Memory Awake (or The girl who fell out of heaven): Part 2
“Why are you crying, Lily?”
I dabbed at my eyes, whispering, “The music.”
“You like this stuff? Give me Green Day any day, every day, twice on Sunday.”
I smiled, as the mini concert continued. Every Sunday, we were fortunate to have a classical music concert in the activity room for the hour after lunch, before visiting hours began. I never missed one. Today we listened to the works of Saint-Saens. The last notes of The Swan were played and mine were the loudest applause. I turned to Ellie.
“Music, this music, fills me so that I feel as if I might burst with beauty and longing. I feel every note here,” I touched my chest. “It’s as if each note reaches inside and finds some piece of itself, as if I am the music and the music is me.”
“That makes no sense. No wonder you’re in here.”
I rolled my eyes, “I’m in good company with you.”
“I don’t know; I’ll stay on my meds, level out, go home. You’ll still be here thinking you used to be stardust.”
“Given our chemical make-up, I’d say there’s a bit of stardust in all of us.” I paused. “I just remember when that was all I was.”
“Like I said…”
“Stop picking on her, Ellie. You’re just jealous. You wish you had something so magical to remember.”
“And that’s my cue. Later, Lily,” Ellie said as she strolled out of the room. She always went back to her room after the concerts. No one had come to visit her since she’d arrived some ten weeks ago.
No one visited me either, but my parents had divorced and moved out of state some years ago, so it was to be expected, I guess. My mom did send care packages every now and again. In the beginning, my father called periodically, but I always refused his calls, so he finally gave up. Easier for both of us.
I like to watch the others interact with those who make the trek every week, or bi-weekly or even just once a month, to remind them that they have not been forgotten.
It hurts quite a bit to feel oneself abandoned because you need help figuring out how to fit your square into the circle hole. My heart smiles to see not all hope is lost, neither for my life-challenged comrades, nor for their loved ones.
After half an hour or so, I go back to my room and take out my iPod. I put in my earpods, lay down and put on Saint-Saens. As I close my eyes, I am transported to before when I was stardust and music and light.
I fall asleep and when I awaken, I burst into tears.
I’m still here.