incendiarystory (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} incendiarystory) wrote,@ 2004-12-09 21:04:00 |
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Why Sleep When I'll Only Dream - EPILOGUE
EPILOGUE
Requiem For Someone Cut From This Earth Too Soon
He looked out the window of his apartment, and it was his alone much to his regret, and saw the snow start to fall on this Thanksgiving weekend - today of all days - the day of Emily's funeral.
He remembered back to the two weeks he had spent in Europe over the summer and thought that it seemed to be years ago - or that he imagined it all. Looking back now, it seemed so fuzzy. He could barely remember any of it except that last day he had spent in Berlin, and that was too vibrant.
There was one huge regret hanging in his mind as he looked over the e-mails proving that the whole thing was too real. He wished he had bought that camera sooner to have captured it all on film. There were so many memories that seemed lost forever to him except for the feelings they had illicited when he saw the names flash across his computer screen.
He couldn't remember the faces of Ian or Elenka or even the Kiwis he had met in Budapest. All he could remember was Emily's face as he saw her dancing between the two worlds. Now it didn't even seem like she was dancing between the former East Berlin and the former West Berlin, it was like she was dancing between Earth and Heaven. When he would look back in his mind, he could actually picture this as reality.
Why hadn't he had a camera to capture the picture of Emily as he remembered her? Why hadn't he had a camera to capture the picture of how he wanted the world to remember Emily. That was the picture of Emily that should be on the easel at her funeral. That was the happy Emily that her friends and family should have remembered her by.
All of their mutual friends who had seen her after she returned from Europe had said that it was like she had left a piece of herself on another continent. They pryed him for information on what had happened to her and he would tell as much of the story as he knew. She, for her part had refused to reveal anything that happened. Without his filling in the pieces, about all her friends would have known was that Sandra had stayed in France for some reason.
What a family Thanksgiving it had been with Sandra home before Scott had placed that phone call.
His parents and Sandra's parents seemed to nervously watch as the two formerly really close cousins eyed each other with dirty looks across the table not speaking through the salads and the turkey. Scott had wondered if the 50-somethings had discounted the fact that this was something more than just a spat between the 20-somethings. This hatred was as real as real could get.
Scott had broken the silence sometime before the pumpkin pie was served. "How can you sit there and not even apologize?" he screamed at Sandra. "I have nothing to apologize for," Sandra had screamed back. The family looked at both of them as if they were two 10-year olds again threatening to throw mashed potatoes at each other.
Scott's aunt, Sandra's mother, had made a proprietary coughing sound.
"You're the one who drove Emily to this with what you did to her in Paris!" Scott unabatedly hollered across the table. Sandra looked down at her pie and cut out a piece slowly with a fork. She licked the piece as she put it in her mouth. "Scott," she said slowly, "can you be a dear and pass me the whipped cream?" She smiled at her mother.
"Oh by the way," Sandra said in Scott's direction, "I saw your little show on television. You're a regular David Hasselhoff in Germany now I understand. And, Emily, she's got great range as an actress."
Scott wanted to leap across the table and strangle her where she sat.
His father looked over at Sandra and said, "what do you mean Sandra?"
"Didn't you know? While Scott was in Berlin he got asked to be on a television show playing," she looked at her father and said, "you're going to love this. He was playing an angry American waiting for a German train."
Scott's mother had laughed a little and said, "that's our Scott, always one to get his dander in a bunch."
The fact that Sandra was now suddenly seen as the family member made good made him sick. He wanted to blow the secret of how she met her rich DJ boyfriend. "Oh, yes, well she gave him a lap dance in front of a group of his friends at a party."
One more word out of her mouth and he would, he swore it.
It didn't take a word, it only took one action. Sandra winked at him across the table and some something across the table at him in French. He was sure it wasn't complementary. Something inside of him broke out and he screamed, "I don't care if you live in Paris and now you speak French, Sandra, the only thing French about you is that you have the morals of a French whore."
Sandra's mother dropped her napkin into her plate, "Scott, that's uncalled for."
"Tell them Sandra," Scott said to the group assembled. "Tell them what you did to Emily in Paris, just tell them. Let them think that you're some great person just because you live overseas now instead of in this asshole of a town."
Scott's younger brother giggled. His mother put her hand of his and said, "shh..."
"Whatever happened to Emily?" Scott and Sandra's grandmother asked, "she was such a sweet girl. She was like a little angel."
"Well," Scott said, "gram, the last I heard, she was in a mental hospital, thanks to..." He pointed his finger straight at Sandra and screamed, "this fucking cunt!"
Sandra seemed to drop all pretenses of being ladylike at this point. "Look, you cock sucker, I was trying to cheer her up. And, besides I wasn't the bastard who let her wander off in Berlin in the condition she was in."
Scott's face felt like it was on fire at the insinuation, "you put her in that fucking condition. At least be woman enough to admit it."
"I did nothing wrong. You could have stayed at the same hostel that she did in Berlin one last night. You could have found out her room number. But poor little broken hearted Scott took the first train he could back to Paris."
"How do you know that?" Scott asked, his hand quivering.
"Oh, I have my sources," Sandra winked.
"You haven't talked to her, have you?"
"She won't say a word to me either Scott," Sandra said. Scott was amazed that he heard sadness in her voice and even a bit of camaraderie in their mutual situation. "But the grapevine in Paris is very short, as they say."
"What else was I supposed to do, she didn't want me there?"
Scott's relatives excused themselves to "let the kids talk this out."
"Maybe you could have tried to be her friend instead of running away."
Scott exhaled and said, "Sandra there was nothing more I could have done for her, she was already gone when she left Paris. I at least tried to save her."
Sandra said, "and you did a really great job at that, pushing her over the edge and all."
That was the final straw. Scott lunger at Sandra and punched her in the face. She let out a shriek like Scott had never heard. The family came rushing in and dragged Scott away from Sandra who was holding the side of her face. "That's the one that Emily should have given you," he screamed, "you got off easy with just a slap."
Scott wasn't sure but he thought he finally heard Sandra whisper, "I'm sorry." She said it again louder, "I'm sorry Scott, I'm sorry Emily. But nothing could save her, Scott, nothing could save her. It's not your fault and it's not my fault!"
Sandra screamed after him as he was let down, "it's not my fault, and it's not your fault Scott. Forgive yourself!"
Scott's father had paid for the next train back to Chicago, thankfully a day train. When he got home there was a message beeping at him on his home phone. He picked it up half expecting it to be Emily. The voice sounded so much like Emily's that Scott's heart skipped a beat but it was Emily's mother. She sounded frantic. She had no idea where Emily was. She hadn't come home for Thanksgiving like she was supposed to. Emily's mother was calling him to see if Emily was, "over at your apartment by any chance." The message also apologized, "that things didn't work out for you two."
Emily's mother was practically crying by the end of the message as was Scott. Emily's mother had said she had tried her home phone, and her cell phone and nothing.
Scott picked up the receiver and dialed the number to Emily's mother's house in the suburbs. The phone rang for what seemed like an eternity before he heard a beep and a broken voice said, "hello?"
"Mrs. McDonnel?" Scott asked.
The voice on the other end of the receiver didn't say anything. "It's Scott, I just called to tell you..."
"Scott," the broken voice said, "Emily's dead."
It took all the strength he could muster to keep his grip on the phone. "Emily's dead?" he asked, his voice now shaking as much as Emily's mother's had.
"The police found her this morning. They said she was lying on her bed so peacefully that she looked like an angel. Scott, I'm so sorry to be the one to tell you this. They found a picture next to her of some sort of statue and an open bottle of sleeping pills. They told me that she probably felt no pain. The..."
The voice on the other end broke into tears. Scott was amazed at how closely Emily's mother crying sounded to Emily.
"The service is at 10:00 a.m. on Sunday. I'd really like you to come. I'm sure even though you two haven't talked for a while, she would have wanted you to be there," Emily's mother had continued.
"Is there anything I can do?" Scott asked.
"Actually can I ask you a favor?" Mrs. Donnel had said.
"Anything," Scott said, the tears in his voice. "Do you have any photos or anything that we can remember her by?"
"Of course," Scott said trying to be strong and calm for Emily's mother like he had tried to be for Emily, "I can bring them by any time."
He had looked through his apartment for memories of the times that he and Emily had spent together. But, that one picture that he wished he had taken, of Emily dancing, the one that he wanted to show couldn't be there. And, he couldn't show the picture that he drew of The Little Insurgent that so represented her.
"A drawing of some sort of statue." The words echoed in Scott's head. Emily had been looking at the picture he had drawn her of The Little Insurgent when she had taken that fatal dose of sleeping pills. He regretted, at that very moment, having ever given the picture to her. He was only trying to help.
He thought back to those last few moments he had spent on those stairs in Berlin. Could he have done anything different? Should he have tried to chase her down? Sandra was right, he could have asked about her at the hostel and pounded on her room's door. He could have fought harder for her. In the end, he had been a coward.
When he had gotten back to Chicago, he kept looking at the phone trying to figure out if he should pick it up. She told him not to call and in the end, he was left with nothing but hope that the phone would ring from her end. Now it never would.
Scott looked at the e-mails from around the world again expressing their condolences. They ranged from Elenka's, "I wish I could have gotten to know her, she seemed like a special person" to Ivana's, "there are so few truly bright stars among us, it's a shame when one is extinguished so soon. With the words you used to describe her, I feel like I know her too."
The Aussies had all told him, in perfect English, that it wasn't his fault. They had been the ones who had met her personally and knew what she was going through in Berlin. Scott was shocked when the most heartfelt condolence had come from Shamus, "you can't save someone who's in that condition. You can only hope that God sees a way to keep them around for as long as possible and will make them whole again."
People who had only met Emily once or who only knew her briefly seemed to be affected by her inner beauty even in times of turmoil.
He wished that Emily could have seen that in herself.
Before he left for the funeral Scott watched the video cassette of the show from Germany that the producers had e-mailed him. When it had arrived on Wednesday, he was too busy getting ready to go home to even open it. Now, he saw the scene with Emily. The scene that he didn't even know they had captured until Sandra had told him at Thanksgiving. Scott wondered if Emily had watched that videotape on that fateful night before she decided that life was no longer worth living.
Seeing her on that screen looking so sad, that wasn't acting. That was how Emily had looked. He wondered if the producers had shot it at Zoo Station that first day she had waited there for him. He looked at the longing in her eyes and knew that it was real. He paused the tape and walked up to the television. Touching the representation of her face, he said quietly, "I'm sorry Emily. I should have been there. I understand now, I couldn't save you. I'm sorry."
He sang the representation of her a verse of "Hallelujah" that he hoped reached her wherever she was now, "and even though...it all went wrong...you'll stand before the Lord of song...with nothing on your tongue but Hallelujah."
Tears cut into the snow in rivulets as he walked to his car. Straightening his suitpants, he exhaled and turned the key.
Compared to this drive, all the night trains in Europe combined were like gifts from above. All that kept the tears out of his vision was the fact that Emily was now free to dance all she wanted far away from the walls that Earth had thrown her way.
THE END
Chapter Word Count: 2437
Daily Word Count: 12683
Total Word Count: 93739
He looked out the window of his apartment, and it was his alone much to his regret, and saw the snow start to fall on this Thanksgiving weekend - today of all days - the day of Emily's funeral.
He remembered back to the two weeks he had spent in Europe over the summer and thought that it seemed to be years ago - or that he imagined it all. Looking back now, it seemed so fuzzy. He could barely remember any of it except that last day he had spent in Berlin, and that was too vibrant.
There was one huge regret hanging in his mind as he looked over the e-mails proving that the whole thing was too real. He wished he had bought that camera sooner to have captured it all on film. There were so many memories that seemed lost forever to him except for the feelings they had illicited when he saw the names flash across his computer screen.
He couldn't remember the faces of Ian or Elenka or even the Kiwis he had met in Budapest. All he could remember was Emily's face as he saw her dancing between the two worlds. Now it didn't even seem like she was dancing between the former East Berlin and the former West Berlin, it was like she was dancing between Earth and Heaven. When he would look back in his mind, he could actually picture this as reality.
Why hadn't he had a camera to capture the picture of Emily as he remembered her? Why hadn't he had a camera to capture the picture of how he wanted the world to remember Emily. That was the picture of Emily that should be on the easel at her funeral. That was the happy Emily that her friends and family should have remembered her by.
All of their mutual friends who had seen her after she returned from Europe had said that it was like she had left a piece of herself on another continent. They pryed him for information on what had happened to her and he would tell as much of the story as he knew. She, for her part had refused to reveal anything that happened. Without his filling in the pieces, about all her friends would have known was that Sandra had stayed in France for some reason.
What a family Thanksgiving it had been with Sandra home before Scott had placed that phone call.
His parents and Sandra's parents seemed to nervously watch as the two formerly really close cousins eyed each other with dirty looks across the table not speaking through the salads and the turkey. Scott had wondered if the 50-somethings had discounted the fact that this was something more than just a spat between the 20-somethings. This hatred was as real as real could get.
Scott had broken the silence sometime before the pumpkin pie was served. "How can you sit there and not even apologize?" he screamed at Sandra. "I have nothing to apologize for," Sandra had screamed back. The family looked at both of them as if they were two 10-year olds again threatening to throw mashed potatoes at each other.
Scott's aunt, Sandra's mother, had made a proprietary coughing sound.
"You're the one who drove Emily to this with what you did to her in Paris!" Scott unabatedly hollered across the table. Sandra looked down at her pie and cut out a piece slowly with a fork. She licked the piece as she put it in her mouth. "Scott," she said slowly, "can you be a dear and pass me the whipped cream?" She smiled at her mother.
"Oh by the way," Sandra said in Scott's direction, "I saw your little show on television. You're a regular David Hasselhoff in Germany now I understand. And, Emily, she's got great range as an actress."
Scott wanted to leap across the table and strangle her where she sat.
His father looked over at Sandra and said, "what do you mean Sandra?"
"Didn't you know? While Scott was in Berlin he got asked to be on a television show playing," she looked at her father and said, "you're going to love this. He was playing an angry American waiting for a German train."
Scott's mother had laughed a little and said, "that's our Scott, always one to get his dander in a bunch."
The fact that Sandra was now suddenly seen as the family member made good made him sick. He wanted to blow the secret of how she met her rich DJ boyfriend. "Oh, yes, well she gave him a lap dance in front of a group of his friends at a party."
One more word out of her mouth and he would, he swore it.
It didn't take a word, it only took one action. Sandra winked at him across the table and some something across the table at him in French. He was sure it wasn't complementary. Something inside of him broke out and he screamed, "I don't care if you live in Paris and now you speak French, Sandra, the only thing French about you is that you have the morals of a French whore."
Sandra's mother dropped her napkin into her plate, "Scott, that's uncalled for."
"Tell them Sandra," Scott said to the group assembled. "Tell them what you did to Emily in Paris, just tell them. Let them think that you're some great person just because you live overseas now instead of in this asshole of a town."
Scott's younger brother giggled. His mother put her hand of his and said, "shh..."
"Whatever happened to Emily?" Scott and Sandra's grandmother asked, "she was such a sweet girl. She was like a little angel."
"Well," Scott said, "gram, the last I heard, she was in a mental hospital, thanks to..." He pointed his finger straight at Sandra and screamed, "this fucking cunt!"
Sandra seemed to drop all pretenses of being ladylike at this point. "Look, you cock sucker, I was trying to cheer her up. And, besides I wasn't the bastard who let her wander off in Berlin in the condition she was in."
Scott's face felt like it was on fire at the insinuation, "you put her in that fucking condition. At least be woman enough to admit it."
"I did nothing wrong. You could have stayed at the same hostel that she did in Berlin one last night. You could have found out her room number. But poor little broken hearted Scott took the first train he could back to Paris."
"How do you know that?" Scott asked, his hand quivering.
"Oh, I have my sources," Sandra winked.
"You haven't talked to her, have you?"
"She won't say a word to me either Scott," Sandra said. Scott was amazed that he heard sadness in her voice and even a bit of camaraderie in their mutual situation. "But the grapevine in Paris is very short, as they say."
"What else was I supposed to do, she didn't want me there?"
Scott's relatives excused themselves to "let the kids talk this out."
"Maybe you could have tried to be her friend instead of running away."
Scott exhaled and said, "Sandra there was nothing more I could have done for her, she was already gone when she left Paris. I at least tried to save her."
Sandra said, "and you did a really great job at that, pushing her over the edge and all."
That was the final straw. Scott lunger at Sandra and punched her in the face. She let out a shriek like Scott had never heard. The family came rushing in and dragged Scott away from Sandra who was holding the side of her face. "That's the one that Emily should have given you," he screamed, "you got off easy with just a slap."
Scott wasn't sure but he thought he finally heard Sandra whisper, "I'm sorry." She said it again louder, "I'm sorry Scott, I'm sorry Emily. But nothing could save her, Scott, nothing could save her. It's not your fault and it's not my fault!"
Sandra screamed after him as he was let down, "it's not my fault, and it's not your fault Scott. Forgive yourself!"
Scott's father had paid for the next train back to Chicago, thankfully a day train. When he got home there was a message beeping at him on his home phone. He picked it up half expecting it to be Emily. The voice sounded so much like Emily's that Scott's heart skipped a beat but it was Emily's mother. She sounded frantic. She had no idea where Emily was. She hadn't come home for Thanksgiving like she was supposed to. Emily's mother was calling him to see if Emily was, "over at your apartment by any chance." The message also apologized, "that things didn't work out for you two."
Emily's mother was practically crying by the end of the message as was Scott. Emily's mother had said she had tried her home phone, and her cell phone and nothing.
Scott picked up the receiver and dialed the number to Emily's mother's house in the suburbs. The phone rang for what seemed like an eternity before he heard a beep and a broken voice said, "hello?"
"Mrs. McDonnel?" Scott asked.
The voice on the other end of the receiver didn't say anything. "It's Scott, I just called to tell you..."
"Scott," the broken voice said, "Emily's dead."
It took all the strength he could muster to keep his grip on the phone. "Emily's dead?" he asked, his voice now shaking as much as Emily's mother's had.
"The police found her this morning. They said she was lying on her bed so peacefully that she looked like an angel. Scott, I'm so sorry to be the one to tell you this. They found a picture next to her of some sort of statue and an open bottle of sleeping pills. They told me that she probably felt no pain. The..."
The voice on the other end broke into tears. Scott was amazed at how closely Emily's mother crying sounded to Emily.
"The service is at 10:00 a.m. on Sunday. I'd really like you to come. I'm sure even though you two haven't talked for a while, she would have wanted you to be there," Emily's mother had continued.
"Is there anything I can do?" Scott asked.
"Actually can I ask you a favor?" Mrs. Donnel had said.
"Anything," Scott said, the tears in his voice. "Do you have any photos or anything that we can remember her by?"
"Of course," Scott said trying to be strong and calm for Emily's mother like he had tried to be for Emily, "I can bring them by any time."
He had looked through his apartment for memories of the times that he and Emily had spent together. But, that one picture that he wished he had taken, of Emily dancing, the one that he wanted to show couldn't be there. And, he couldn't show the picture that he drew of The Little Insurgent that so represented her.
"A drawing of some sort of statue." The words echoed in Scott's head. Emily had been looking at the picture he had drawn her of The Little Insurgent when she had taken that fatal dose of sleeping pills. He regretted, at that very moment, having ever given the picture to her. He was only trying to help.
He thought back to those last few moments he had spent on those stairs in Berlin. Could he have done anything different? Should he have tried to chase her down? Sandra was right, he could have asked about her at the hostel and pounded on her room's door. He could have fought harder for her. In the end, he had been a coward.
When he had gotten back to Chicago, he kept looking at the phone trying to figure out if he should pick it up. She told him not to call and in the end, he was left with nothing but hope that the phone would ring from her end. Now it never would.
Scott looked at the e-mails from around the world again expressing their condolences. They ranged from Elenka's, "I wish I could have gotten to know her, she seemed like a special person" to Ivana's, "there are so few truly bright stars among us, it's a shame when one is extinguished so soon. With the words you used to describe her, I feel like I know her too."
The Aussies had all told him, in perfect English, that it wasn't his fault. They had been the ones who had met her personally and knew what she was going through in Berlin. Scott was shocked when the most heartfelt condolence had come from Shamus, "you can't save someone who's in that condition. You can only hope that God sees a way to keep them around for as long as possible and will make them whole again."
People who had only met Emily once or who only knew her briefly seemed to be affected by her inner beauty even in times of turmoil.
He wished that Emily could have seen that in herself.
Before he left for the funeral Scott watched the video cassette of the show from Germany that the producers had e-mailed him. When it had arrived on Wednesday, he was too busy getting ready to go home to even open it. Now, he saw the scene with Emily. The scene that he didn't even know they had captured until Sandra had told him at Thanksgiving. Scott wondered if Emily had watched that videotape on that fateful night before she decided that life was no longer worth living.
Seeing her on that screen looking so sad, that wasn't acting. That was how Emily had looked. He wondered if the producers had shot it at Zoo Station that first day she had waited there for him. He looked at the longing in her eyes and knew that it was real. He paused the tape and walked up to the television. Touching the representation of her face, he said quietly, "I'm sorry Emily. I should have been there. I understand now, I couldn't save you. I'm sorry."
He sang the representation of her a verse of "Hallelujah" that he hoped reached her wherever she was now, "and even though...it all went wrong...you'll stand before the Lord of song...with nothing on your tongue but Hallelujah."
Tears cut into the snow in rivulets as he walked to his car. Straightening his suitpants, he exhaled and turned the key.
Compared to this drive, all the night trains in Europe combined were like gifts from above. All that kept the tears out of his vision was the fact that Emily was now free to dance all she wanted far away from the walls that Earth had thrown her way.
Chapter Word Count: 2437
Daily Word Count: 12683
Total Word Count: 93739
