"A Broken Memory"

“Help!  Someone help,” shrieks the high alto of a terrified voice.
         There is a soft pounding as a mass of people gathers around me.  A soft murmur of voices is muffled by the sound of my heart beating.  It is beating too rapidly.  Too fast!  Why won’t it slow down, why can’t I slow it down?  What is going on?  Why can’t I open my eyes?  What is this sticky, wet, warm liquid surrounding me?
         Blood!  It is blood.  Whose?  Is it mine?  Am I the one bleeding?  I can’t feel my arms and legs.  Sirens are piercing the din of voices.  Closer and closer they come.  They are getting louder and louder.  My eyes hurt.  I hurt.  Why can’t I move?  They stop and doors open.  More footsteps…banging of more doors…men's voices right above me…calling for a stretcher…wheels…many hands grasp my body and gently lift me.  The pain! 
         I’m moving, well, I’m in an ambulance that is moving.  I hope it is an ambulance anyway; the siren is loud over head.  I’m lying down (strapped in) and there is a mask covering my mouth and nose.  Something is pressed tightly over my chest, arms, and legs.  There are so many different areas that are throbbing.  Each area has pressure on it though.  What is going on?  What happened to me?
         Something is wrapped around my eyes.  I can’t open them!  Somewhere, a beeping sound is matching the rhythm of my heart.  It slowed down…My heart is no longer racing as it was earlier.  Why is it slow now if I couldn’t slow it down earlier?  The beeping is steady and slow now.  I think that is a good sign.  Should I know if it is or not?  If I should know, why do I not?
         The motion of the ambulance slows and then stops.  Doors are opening and closing again.  There is a flurry of people’s voices as they start to pull my stretcher out of the ambulance.  Once out, more people and more voices surround me.  What time of day is it?  The people are shouting…shouting at me?  A woman’s trying to ask me something I think.  My name…what’s my name?  I don’t know.  What is my name? 
         I want to ask what my name is, but my throat is so dry.  Someone removed the mask from my face to ask me questions, but they replace the mask when I don’t answer.  The same female voice as before starts talking again.  She tells me that I can not open my eyes.  She also tells me I should not move, if I can help it, since I am covered in lacerations and broken glass.  Then she asks me to twitch my right hand.  I try, apparently that is good enough for her.  The lady is quiet after that. 
         As far as I can tell, I had been in some sort of accident that involved broken glass and me needing a trip to the hospital.  There is, also, an acute pain in my left leg and right ankle, but I can’t tell why.  My accident has left me, at least temporarily blind and I look bad enough to scare up a nice crowd of people were I was found.  Also, I can’t remember anything before that.  I have no recollection of my life before waking up to a woman screaming.  Who am I?  What happened to me?  Why?
         A sudden cease in motion stops my contemplations.  The mat thing I am lying on, on the stretcher, is picked up (me and all) and placed heavily on something else.  Pain again!  I might not be able to see, but a flash of white light registers in front of my eyes.  I try to protest but my throat is even dryer and the mask is still covering my mouth.  Voices start mumbling over the top of me.  What is going on?  The mask is removed from my mouth and another one takes its place.  A woman tells me to take a deep breath so the anesthesia will kick in faster.  I take the breath and almost gag.
         I’m groggy.  There are voices and other various noises, but they are all distant.  Somewhere near by, a window is open.  A gentle breeze glides through the room I am in.  On it are the sounds of birds chirping, traffic driving by, and voices of pedestrians.  I must still be in the hospital.  My eyes are still bandaged, and a monitor is beeping softly with the rhythm of my heart.  It is summer time, and I am trapped in a hospital.  Summer!  So many memories of walks along midnight shorelines, picnics in parks, and weekend parties flood back to me.  I can remember!  It isn’t everything but they are my memories. 
         I had so many friends around me.  It seems like we were always doing something or another.  We would go out to the beach at night in the summer and have huge bonfire parties.  We would watch the sun go down over the ocean and then go running through the white crested black waves.  We would stay at one person’s house or another’s all weekend and have sleepover parties.  We would go on shopping sprees together.  We would go to parks on bright Saturday afternoons and have picnics and “games”.  We would toss Frisbee to each other and all laugh and have fun.  These memories are so wonderful! 
         I start laughing.  My throat is no longer sore or dry.  At some point, someone must have been generous enough to dribble some kind of liquid down my throat.  Thank you, whoever you are.  I also no longer have a mask over my face.  I think of the sound of my own laughter.  It sounds horse and dry from disuse, but it is my laughter.  With this sound comes even more memories.  Friends, birthday parties, and a single man with the most beautiful smile all swirl around in my head.  The man says my name…My name!  He says my name and I can remember it.  His voice is filled with so much love, it is painful. 
         Any time I am not with my friends I am with him.  He holds my hand, my waist, my neck…He kisses me and I him…We are almost inseparable.  We go to all of the parties together, not the slumber parties of course, girls only for those!  We go on picnics with all of our friends or by ourselves.  We go out to romantic dinners, to shows, and to movies.  He bends a knee…looks me in the face…hands me a rose…and asks me to marry him!  The ring is glittering in the center of the rose.  I have to say yes!  It seems the most important thing to me that we are together.  We embrace and kiss again.  Seven months later, he is standing at the alter in a beautiful black tux (which he made look even more stunning), and I am at the back of the church in my white gown walking towards him.  We say our vows and give each other the most passionate kiss ever.  Finally, we can be together forever!  He is all mine and I am all his!  Just the way it should be. 
         If these memories of him are all so happy, why does it hurt so much?  The pain is not like the physical one my body is feeling right now.  No, it is deeper.  A sob tares at my throat.  I try not to cry; I don’t know what it will do to my eyes.  Why does this hurt so bad?  He loves me.  Wait, he isn’t here…that is why I hurt…he died… in the war…he isn’t coming back.  Tears roll down my cheeks even though my eyes are bandaged.  Suddenly, I don’t want to remember who I am anymore.  How could it hurt so bad…we were only married a year. 
         My husband had been in the military.  He had been an Air Force Pilot that had been in Iraq on temporary assignment.  He was only supposed to be there two weeks.  Two days after he left, a man knocked on the door of our house.  I had him come in and sit down for something to drink.  He came in and made sure I was seated before handing me a letter.  I had known something was wrong since he arrived, but I didn’t even want to think that my husband was involved.  When I opened the letter, it said that just after arrival in Iraq, my husband had started the trek to their base in a Hummer.  The Hummer had run over a landmine and no survivors were found.  That is all that it said.  It said nothing about the bodies, any body verifications, or anything else.  I dropped the letter, staring off into space, and began silently crying.  The man who had delivered the letter came over and comforted me for awhile.  When I stopped crying, he made sure I would be alright for the night and that someone was on the way to help comfort and care for me.  One of my friends stayed with me for the rest of the week.  That was only a month ago.  That is why this hurts so bad…the wound is fresh. 
         Just a year, he had been twenty-five and I had been twenty-three when we were married.  We had loved each other so much.  That would explain why sobs keep tearing at my throat and a string of tears are constant down my cheeks.  Sleep, a restful reprieve. 
         I wake to a most tantalizing odor.  Food!  Someone has set a food tray next to my bed.  My eyes are not bandaged…they aren’t bandaged!  I try slowly to part my eyelids and they open!  A collage of colors accosts my sight.  I close my eyes and try again.  The prevalent color is white.  The window is still open and a starry night clings to the window frame.  A beautiful crescent moon (as I remember from midnight walks) can be glimpsed in the upper right hand corner of the window.  I am alone in the room.  It is a regular hospital room, lots of monitors, curtains, food…I reach out to where the food lays and am astonished at how sore and stiff I am. 
         That is when I notice all of the bandages for the first time.  My arms are covered in bandages.  I can only imagine that the rest of me looks the same.  Oh well, I will heal in time, right now, I’m very hungry.  I grab the tray, place it on the bed next to me, pull myself upright (so sore!), and place the tray in my lap.  There is a bottle of water (already open for me), a cup of yogurt (also open for me), and a small bowl of finely diced fruit.  I start with the bottle of water, and it is gone before I realize it.  Next, the yogurt, also gone too fast.  By this time though, I’m able to slow down.  I take my time and enjoy the fruit.  It is succulent, sweet, and fresh.  I find joy in the small bowl and its contents.  It seems that if only for a few moments, the cares of the world are left behind me. 
         I still can not recollect what occurrences have placed me here.  I guess I will remember in time.  Do I really want to?  It seems like most of my memories are good ones, but I do have some terrible ones too!  Another brief sob breaks through my throat, but it is brief.  I think the shock from whatever ordeal I recently went through, and the lack of peaceful rest had gotten to me, but now that I have rested and have and some time to recuperate, my sorrow is not as powerful.  It is still very much there though.
         I’m just enjoying the fact that I can see.  I look down at my arms to inspect the bandages.  I can still move and flex then, but they are almost completely covered in white.  I pull back the sheets to find myself in a hospital “dress” and legs that are bandaged like my arms.  A black brace wraps my right ankle.  The contrast between the two opposite colors brings a smile to my lips.  Black and white, very classy.  I always liked those two colors together.
         The memory of a café is vivid behind my closed eyelids.  I lay my head back and let the memory engulf me fully.  It is a small café with a handful of tables and booths.  It also has a small bar like area in the front.  The door is positioned at the side of the place.  I am seated at a table (near the door), by myself, with a book open on the table in front of me, a cup of apple juice, and a partially eaten sandwich.  I’ve a white shirt and black vest on with a pair of jeans and tennis shoes.  I am an undercover FBI agent.  My gun is holstered at my hip covered by a lengthy jacket that I carried in with me.  I look like a collage student.  Good, in a collage town, that is perfect.  I’m watching a man suspected in a recent technology hacking.  He has supposedly helped hack the FBI main frame and erased some criminal files.  Thus, the reason for my stake-out.
         The café smells of meat, bread, pickles, tomatoes, onions, and coffee.  Mostly, the last being that it is a café.  There are a few groups of people and a few other individuals in the place.  Someone is talking on their cell phone.  The groups of people are all conversing within their part.  The suspect is on his lap top.  There is one man who sticks out in general.  He seems to be about thirty in age, tall, muscular, and broadly built.  His eyes seem to be deeply set, he has lips of medium size, and his nose looks as if it has been broken a few times and never quite healed correctly.  He has on a light weight gray t-shirt, blue jeans, and tennis shoes.  I remember all of these details because the man would not stop staring at me.  It is really getting on my nerves.  Even when I am really reading or pretending to read but watching the subject, I can feel this guys eyes burrowing into me. 
         He is sitting in a booth about ten feet from where I sit.  He will not stop staring at me.  I try to keep my eyes on the book I have in front of me and on the actual suspect at the same time.  The brawny man gets up and approaches me.  Unwillingly, I look up.  He tells me he wants to take me on a walk in the park with him because he thinks I am beautiful.  I tell him my husband just died a month ago.  He says it is a greater reason for me to go with him.  I try to politely decline, but that does not go over well. 
         The man’s voice picks up a sharp edge to it.  I tell him I am not looking for anyone right now; I’m just trying to read.  His face contorts into something akin to fury.  He grabs my arm and squeezes it extremely hard.  A moan of surprise escapes my lips.  I tell the guy that I am an FBI agent and that I am armed.  His face changes, but is still contorted in rage.  He grips even harder and whips me around so that he can grab both of my arms and squeeze as hard as he can. 
         I bring my knee up hard between his legs.  He lets go of me and I race a few feet away.  People are running from the small cafe.  I draw my gun and warn the man that if he comes any closer, I will shoot.  The man gets off of the ground and I level my weapon at him.  He lunges at me and I fire my gun.  The bullet misses him.  He hits me in a lunging tackle and drags me to the ground.  I use the butt of my gun and hit the guy as hard as I can in the head.  He lets go of me.  I pull myself out from under his weight and rush out the café door.  Out on the side walk, I am frantically looking for a place to hide.  People are still walking about and it is difficult to maneuver through them.
         I see a tall dual steeple church just across the road from me.  Its two steeples tower over the low buildings in this region of town but is nothing compared to the collage dormitory towers.  A huge circular stained glass window dominates the second floor front wall.  The window is a beautiful gold star is surrounded by a crimson border all set on a royal blue sky. 
         I dash across the two lane street for the church.  A car is headed at me, but it squeals to a stop and I keep running.  I fear for my life.  My heart rate is at a dangerous high.  I can feel every drop of blood and adrenaline coursing through my veins.  I get to the two huge, heavy oak doors, wrench one open, and dash into a dim interior. 
         It is apparent that the designer of the church had definitely had an open, fashionable, renaissance style for the exterior and a renaissance art design for the interior.  Paintings of saints and graphic crucifixions dominated the walls and ceiling.  Warm looking chandeliers are dangling from the ceiling.  Candles are predominant as ground lighting.  Sweet, warm odors of incense, candle smoke, and old tapestries mingle in the air.  Stair wells are on either side of the church to lead to unknown levels.  A light beams into the center aisle with colors of red, yellow, and blue.  The major stained glass window is above me somewhere.  Other stained glass windows dominate any part of the walls that are not covered in paintings.  All in all though, the church has a very warm and homey air to it. 
         Unfortunately, I don’t have time to stand here and gawk at the beauty of the interior; I am running for my life.  I make a mad dash for the stairs on my right.  I still have my gun in my hand. The church door opens again behind me as I reach the half way point in the stairs and start to turn back towards the “front” of the church.  As the doors open, a shaft of pure light is admitted into the dim church.  The stairs end at the second floor level.  This tier is the church’s choir loft.  Once at the top of the stairs, I turn and level my gun at my pursuer.  It is the man in the light gray shirt.  I shoot at him again, but my bullet hits the wall next to his head.  I turn and run to the back of the choir loft. 
         The circular stained glass window dominates the back wall as I though it did.  The man reaches the top of the stairs just as I slip behind one of the many large, wooden support pillars.  I try to make a ring around the pillar because I know he saw me go behind it.  He is there waiting for me.  Before I can shoot again, he grabs my wrist and twists it.  To keep it from breaking, I twist my body and quickly find myself doubled over and yet still standing.  I hear my gun hit the floor, my heart beat picks up and I scream.  He twists my wrist until I am on my tip-toes trying to keep it from breaking.  He seems to like hearing my scream…He uses his other hand and shoves me on the floor about eight feet from him.  I hit my head on the ground hard.  I quickly try to orient myself and crawl away, but my head and eye-sight is spinning.  I glance back as my world stops spinning.  He is advancing towards me. 
          I have to get away from him.  The man is crazy.  He has my gun.  He is smiling at me like a maniac.  A strange primitive glee is in his eyes.  He is smiling at the terrified expression on my face.  I have to get away, but how?  He is blocking my way to the stairs and there is no other way out of here.  A drop off of the balcony is out of the question…I would land on solid wood pews.  I can’t scream, no one will get here to help me in time, and he likes hearing me scream. 
         I scramble farther away from him, back towards the window.  A cloud covers the sun outside and the window dims.  The man comes closer and brings the gun up.  I’m still on the ground facing him, my legs and hands are trying to push me away from him.  He levels the gun at me and I draw my hands up to cover my face (not like that would help any). 
         Two shots ring out.  A scream, high and piercing, sounds barely after the shots are fired.  The pain!  My leg hurts so badly!  He shot my left leg…I’m bleeding profusely…The man put two rounds through my left leg.  I whimper and try to squirm away from him while I clutch my bleeding leg.
         It is no good.  The man pockets my gun and advances towards me.  This is not going to be quick and painless.  He reaches down and grips my throat I take my hands off of my leg and grasp his arm with both of my hands.  He lifts me off of the ground.  I hold myself up so that he isn’t choking me.  He starts walking towards the window.
         Is he going to smother me?  I can’t hold myself up forever.  Am I going to die?  If I do, would it not be ironic to die here in this beautiful church?  Where is he taking me?  The only thing back this way is the window…The Window!  If he does not smother me, will he throw me out the window?  I have to get him to let go my leg is bleeding too much for me to take this abuse much longer.  He has to let go!
         I dig my nails into his wrist while still holding on.  Trickles of blood start running down his wrist and all over my hands.  His drops of blood are mingling with my pool of blood on the floor.  Still, he walks on.  I kick out hard with my right le, my good one.  It doesn’t faze him.  I kick him in the gut, legs, arms, and groin, but still he walks on.
         We are about five feet from the beautiful stained glass window.  Some unseen cloud still resides over the sun and mutes the colors of the window.  I remember the twelve point star in all of its glittering glory.  It was so gorgeous. 
         The man draws me close to him.  He whispers in my ear and tells me that this is what I get for sticking with the dead husband story.  He promises that if it is true, I can join my husband in the after life. 
         He coils his arm fast and throws me through the center of the circular window.  He is there, watching me…enjoying my fear and pain…taking it all in…he walks away…and I scream. 
         It’s raining crimson, gold, and royal blue.  How beautiful.  The sun peeks through its cloud and each sliver of glass dances with fire.  It is all so beautiful.  I’m in pain.  My back, arms, and legs feel like they are lying on hot coals.  My left leg feels like it is on fire.  And I feel weightless.  My right foot hits the ground and I coil the leg so I don’t hurt it also (considering my left leg has two bullet holes through it).  It is instinct, protect the undamaged.  I try to uncoil it and spring backwards a little.  I land on glass and hit my head. 
          Tears are rolling down my face.  I’m clutching myself in a pitiful attempt for protection which is too late in coming.  He threw me out of the window after shooting me twice with my own gun.  He took my gun…He left me alive.  That thought hurts so bad.  He promised me he would kill me.  At least I could have been with my husband.  He promised, but yet, I live. 
         I cry and grip my chest.  I cry for my pain, not physical, but emotional.  I can remember everything now…everything I’ve ever done, ever lived through, and ever suffered.  I can hear my scream echoing in my ears. 
         A nurse comes running in.  I really had screamed.  She rushes over to where I am and asks if I am alright.  I look at her with tear filled eyes and she knows my pain is emotional.  She sits on the edge of my bed and holds me while I cry.  She keeps telling me everything is going to be alright, I will heal.  “Time heals all wounds,” she says gently. 
         I don’t think so.  This wound will never heal.  Half of my heart has been taken from me and I’m all alone.  The nurse tells me that she will give me some medicine to help me sleep peacefully.  Thank you for a numb, black reprieve.  I will still hurt just as bad when I wake, but thank you anyway. 
         The words “time heals all wounds…” flitter around my mind as I think of how I’m going to see tomorrow.  My life is going to continue on.  A darkness creeps in on the edges of my vision and I let myself be over taken by it.
         Early morning and the sun is just peeking over the horizon.  A soft pink glow fills my room.  The night had been a boring one…no dreams and no waking up in the middle of the night.  I guess today will be somewhat boring.  I am stuck in a hospital after all.  As these thoughts pass through my mind, a knock sounds at my door.  The young nurse who held me yesterday says that there is a visitor here for me and asks if I am up for a visit.  I say it is alright.  I think to myself that the person is probably an FBI agent here to ask me questions about what happened.  A few brief seconds pass by and my room door opens again.  I look up and lock eyes with a ghost.
         My husband is standing about twelve feet from me.  He smiles at me and slowly walks over to where I am.  He sits on the edge of my bed and strokes my face.  I tell him that I have to be dead.  He laughs, that beautiful laugh of his, and tells me that I’m not dead, that he is alive.  I ask him how he is still alive.  He tells me that he had switched seats with another guy so that he could sit with a friend.  The Hummer in front had been the one to go up in flames and the other two had taken shelter in the dessert for a day before continuing on to the base.  By that time though, the news of who was supposed to have been in the vehicle was already sent back to the states.  Then, no one could reach me to tell me what had really happened because I was already off on the job again.  They all served their two week term and came back.  He had to try and find me for about two weeks, no one in the FBI could tell him were I was because that might give me away. 
         He then asks if I can recount my story for him.  I do.  He holds me and tells me everything is alright, I am already on the mend.  I hold him and tell him the same.  He is with me and I am with him and that is all that matters.  Life will be so much easier to live now that he is back at my side like he should be.  I love him so much!  My setting sun just reversed its course…I have a bright future ahead of me with the one that I can not be separated from and still be considered whole.  I’m glad I live… (his promise held true, I am with my husband).