A Vacant Space

The next spring, it will be either you or me. Jim gazed at me tight-lipped. I can sense that he is downright annoyed. It mystifies me each time when he gives such a look. I gape when my unspoken words climb into him. Is it my face? Does my face mirror what I feel? It could be. Jim, my Jim. He is with me for a long time. He is the last thing I have in my life. 

Slacken your grip. Don't stare. You can't pull the voice out of my vocal cord. My throat is sore, and my lips are dry. Can't you see, I'm exhausted? He gave a serene expression and moved with me like an obedient son. As though he followed and acknowledged my inner voice. No words spilled, and no actions made. It is a heart to heart talk between us. This bond I share with Jim is the only solace.

People believe I am dumb, but I don't want to talk. When I spoke the real words out of my mouth? It was during last spring. 

Spring instills the idea of rebirth. Yes, I'm reborn before a year. A pat on me, I'm celebrating the first anniversary today. A ceremony for rebirth sounds a charming name. Charming as in the red and yellow tulips, which grow in the lanes of this park. 

How about my life? Does the Lilacs bloom? 

The last time my face bloomed is far way. I'm losing the light in my tunnel. I love to watch Lilacs. Violets, I want to smear their violet all over my body. Not anymore. Now, I'm pale like the pale violet lilacs. Not anymore, I can't see them anymore. First, I don't want to. Second, they don't plant lilacs anymore in our park. It was from last year they stopped planting them. Charlie inquired them. The reason the visitor center said was silly not for Charlie, but to me. Who thinks Lilacs smells strong? Only a fool. I'm so judgmental. That was the remarks he uses to slash me. To him, lilacs are cloying. That doesn't mean Charlie wasn't sweet to me.

Spark. The moment my face blushed and bloomed. I can see a spark in my tunnel. The last and final, a speck of sparkle, this, I can painfully cherish at this moment. It was when he handed the lilacs bouquet. He never gave it, reason - the fragrance. But it was the only one time he gave it. I can recall his calm, radiant face reflected on the violet petals at this point. For a short second, Irises bloom out of my weary face. The next second, my iris is dry. I'm Charlie minus one. Go away. I push out the smiles. I don't want to feel the pain that follows.

Why my mind clings around Irises?

I wore black lace long sleeve body-con. I was watching out of the windows. My aunt plucked the Irises, which grew in our garden. The bright smile of those flowers adorned my mom's coffin. It is the last time I saw them as well. No more Irises bloomed in my life, after the age of fifteen. I no more miss my mom. I forgot her warmth. Then why Irises bother me? 

I love the fountain in this park. I wish I could melt in its water. The grass around the fountain is green. Green. My iris is green. John, a part of Charles and me, our son had green eyes like me. Yes, he had. I can't tell he has. There is no pain. I'm numb. How could I feel the things when I lose my senses. My emotions died with John. Four springs back, I lost him. Why should I? Why me? He was young. A wasted life. Sigh.

My springs are winter. Mom. Charles. John. Spring made me fall. This downfall makes my life tied with a bottomless chasm. Yes, I'm sinking in this abyss.

I can connect abyss with the nightmare. The nightmare that John had a year before his soul merged with the vacuum. It started for him after our vacation. It was five springs back. Again the spring. I hate the word spring. I want to erase it from my dictionary. If it haunts me again, I'm going to murder spring. 

What went wrong? The vacation was beautiful. Daffodils, Primroses, Tulips, and Lilacs ornamented the park. It was a great evening. He could have got the dream of handing a bouquet to his girlfriend. But why should those flowers tangle him? Doesn't a nightmare occur at night? Why should it happen in the day? Is it a daydream? A syndrome? Whatever, but it took John.

I'm lonely, but I have Jim. He is not enough. I don't hate Jim, but I can't see Jim in John's place. With Charles, I had a person to share. Why should he leave me so soon? Did I kill Charles? Yes.

I buried my pain in his arms. Did I overload the dosage of hurt in him? Could be. The heart is fragile than the petals of a rose. I'm wilted rose drying and dying in and out. 

Speaking of dying, did John thought about me at his dying minute? How could he? He might have been fighting to disentangle from the clutches of the dreadful daffodils. Poor John. Not right to battle with daffodils while driving. Did I kill John? Yes.

The story of the nightmare he said, I didn't believe. I thought it was his cooked up story. Have I trusted him? No. If I had, I would have helped him. I forced him to drive, drive alone, and he is no more. I killed twice, but I made spring the murderer. I am so afraid to take the blame. Wait. Did I murder my mom? Yes, I did.

I asked, inquired, blamed, accused her. For what? Isn't my rights to know who my dad is? Why couldn't she say? She could have had a reason. I failed to trust her. I didn't know where to talk and where not to? 

By next spring, it's going to be either you or me. Jim thinks I'm going to kill him or myself. Either Jim will fill my vacuum, or I will fill Jim's. He can't see through me since he is playing on the grass. In this cold evening, if he hears my thoughts, he will wag his tail out of happiness.