The Death of Innocence

 

The Death of Innocence

You would think a park at night in the Autumn-time would be one of the most peaceful places a person is likely to find. And, in a way, it is. There is no such thing as traffic here. Sporadic lighting sends its beams up amongst the evergreens and glitters red and gold over the leaves scattered about the lawn. Behind, the stream burbles its mother-talk to settling ducks. And I, seated on my swing, my hands numb against dew-cold chains, am enveloped in a shadow and cut off from the outside world so effectively it seems as though I never was a part of it.

If only, oh, if only it could be so peaceful within myself. The voices will not be quiet. Every conversation we ever had is in the here and now. There were so few of them, none particularly meaningful, but I play them over again, and we will not be still.

We are at your flat. It’s tiny and no one has done the dishes for a long time. Denise and Ryan are there; I came with them. There is some other girl I don’t know. She has stringy bleached blonde hair with bits of pink in it and the body of a heroin addict. No one introduces me to her.

Denise tells me your name and makes me sit by you. The couch has no springs and I sink through. You say hi and I say hi. Ryan smiles and I suddenly know why they have brought me here. You don’t smile, but you know too. I don’t want this, so I make an excuse and leave. My heart pounds as I call a taxi, hiding behind a bush in an unfamiliar street. Were you sad then?

We are in your car, in the carpark not a stone’s throw from my swing in the shadow. Your number plate begins with my initials. I think it’s funny and I laugh. You laugh too but it’s because of the joint in your hand and not what I have said. You pass me the joint and I refuse it. I worry that you will think I am weak. Should I have known that you were weak too?

All of us get out of the car and play on the roundabout like children. Denise has mixed vodka and coke and I am very drunk. You spin me fast and I think I might kiss you, if you want me to. You smile at me in a way that tells me you do, but you drop me home like a gentleman. What else was hidden behind that smile?

After that I never saw you again. I thought of you sometimes, but life moves fast when we are young and I soon forgot. You forgot me too, I suppose. Of course you would have; nothing ever happened between us.

But tonight I think of nothing but you. I sit here on my swing, wrapped in my shadow with the damp night air seeping through my shoes, and I am haunted by you. What went through your mind before you did it? As your life flashed before your eyes, did you remember me? Did you think of the things I should have seen in your eyes, behind your smile?

I imagine your feet departing from the ledge and wonder if you felt fear or freedom, knowing there was no going back. And I wonder if I could have stopped you; if I could have caught you before you fell. It was Valentine’s Day. Would you have died if I had loved you?

The air is cold and the ducks are quiet. A little wind is starting to blow; the evergreens whisper and the dead leaves rustle. It blows across my face and a strand of hair sticks to my wet cheek. I think of all the things I cannot undo and can never put to rest. Your ghost will always be with me and I will forever miss what never had a chance to be.

I have not found peace here.

 

Reviews

[Taed Lúinn&aacut..]

This... was an amazingly touching and very well-written story, Julie. As Benarsi said, even with your very opening lines you just draw us into the story. You are very descriptive of both physical and emotional observations, something I often struggle with. And you have such a clear theme in the entire piece... truly phenomenal, a masterpiece of writing with no errors that I can find (or would want to). You have a real gift for writing, Julie. I look forward to reading more of your work.

[Benarsi]

Only a most talented person could say so much with so little - I was hooked with the very first words, and the end left me wondering. Your sentences are perfectly precise and wonderfully worded - there is a lot of emotion.

I wish I could say something constructive, rather then just what I know is lulling, ultimately useless praise. But I truly cannot - this story is thought-provoking and rather touching. It seems almost wrong to criticize it... :) I really enjoyed your description of the quiet, peaceful park, comparing it to the inner turmoil inside your mind.

In short, wonderful piece. Truly. I hope this review will motivate you to write more - you have an eloquent, elegant style that pulls readers in and a great talent. :)

B.