Memories of a Dying Girl

A Story by harmfulpoet

"There was just this feeling of emptiness when she wasn't around"; An extract of my work.

An empty bench in an open space seemed to be the only expanse in the city which lacked the shelter of the central park trees or the shade of the towering skyscrapers of New York. It was an empty quiet that engulfed the area, an asphalt walkway running in between the trees, opening up to a round centre that was exposed to the glaring sun, only to continue further ahead, forming back into a linear path, disappearing into the embrace of the green forest. It was an empty citadel only begging to be filled with life and laughter, a circular stage with a welcoming and open view of the lake, accompanied with a single bench, for the comfort of its audience.

The empty space was calm, there was neither a breeze nor a soul to walk through and it seemed as if the only present life was the respiring plants on one end and the rippling lake on the other, tarmac and a bench, the only things between them. He stepped slowly without aim or purpose, walking along the rigid path which emerged into the open area. It was unusual to be wearing a hoodie during the summer, but it was a chilly evening, he even wore it the last time he was here.

Memory of last summer began to rush back to him, abound with explicit detail, and he remembered everything. She was wearing a jet blue long sleeve shirt, rolled up to her scratchy elbows, with the subtlest red lines running down the length of it. To complement it, she wore black jeans, worn out at the knees, and there was no doubt, that altogether she looked stunning.

He remembered her as if she came together flawlessly, her black diamond shaped earrings, turquoise circle in the middle, and the slightest hint of eye liner, as if her entire body, fashion and complexion had been meticulously planned and carved with care. She had light brown hair with matching glasses that framed her captivating eyes brilliantly. They were a deep blue, diverging from the subtlest hint of shattered yellow and green, eyes with a calm but intense passion.

He remembered every single detail of the day, the sound of her voice, her squeaky singing and cheery disposition. He was standing alone in the middle of the empty circular space, the trees and empty bench on one side and the lake on the other. He looked down to his feet, outfitted in blue converse all-stars, the same he’d worn last summer with her. He looked down to the floor and found himself standing on the faint white chalk line, surprised it was still there, a grasping reminder pasted on the cement ground.

He stepped back and rest of the white line came into view, the shape of a person’s body, the kind you see at a crime scene to mark the death position of the victim. He stared at it for seconds which felt like long minutes, all the time, slowly stepping backwards until he arrived at the empty bench, and without taking his eyes off the white shape of her outline, he sat down, fulfilling what was always meant for the audience’s view.

He remembered there were children playing with water guns, valiant and chivalrous in their fight. He was standing with her right in front of the lake, both in silence staring at the New York City skyline. He would shift his eyes from the setting sun to her and marvel at how someone could look so beautiful, so gorgeous, so stunning, and there was this secret appeal, this allure of attraction and mystery that he began to relish in.

She turned around headed towards the bench as he followed. They sat together watching the sun and he still remembers every word she spoke, staring at the ground.

“I remember once when I was a kid,” she nostalgically mused, “my friends and I would get a bunch of chalk and lie down on the floor to draw each other’s shape.”

“I miss being a kid.” he had replied bluntly, to which she only replied joyfully:

“Who said you ever had to stop being one?” He loved that about her, the jumpy, happy spirit, like the world was hers. She stood up swiftly and grabbed a round white rock from behind the bench and offered it to him.

“This ought to do.” She proclaimed with a smile. She ushered him to get up as she walked backwards toward the centre of the now empty ground. He lazily began to stand just as she faltered and tripped backwards, and in a split second, he lunged forward to grab her hand, but she just pulled him down with her, ending up in his arms as they tumbled to the hard ground, rolling and finally stopping, him on top of her.

And they lay there for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes, until she smiled the warmest smile, giggling, and whispered,

“Draw me.” Whereupon he suddenly became aware of the embarrassing situation, and cheeks burning red, he stood up. She positioned herself straight on the ground, still smiling like a kid, as he proceeded to use the rock to outline the shape of her body on the floor. He remembered how he’d done it carefully and slowly, going around her spread out fingers, making sure he made her shape accurately. He enclosed her entire body with the white chalk line on the floor and ended by circling the shape of her head.

She stood up as he proclaimed he was done, and held his hand as they both stared at the masterpiece on the floor beneath them. They both laughed and giggled discussing it, holding hands. He had the greatest feeling making her smile, she seemed so happy as they walked together towards the path that would lead them out of the park, sun setting behind them.

He paused that memory in his head, and wished for a single moment that it would come back, that she would return. He would have cherished it if he knew, he would have made the best of it, he would have kissed her as they lay on the floor, and he would have told her how he really felt about her.

He’s sitting on the bench all alone, the sun beating down on him, and his eyes are fixed on the white outline of her. He doesn’t hear the sound of children playing together, see her smile, or feel the liveliness of the park, just the distant sounds of traffic. He asked himself what had happened, he wished she hadn’t disappeared that night, and he longed to hold her for just a moment longer, feel the soft touch of her skin and see her reassuring smile, the kind that held the promise of happiness.

Her smile was gone forever. He stands up, walking towards the white outline, bending down till his knees touch the cold asphalt, and he kisses the dirty spot on the turf, enclosed by the white outline of her body, right where he remembers her lips would have been.