embarrassed he said it. I’m not sure how to reply, so I chuckle to myself as I feel my cheeks get even hotter. He tries to busy himself at the counter while I look at what's in the display cabinet, although I find myself studying his dirty apron, caked with flour and his gentle clean hands.

“How much is one cinnamon roll?” I ask,

“Uh, $2.50” He replies,

“Okay, could I just get one?”

“Sure! Good choice by the way, these are my favourite” He smiles,

“Then you have good taste” I flirt. He pulls out a paper bag and places two rolls into it,

“Oh sorry, I only asked for one” I add,

“Yeah, but boss has this policy that I have to give extra’s to cute girls” He winks,

“Well, tell your boss I like that policy” I reply. We both go silent looking at each other and I’m the first to break out of the trance,

“Well thank you, have a nice day” I say as I hand him the money and start to leave, he seems surprised to see me go. I’m almost out to door when he sputters,

“Can I- can I get your name?”

“You can call me Sadie” I laugh.

After our first meeting I would to go to the bakery every single day, until eventually he got the guts to ask me out, Finn was his name, I always thought it fit him perfectly. On our first date he took me on a picnic, red and white chequered picnic mat, champagne and everything. We sat there eating god knows how many bakery treats, talking until orange and pink stretched across the sky in front of us. Our relationship progressed so quickly, but it was so natural, we were soulmates there wasn’t a doubt in either of our minds. I recall when he proposed to me, we had been travelling through Europe, our current destination was Cinque Terre, Italy, a small coastal town with beautiful beaches, great hiking tracks and some of the world’s best bakeries, Finns suggestion of course, we had just finished dinner at a fancy open air restaurant when he popped the question, with the prettiest gold ring I’d ever seen and of course I said yes, that night felt like a dream, his hand in mine as we walked down the beach. Kids weren’t in question for us, a kid just didn’t fit into our lifestyle, our dream was to travel the world 5 times over, we were nomads, and a kid would just get in the way.

We hadn’t even been married 10 years before Finn’s accident. Through our travels in Europe Finn had grown a liking to mopeds, silly things I always thought, why not just get a motorbike?  While we were living in London he bought a second hand one coloured an obnoxious yellow and I swear I couldn’t get him off it. He rode that thing to and from work every day, I just never thought it’d be the death of him.

When I got the call to come down to the hospital and see him, they told me he was in a fatal condition, they weren’t sure how much longer I had with him. The room he was in was cold, sterile and basic, far from the curious, vivid and creative man I loved. There was a cluster of gadgets and equipment surrounding him creating a symphony of sound, buzzing, clicking, whistling, no peace for him in his final moments. Wires were glued to his chest and coming up through the neck of his hospital gown, he was struggling to breath so badly that he couldn’t even say anything, that was the hardest part, knowing my talkative full of life Finn he couldn’t say anything, so I said it all for him, told him how much I loved him, told him just how lucky I was I walked into that bakery, I sat there my lip trembling as I continued to talk, I eventually realised he had passed, I couldn’t feel his faint pulse any more. I couldn’t hold the heartbreak in longer and I feel to the floor in a dishevelled heap as my grief poured out in a flood of uncontrollable tears.

✶

He’s still standing in front of me with that cheeky grin, it’s torture standing here just looking at him. I probably look crazy standing on the street here smiling at thin air, god I miss him, I really just miss him. It’s only been a year since his death, I’m only 37, I still have my whole life in front of me, a life that will be riddled with the memory of him. In a fluster of greed I reach out to hold his free hand, instead of my hand grasping empty air, I touch warm soft flesh, the flesh of his gentle hands, the flesh of someone who’s alive. I thought he was dead, but here he is, right in front of me in the street, smiling at me and holding my hand. My breath catches in my throat as I stare at our hands together, my heart is pounding and my mind is churning, and all I can do is stand there, finally I frown and hesitate as I tilt my head up to look at him, he’s blinking and breathing and…living.

“I’ve missed you, love” He smiles, with tears in his eyes. I freeze in a state of deep shock, how is this real? I watched him die, he is dead.

“Missed me? You- you died?!” I sputter. I can’t even comprehend what’s happening. Suddenly my body is taken over by a tugging sensation my world goes black and I’m thrown into a brief but intense period of disorientation. My vision clears and I realise Finn and I aren’t on the colourful busy street any more, rather a dull room, its walls are cream void of decoration and it has a sterile sharp smell, one that I know all to well. A raised bed lies in a middle of the room, with metal side rails, a header, a footer and eerily blue sheets. Laying on the bed is a lady.

Harsh light exposes her normally mauve lips now pale, her hair once the colour of a burnt orange sunset, rests roughly now almost brown. Her hazel eyes once a melt of autumn tones now look past the both of us, glossing over. Her sun kissed cheeks now dim and lifeless. My eyes rest upon her manicured hands and the rich sparkling gold ring on her ring finger. My brain shutters for a moment, my eyes suddenly blinded by the glow of the lights, I am on pause as my thought’s catch up with me. Another tugging sensation takes over me as I’m sunk into complete darkness, my stomach flips a dozen times. When I open my eyes again Finn and I are laid out on a red and white chequered picnic mat staring at an orange and pink sky, for the second time. He smiles at me, and I smile back.

“I’ve missed you two” I whisper to him.