Dancing In The Rain

It all happened suddenly. We were happy, life was great. Then what I knew and loved was gone in a blink of an eye.

~

He had picked me up from my house, where I lived with my parents. I hadn't expected to move out at 17 but I also didn't think I'd still be living with them. What can I say, I'm a hot mess. But that's why he loved me.

He said that he had a surprise for me, something I'd never figure out. This was the fifth attempt of him trying to surprise me with a date. I already knew he was driving us to this special spot in the woods to have a picnic. But I played along, not wanting to make him sad. "He can win this one," I said to myself, holding back a smirk. I could see the joy in his eyes, I never wanted to see it leave.

We were in love. He was my home and I was his.

Apparently, the trucker who ended it all wasn't one for the lovey-dovey stuff. Just before we got to the special spot he was so excited to show me, a semi came speeding through a stop sign and t boned his cherry-red convertible. Bam, just like that, my whole world crumbled. "He had just gotten this car for his nineteenth birthday," Was all I could think as the life in his eyes slowly drained from him along with the blood coming from his right temple. As the car flipped, once, twice, three times, the world slowed down just for me to soak in the last few moments I would ever have with him. It was like the final gift from him, those few seconds that I could relish in. The last time I would hold his hand. The last car ride in his beautiful convertible. The last time he would drive. The last time I would see light in his eyes.

My gift slowly depleted, the clock started ticking counting the seconds until the end. The clock reached its end, it was Mother Nature's way of telling me that my gift was gone. Like using a candle over and over again until the wick won't light anymore. All that's left is the little bit of wax that always gets thrown away.

All that was left of him was the shell that his kind spirit lived in. It was just a matter of time before the world threw him away along with everything else long forgotten.

When the car did its third and final flip I blacked out and the next thing I know, I'm in the hospital. When I woke up it had been two days after the crash. After that time the realization of his death had set in. He was gone for good.

He hadn't brought his wallet with him that day because he had a habit of losing it. What's worse than losing your wallet in the woods? Since the hospital staff didn't have his ID they couldn't identify him until I woke up. I had to break the news to his brother, sister, and parents. Luckily, none of us have gotten any casseroles filled with peoples' leftovers they didn't want, from neighbors we've never met. Although, we did get a lot of sorry for your loss' at his funeral.

I've never understood the point of funerals. You tell people all your great memories with the person, mourn their death, and cry the entire ceremony. I think that you should be grateful for the time you had with the person, take pride in all the fun times you had with them, and enjoy your life while remembering everything great they ever did. This may be what I believe but trying not to be sad after the love of my life died is hard.

If he were here right now he would look at me with his beautiful pine green eyes and tell me that I'll be okay. He knew that whatever he said I would believe. But the hardest part of the truth is that he'd tell me to move on.

I know that he'd want me to remember him in good faith. The memories of him come rushing back from time to time. The one that replays the most is from about two months ago. He was supposed to be taking me on one of his surprise dates. This one was to my favorite restaurant from when I was a kid. When we got there it was closed. When we were about to pull out of the parking lot he ran over a nail and popped his tire. We were waiting for a towing company to come to fix his tire and listening to the radio, cuddling in the backseat when our song came on. He offered me his hand and asked "Milady, may I have this dance?" in his best southern accent. After laughing until our sides hurt, I took his hand and let him lead me onto an open patch of grass he called 'the dance floor'. We danced and danced for an hour until the towing company came. Once the tire was fixed we were drenched and giddy. That was one of my favorite days with him.

Now when I miss him I go to that patch of grass and dance in the rain.