How to Save a Life (Not Your Own)

You are born on Christmas Day. There is a light layer of snow on the ground. Your parents say you’re the most incredible gift they’ve ever received. You are a happy baby. Look at that smile!

 A few years later, your mother is diagnosed with ovarian cancer. She turns out to be fine after everything, but you will be an only child. 

When you are six, you break your arm. Your father cries more than you do.

At eleven, you wake with blood in your panties. Your mother shows you what to do. We’ll start with pads and liners, ok? 

At thirteen, your parents buy you a puppy. You name him Toad, and he has the biggest ears. You could tie them together if you wanted to.  

You pass your license test at sixteen. Parallel parking is the bane of your existence. 

Lose your virginity at seventeen to the love of your life. (He’s not.) 

You attend your first choice college for five years. It is hard, and you call your mom every day. You can do this, honey. Just think, one day, you’ll be on the big screen. 

At twenty-six, you get into a fender bender with a BMW. You exchange information with the other driver. His name is Michael.

Michael asks you on a date. (He’s very cute.) You say yes. He takes you to dinner, walks you to your front door at the night's end. 

Michael is perfect. He brings you coffee and toast before you’ve properly awoken for the day. You think you may love him.

Sometimes, Michael drinks too much. Are you drinking right now? It’s barely noon.

Two years later, Michael proposes with your mother’s ring. You make love all night, wild and hot. You love watching the diamond’s sparkle dance in the light. 

You buy your first home. Country front porch and a manicured lawn. Michael carries you across the threshold. Pushes you against the door, tongue roaming, your giggles quieted by his mouth. This could be the best day of your life.

After another year, you are now Mrs. Michael. Aren’t they just the prettiest couple? He looks at her like she created the universe. 

Michael gives you your first black eye. You learn that green concealer covers red welts. He buys you flowers. He loves you. 

Michael starts working late. Drinking more. He buys you a new car. You love him.

Michael is drinking too much. You ask him to stop. He says he will. (He won’t.) I’m sorry, honey. The head honchos are breathing down my neck, and I just–. I’ll do better. For you.

You realize that just because you want something bad enough doesn’t mean you’ll get it. You’re a smart girl. Look around you. These women would rip out your heart to get this role. You just don’t have the same drive. But if you grow a backbone and get a boob job, maybe I’ll have something for you.

Michael draws you a bath, washes your hair with delicate fingers. When he offers wine, you can’t bring yourself to be upset. You see your reflection in the glass, your tears drip drip dripping into it. 

You hate being a cashier. You look in the mirror at your wrinkled polo and dull eyes. Everyone says you’ll get back on your feet and show them all. Shame and embarrassment are woven into your face, buried in your frown lines. 

Michael has a few drinks. The scotch on his breath chokes you, and you ram an accusing finger in his face. The closest you’ve ever come to striking him. You get into an argument (again), and he shoves you. You lose your balance and fall down the stairs. You are conscious for a few minutes, and your throat gurgles.  You have a seizure that lasts for what seems like an eternity. At 3:26 a.m., you are pronounced dead. Your death is ruled an unfortunate accident. We’re sorry, sir. If you had found her a few hours earlier, we may have been able to help her. Here, sit down. You’ll get through this. 

More people than you ever imagined come to your funeral.  Such a shame. She was so young. She used to babysit my kids; I don’t know what I’ll tell them. Your parents and Michael form a huddle and weep. You’re exhausted. You close your eyes.

Time has passed. How long? You realize that no one can see you. Your breath comes in harsh, wheezing gasps. Get a grip.  Close your eyes.

Michael buys a new house with blue shutters and no stairs. You watch as he puts his wedding band on the mantle. You wonder why you always wake up near him. Close your eyes.

Your father dies. You can’t remember what his face looks like. You stay awake and try to move different objects. Doesn’t work. Close your eyes.

Michael has new wrinkles. Wears glasses now. You move a cup until it falls off the table. Glass runs across the tile, embedding in the grout. Tired. Close your eyes.

Michael has a girlfriend. She has long legs and laugh lines that crinkle the edges of her face. You hope he doesn’t hurt her. You can’t remember your name. You practice flicking the light switch. On. Off. On. Off. Close your eyes.

He buys a bottle of whiskey. You tip it over, and it bleeds across the floor in slow waves. The carpet is ruined. Don’t know what you used to look like. Close your eyes. 

What is your name? Who are you? You think you might be dead. Is this a nightmare? Who is that man? Close.

It’s Christmas Eve, and sleet ping ping pings on the windows. The woman stands before the fireplace, softly crooning words you can’t understand. Her voice warbles and goes out of focus. Her mouth is curving up, and he takes her hand. You can’t hear them. Something is wrong. Something is– Close. 

The man is angry. (What’s his name?) He’s screaming at the woman, veins bulging and spittle flying. She cowers beneath him, arms protecting her face. He raises a fist. You move faster than ever before. Plunge a hand into his chest. (Didn’t know you could do that.) You squeeze and rip and tear. The woman makes little keening sounds. The man dies with your name on his blue lips. 

The woman presses her face to the floor, body shaking and sweating. Midnight has passed. The wind hums around the house. It’s Christmas Day, and the woman is still alive. Your gift to her. 

It’s Christmas Day, and he has given you one last gift. One word. 

Your name was Molly. You don’t want to forget. 

Your name was Molly.

 Name was Molly. 

Molly.