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He still remembered it. Every night the memories would come back to him
in his dreams. The blood on his hands seemed so real even then. The rain in
the air still hung strong, and even in his sleep he could feel the windshield
broken in his eyes.
His wife had called him and asked him to pick her up from work. On the
way home they talked about plans for the weekend, just the two of them. Them
they laughed as they teased each other about how horrible they sounded
singing along with the radio. Things were how they should be.
Then the car flipped. It hit the mud and rolled over and over. He didn't
know how many times. He just knew they hit hard.
He remembered waking up in the grass along the road. There was a
throbbing in his head as he rolled to his side. Then he saw her. Through the
glass in his eyes he saw her lying in the mud. Her blond hair was soaked from
the blood that ran over her face.
The tears welled in his as he screamed for help. No one answered. No one
ever answered. Then the dream would fade.
** ** ** ** ** ** ** **
The worst part was that they were newlyweds, not even a week as Jake and
Molly Thorpe. Oh, they had so many plans then!
That was three years ago, three years of waking up in a cold sweat
remembering the crash that killed his beloved Molly.
The house hadn't changed at all since then. The lamp on her side of the
unmade bed was in the ON position, though the bulb had burned out long
before. Most of her clothes were still in the closet, though the things she
had set aside to take to the laundromat the next day still sat by the window.
Jake never shut that window. It was Molly's window, the one she used to
stare out all day and she had left open that night. There were watermarks
under it, from where the rain would pour in and drip to the floor. Sometimes
he dreamt she came through it, leaving a trail of her violet perfume, but it
was always a dream.
Jake lay there on the floor in the dark. He hadn't slept in that bed
since that night. He said it didn't feel right. Lying there he could still
hear her footsteps falling in the carpeted room, still hear her laughter
ringing through the halls.
He would lay here like this. Each day, just waiting for the sun to come
up, but the days were never any better.
** ** ** ** ** ** ** **
The Highway Cafe was just down the street and around the corner from his
house. It was a simple place, a tin trailer with a bar and some booths. Most
of the customers were truckers passing through to make deliveries or heading
home.
Jake had been having breakfast there for years. The owner, Mrs. Adelman,
was his neighbor. She was a kind old woman. Most people said she reminded
them of a classic TV grandmother, said she gave this place some kind of
charm. Jake knew her best as Molly's aunt.
He hadn't talked to her since the accident. He just came in everyday and
sat in the same booth, the one back in the corner where Molly's graduation
picture hung next to her obituary. He hated the reminder but he couldn't tear
himself away from the spot.
He liked to watch the people in the restaurant as he drank his coffee.
They always seemed so happy, laughing and telling stories from the road. Some
of the truckers would smile and flirt with the few waitresses that worked
there. It was always the busiest place in town.
Every so often someone would pass through that was the quiet type. The
tortured ones, he called them. Today was one of those days.
She sat away from all the others, her baseball cap pulled low to cover
her eyes. Her brown hair hung loose down to her shoulders and the sweat
shirt she wore seemed to almost swallow her. She didn't look to be any older
than twenty, but her slumped posture made her look worn beyond her years.
The girl hardly looked up when Jamie, the waitress, brought her a glass
of tea. She only whispered "Thank you," and began to drink.
Jaime topped off his cup next. "How ya doin' today, Jake?" she asked,
smiling. She was always happy, nothing ever seemed to bother her. Everybody
always said that a fire could destroy everything she held dear and she would
still walk around town with a smile on her face. Jaime always laughed at
them when they said it. She would just flash a grin and tell them "Sounds
good to me. Without a roof I could watch the clouds drift easier."
"Little at a time." he muttered.
Jake stayed ???til lunch and ordered the cafe's special, chicken noodle
soup. It had always been Molly's favorite. She said she loved the way that
the noodles swam around in the golden broth, Jake just liked the way that the
color matched the wedding band that was still on his left hand.
The girl in the ball cap was still there, too. Earlier she had pulled
out a book from the bag she had beside her, one that had obviously been read
over and over. The soft cover was creased and torn; as were most of the
pages which were peeling out of what little binding that was still left.
Despite the condition of the book, she continued to read it as though she had
never heard the story.
She read for a little while, then turned the book over on the table and
began to stare out the window. The girl watched the people pass and the cars
rush by. She gazed at the sky as it began to cloud over and a breeze start
to whisper through the trees. Slowly, she leaned away from the cool glass
and laid down in the booth. A waitress walked over to where she lay and
asked if she was alright.
"Just tired," she answered and closed her eyes.
The bell above the door chimed. Several of the customers turned to see
who it was, but most never looked away from what they were doing.
Michael Park wondered over to the stool nearest Jake. It didn't take
much to sense the hate between the two men.
Michael had been seeing Moll for almost six months when Jake moved into
town and he and Molly had become good friends from day one when she helped
him move. Then, there came a time when she spent several nights on his couch
after she and Michael had their fights.
Finally, one night she showed up on Jake's doorstep drenched from the
pouring rain, with a swollen eye and blood dried in the corner of her lip.
He hurried her inside and wrapped her in a towel. Jake gave her some clothes
to change into and hurried to call the police.
He had only just raised the receiver of the telephone when he heard the
pounding on the door. "Thorpe!" he heard Michael yell from outside, "I know
she's in there."
Jake felt Molly grab onto his arm when she came into the room. Even then
he thought she looked like an angel. "Just call the police," Molly
whimpered.
The beating on the door in the next room grew more and more intense and
Jake feared that the door wouldn't hold much longer.
When the phone on the other end of the line began to ring he handed the
phone to Molly and went to get the handgun that he kept in his bedside table.
The kitchen was bathed in red and blue lights when he passed back
through. Jake put the gun in the drawer behind him just as the police walked
in to question Molly.
Michael went to jail for that night, but didn't stay long. He was out
in just a few days.
Molly was sent to a Women's Crisis Center where Jake stayed with her.
The image of Molly lying in that bed still burned in his mind. As he
thought back to it, he could still feel her small hands clinging tight to his
as she slept.
Now, Michael blamed Jake for Molly's death. The strange thing was, Jake
blamed himself as well. The problem between the two of them was that they
both loved her. It was no secret with Jake, his silence held nothing from
others, Michael was a different story. Park voiced his hate for Thorpe more
than anyone ever cared to hear.
Outside the storm had begun and the sound of the rain beating against the
tin trailer echoed around the people in the diner. Jake picked himself up to
leave, laying the money for the soup and coffee on the table along with a tip
and moved toward the door, not wanting to hear any of Park's words. He was
able to make it into the rain before anything was said. Park's words would
always dredge up even more memories of nights when Molly was at her most
vulnerable. Despite the pain behind each and every one of them, these were
the memories he cherished most but hated to visit. Though the years had
passed and left their mark, he still loved the way she looked when she spent
the night on his couch.
Her golden hair was short and wavy then, washing over the pillows and
armrest as she slept. Her eyes and lips were pressed together in silent
slumber, while tears still rolled down her cream colored cheeks. Jake always
loved the way her body curled on the makeshift bed, half- covered with her
knees held tightly to her chest. With such a peaceful look to her, Jake
thought she looked like a frightened child with nothing left to fear.
Jake shook the image from his mind as he walked past the diner window.
The girl in the sweat shirt still lay asleep in the booth. Her arms were
crossed over her chest as if to shield herself from everyone. "Such a sad
one," he said.
He walked on with no destination in mind, pulling his long coat tight
around himself for protection against the chilling wind and pouring rain.
He roamed the town for what felt like hours. The sky glowed in the light
of the lightning far ahead, and shook with the thunder so hard the glass
almost broke and fell from the sills. The storms wind blew the litter around
the little league field across the street, as the hard shower helped peel
away what little paint was left on the stands.
Jake headed slowly toward his home. The downpour caused the dirt road he
lived on to flow in a muddy river with the water having long ago flooded his
shoes. The squish, squish of his shoes echoed loudly through the silent house
as he went to the living room, and lay upon the very couch that had been
Molly's bed for so many nights.
The coffee table next to him had pictures from their wedding strewn
across it. On the corner lay one of the two of them feeding cake to each
other. Another picture showed the couple dancing together for the first
time as husband and wife. And of course, their was the close up of the kiss
that closed the ceremony.
Photos of Molly and the bridesmaids looking for and trying on dresses
were there too. The only smile that crossed his face when he looked at them
when the thought about those dresses. Jake laughed to himself as he thought
the bridesmaids looked like walking tangerines.
He leaned back against the arm of the couch and clicked on the
television. Using the remote that sat behind him, and hit the play button on
the VCR.
The home movies of he and Molly lit up the lightless room. He watched
himself push her on the swing set that still stood in his backyard. He loved
the way she giggled as she swung back and forth. The sun shimmered of her
gold waves of hair as it flowed through the empty air.
Despite the beauty of the fall afternoon in the video, and the joyous
expression on his wife's face, what he focused on were her eyes. Jake watched
the jade of her irises light up with each rise and fall of the swing. A
dampness rolled down his cheek, the familiar feel of tears he had come to
expect each day.
The old TV set glowed as he watched the love of his jump into the air and
into a pile of recently raked leaves. He watched himself hurry to help her
up. Molly reached for his outstretched hand and pulled him on top of her.
They rolled around together with Molly finally ending up on top of him,
straddling him with one blue jean clad leg on either side of his hips. She
lovingly leaned forward to plant a kiss on both of his eyelids as Jake tugged
a dead leaf from the golden strands of her lucius hair.
He watched himself kiss her. Even now he could still feel her lips
pressed against his. The tears once again welled in his eyes and he could
taste them as they rolled down his face and seeped into his mouth.
That was it, Jake could no longer handle the heartache. He pushed himself
off the ouch and stormed into the kitchen. He pulled open the drawers so
violently that they fell to the floor and spilled out all of their
contents... Finally he found what he was looking for, the hand gun he had put
away all those years ago. Jake blew the dust from the metal of the weapon and
shoved it into his pocket.
Outside the rain had slowed, but still new puddles continued to splash
quite a bit. His feet moved slowly at first, partly due to the weight of the
mud they had acquired and partly due to his somber mood. His pace quickened
as he became determined in what he had to do. Three years was too long to
live as he had. But he had to say good-bye to Molly.
The storm gave the cemetery such a sad atmosphere. Recently dug graves
were filling with water and the farewell cards laid to rest on the tombstones
were beginning to fold and fade with the weather.
Molly's grave was in he center of the grounds. Her tombstone always
caught every visitors attention, an angel sitting on a large stone. Jake
still wept every time he read the inscription.
Molly Marie Thorpe
Our Angel, Our Savior
Jake fell to his knees, before the patch of earth that covered his wife.
"Molly," He wept, " I know you can hear me, You've listened to my prayers
these last few years and sent me hope when I needed it most. You've been my
guardian angel." His hands moved to catch his head as it fell forward in
grief. "I could really use an angel now. Did you know I still hear you sleep
at night? Of course you did. I even hear you snore sometimes," he chuckled to
himself. "But no matter how many times I tell myself I'm dreaming, I still
have to prove myself wrong."
Jake reached into his pocket and pulled out the pistol. "I'm tired of
those nights Molly, tired of waking up and not being open able to hold you in
my arms But it's okay. I'm going to get to hold you now."
Slowly, he raised the weapon to his temple and pressed it close as he
placed his finger on the trigger.
"That inscription's right you know."
Jake lowered the gun and turned to look behind him to see were the soft
voice had come from.
It was the girl from the restaurant. The fading ball cap was pulled low,
casting a deep shadow over her face. She moved beside Jake. "Especially the
part about being an angel."
Jake picked himself up and stepped back, sliding the had gun into his
pocked. He watched the girl with interest as she sat with her legs crossed
next to the tombstone and ran her fingers over the words carved there.
"I loved the way she could find a kind of beauty in everything," the girl
continued, "Especially in museums. She could spend hours just staring at a
painting or some other work of art just trying to come up with some meaning
to it. One time she was actually thrown out of an exhibit for arguing with
another patron about the meaning behind a photograph. But do you know what I
love most about Molly?"
The girl turned to look back at where Jake stood watching her. His head
bowed in silence waiting for the girl to continue, the rain beginning to drip
from his damp hair.
"No matter how much she cared about something, no matter what passion she
felt for it, she could move on from it. She would seem to forget about and
leave it to touch someone else. She would never forget about the impact it
had on her though."
Jake looked up to see the young girl still staring at the grave. " There
was nothing she didn't embrace. I bet she even saw beauty in her own
death."
"You weren't there, you don't know." Jake said in a low voice. "I held
her in my arms, praying for the ambulance to hurry. I can still feel her
blooding down my arms. In the ambulance, my blood filled eyes watched
every move they made as they worked to save her. More prayers went though my
head and I prayed everyone of them. I was with her for six days in the
hospital, never once leaving her side. My head was lying next to her chest
when she died. I felt her take her last breath and never once, not once,
did I once find anything even remotely beautiful in any of it."
The girl that had knelt by his wife for so long got up to move beside
him. "That's what you saw," she said. "What do you think Molly saw?"
"She was unconscious through all of it," Jake answered. " She never saw
or felt anything. I'm thankful for that much."
The girl looked up at him. "I think you're wrong. I think that for
those six days she watched you love her more than either of you knew
possible. Why do you think that she chose to die with you that close? Do
you think that she wanted to cause you the hurt that you have carried with
you for so long? No. She died with you there because she knew that she
would never be that loved again and it was time to move on."
The girl turned to leave, walking away into the rain. Jake watched her
go, then turned and went to stand again before his wife's resting place.
He stared at that inscription for what seemed like hours, remembering
every word that he and the strange girl had shared. Finally, he knelt down
beside her grave and began to speak.
"You finally did it Molly. It took you three years more than you had
with us, but you taught me what I needed to know."
He raised his hand from his side and slipped the wedding band from his
finger. He looked at the right one last time, then slipped it onto the thumb
of the angel that was her tombstone.
"Take care of her for me," he said, "Good-bye Molly."
That night, he shut Molly's window.
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