Calla Lily

A Story by katryn anne

When Death smells like Life

Calla Lily

It was well into May and the scent of calla lilies carried by the gentle wind tingled the noses of the passer -bys. Although no one had really stopped to ogle its enticing beauty, everyone noticed the sensuous fume it had been expelling. To the passer-bys it meant nothing and had no significance whatsoever, but to Mika, perched in her windowsill, the aroma carried a plethora of rancorous memories and most of all, death.

April

Mika

I’ve always known that there is something seriously wrong within me. Not with me, but within me. You see, I used to have a congenial relationship with melancholy. I still think I do, but now our relationship already has a wide streak of unmistakable guilt. Depression and guilt. The two have recently become generally coherent in my array of emotions. I’d be a little sad, but then it would immediately be followed by guilt. I dunno but I’m ashamed of being sad so I try not to be because I feel like I’m committing a crime whenever tears are in danger of being unleashed. I just think sadness kinda makes you an ineffectual Christian. We are all supposed to be happy all the time, right? Because we’re God’s beloved sons and daughters and happiness is kind of a perk of being His child. I imagine Him saying, “Mika, why are you sad? Haven’t you found comfort and assurance in my Word?” and then I’d be ashamed of being sad and I’d keep myself busy to avoid being sad again. But circumstantially, is it okay to be sad and cry? I hope it is. Because I’d love to cry and let these pent up emotions loose. Oh yes I would love that. But then again, who wants to have puffy eyes inside their coffin?

Raphael

She lay enraptured in her own thoughts. I’m waiting for her to give even a slight sign that she acknowledges my presence, but as the stretch goes longer, I’m starting to believe that it is actually futile. Her mom, the only person she’s been talking to since her doctor cracked the news that she has developed cardiomyopathy and she’s going to die if they can’t get her a new heart, assured me when I called that she’s feeling okay. Try as she might, but I don’t believe her. Knowing Mika, she’d give you all the reasons to believe she’s okay, although she really isn’t. I can tell by the slight arching of her eyebrows and the quiver of her lips that inside, where the only person who would be sorry for herself is she, her soul is silently grieving of her own demise.

Mika

I can see Raphael in my peripheral vision. I refuse to glance at his direction because I know those sanguine eyes would be searching for evidence of sorrow which I resist to feel, and just by looking at those I might lose it all together. I miss him. I really do. I contemplated talking to him again however I don’t think I have anything much to say but lies. He should start learning how to live without me. Although I know what I’m doing is unfair, it would be best. And while I’m still alive, I wanna see him endure life without me. Perhaps that would make it easier for me to accept my inauspicious kismet, knowing that he’d be okay. And I can only see that if I act utterly decedent. It hurts not being able to spend my last days with him. I guess I really didn’t mean it when I said I wanted to live the rest of my life with him. And this is the rest of my life already. Only I have to break my promise so we could both move on intact. Oh God knows how much I have been suffering. But I promised myself, as last wishes go, that I would march on to the afterlife without taking a part of him with me.

Raphael

I could feel my lachrymal ducts beginning to thrush out saline teardrops and I briefly close my eyes to keep them from cascading down my face. I know she can see me from her peripheral vision and I don’t want her to see that, even though my body won’t show any sigh of in, I have been dying with her. Maybe not in a literal sense but still. Her silence pains me more than anything else. But I know I have to be strong. Or act like it, at least. I know she doesn’t want to see me be weighed down by agony, so I just walk over her to give her a calla lily and whisper in her ear the words I know would make her suffering more bearable and her fight less grueling. I whisper “I won’t compete with God, Mika. I’m letting go,” and then I plant a kiss on her forehead and leave without ever looking back.

May

Mika

I can feel him in every beat of my heart, the cursing of blood in my temple. He is the reason why I’m breathing. He gave me death and a reason to live. I take in the smell of the calla lilies outside my window. It sedates the rambunctious misery in the depth of my being and I bite my lip in silent excruciation. The pain is starting to get unbearable so I reach for my bible sitting on top of the bedside table and take in His Word line by line, each verse is a salve to my extremely maimed heart.

My pensiveness is cut short as the ruddy faced doctor comes in with the results of the tests they did to me earlier this morning. He stops just across me. I immediately catch a glimpse of the hope I thought had forsaken me as his lips break into a smile that speaks of His Grace.

December

Mika

Every day I jump out of bed to find the spunk to face the days ahead of me which I have to trek by myself. And every day I find it in the love of my family and my friends. And most of all in the scent of the calla llies. And yes, ironic it may be, but I died to live. Or more appositely, I got killed so I could live. I forgive him for doing that to me, but I will never forget.

April

Raphael

I wonder what our future would be if things were different and her heart was pumping healthily. I imagine us raising three beautiful kids in a countryside villa. She would make an amazing mother , there’s no doubt about that. And I would be a loving father to our children, a father she always wanted for herself. We would guide them to be good followers of Christ. And if our sadistic sides would take over the parenting, we would take the kids to the wackiest amusement park in the world and stifle laughter as they throw up and cry after a wild roller coaster ride. We would even scheme together and showcase our best ninja moves to fill the kids’ Christmas stockings with bright colored candies and toys while they are well into their Christmas slumber. But I know none of my dreams would ever come true. With the heart center refusing to get her on top of the donors’ list, a heart transplant is a farfetched dream. And my dreams, aye, even more farfetched.

I’m still a few yards away from my car but my nose catches the scent of calla lily so I stop to trace where the breeze is blowing from. Calla lilies… the flowers I was picking up when I first saw her. I hear a honk and it only takes a fraction of a second before I realize how fast my death is coming. I just hope, I pray, that she would know that I died thinking of her.