High Waters

This was an essay that I dragged from a dream.

I could not believe it; my eyes had to be deceiving me. There was no possible way that lying before me was my friend, hooked up to machines and having blood on the bandages around her wrists. There could be no answer for who this pale vixen was, her hair chopped short and shaved bald in some areas. Yet, I knew that on the bed before me was my only true friend.

It was cold and hard, that feeling of accepting the fact of what had happened. It really should have been more of a nightmare, even a twisted one at that. Anything was better then this reality before me. Though I knew that she would not open her emerald eyes, I hoped that she would at least once. Behind me, the doctor was saying something but I could not hear beyond the buzzing of the machines.

Then, I greeted darkness like a mother as I fainted into her grasps.

Her mother was the one who had called I; desperate and sounding like any minute she was going to crack. She had to settle down before I could understand her and when I did, it felt like the world had crashed. That one phrase echoed in my head like a bell tolls on Sunday mass.

“We can not find Sam. She has disappeared!”

I knew that she had done something to remotely sneak away from her family, even if it was on lost terms. Somewhere, though, there was that doubt that told me she did not just runaway. Hanging up the phone after bidding her mother goodbye, I ran and slipped my shoes on, grabbing my keys to the car that I owned. I had a feeling, a little inkling in my heart that she, my dear friend, had gone to our ‘spot’. Sighing, I started the car and raced to the spot that had become the heaven to my friends and I. As the car climbed the hill, I wondered why I was in the rush that I was having. Yet, as I parked and gazed at the person that lay by the creek, I knew that my friend had tried to go on to death.

The next thing I could remember was the ambulance screeching up to us and calling her parents. Now, as I place my head in my hands, I wonder what had dragged my friend to death. I can now remember how her eyes shown and how her brown hair -laced with blond streaks- was always put into a ponytail. When I looked at her now, I could not think about how her tan skin looked so pale or that she would not open her eyes. I wanted to not think about those things but I knew that my mind could not help but wonder to them.

“Why did she do this,” I questioned myself.

“It had to be the medicine. We should have had the doctor dose it a little higher,” I heard her mother cry and I wanted to lash out. I think I did, as my brain and mouth were not connected.

“Is that the only thing you care about? You daughter is in there, fighting for her life and the only thing you care about is how high her medicine was? If you had listened, Mrs. Bolling, you would have known the pain your daughter was feeling! Yet, did you even try to listen; just once open your ears past your own believe and see how much your daughter cried for you to care! No, you did neither: open you ears or listened to the only thing you had. You shunned her and no you only worry about what prescription her meds were. Now look, your jewel is fighting and you are the one that will lose.” The last part was a whisper as my voice was hoarse. Tears fell down my face as I looked at the adults that stood before me. Disgust leaden my stomach and I turned around, hurriedly walking down the corridor. Behind my back, I heard them yelling for me to return but I did not. I ignored them; finally, I came to the place I was looking for.

“I’m sorry, my friend, I understand your pain. I know why you go as you do and if you want to, you can just fly to the angels that are singing for you. No matter how much I say that I do not want you to go, I will let you for once. I will understand it all.” I grabbed her hand as if it was the lifeline I had to her and tears slipped from my eyes. I just listened as the heart monitor beside me beeped before going to it stopped, the annoying buzzing of it increasing as I stared. In the air that surrounded me, -as doctors came rushing down the hall- I swore I heard a soft ‘thank you’ lace the air before it disappeared and I knew my friend had gone on.

I had cried many tears

Washed many knifes

Told many stories

Now it is your turn

My friend, this is your story

Author's Note

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[MagiCrystal]

I think that I had to come back and read it again.. but I add you to my blog.. and I was surfing the site..
and I find your horses... to me they are gorgeous.. and so.. I can tell you have passion and more!
When I take my time and read your piece.. I will... tell you.. ok