Picture Perfect Stories

The hangover hit me hard, the room spinning if I moved too fast or tried to walk around. The sharp, white lights of the hospital fueled a raging headache which probably created a pain the equivalent of being whacked in the head with a hammer or some kind of hatchet. I want to see her, I need to, but the small amounts of food I had managed to keep down were threatening to find a way outside of my body whenever I would attempt to stand. The doctors have ordered me to remain in the waiting area, only immediate family could enter the ICU, but I need to see her. Need to see that she was okay, to see that she was going to be fine and nothing was wrong, that once she woke up everything would be okay and go back to normal. I need the guilt that was sitting in the pit of my stomach, along with the alcohol and a couple crackers, to go away. I need to know I haven’t hurt her. I would never hurt her. But somehow we ended up here, her expensive dress ripped to shreds with her blood smeared on my tuxedo and alcohol staining my breath, my ’72 Chevelle at the bottom of the reservoir.

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining and the sky was clear, not a cloud to be seen for at least a few miles. The temperature was what most would describe as perfect, not too hot yet not too cool either, a slight breeze swayed the tree branches and allowed the leaves to dance while birds sang quietly in the background. It was the kind of day people would pray for, fathers would stop watching the game long enough to mow the lawn and mothers would kneel inside their gardens, while children would actually put down their phones long enough to enjoy the weather, the volume of their screams and laughs escalating thanks to the absence of walls and the need for an “inside voice”. For most it was a perfect day. But I resented the birds, and the way their singing reminded me of hers. I wished clouds would completely cover the sky, the enormous, dark clouds that made it seem like the sun would never appear again, clouds that would quiet the children’s’ laughs and force parents to put their landscaping tools back inside the shed. I wanted it to rain, complete torrential downpour, the kind of rain that caused flood warning alerts to make everyone’s phones buzz. The world wasn't deserving of sunny, with perfect temperatures and a slight breeze. The trees didn’t deserve to dance and the birds shouldn’t be allowed to sing. The children aren’t allowed to laugh and moms and dads don’t deserve to get to try and make their yards look better than their neighbor the next door over. Not when she couldn’t either.

I had loved her ever since the day I saw her. Had never spoken to her, she probably didn't even notice me, but I was completely, head over heels in love with her. The first thing I had noticed were her eyes, large and round, a sparkling emerald color that would sometimes change based on the atmosphere around her. I was captivated by her eyes, then the splash of freckles would peak through the minimal makeup on her face. Her cheeks were rosy pink, often becoming red when she felt awkward or a little uncomfortable in a situation. Her hair was golden, soft and smooth, and reflected the sun whenever she'd flip it over her shoulder or pull it back, which she did whenever she fully got into her zone, oblivious to everything else besides her task. Her clothes were always simple, never drawing too much attention to herself, yet she somehow always managed to look better than everyone around her. But there was something wrong with her nose. Her nose always seemed out of place, like it didn't belong on a face as beautiful and stunning as hers. A small trickle of blood always seemed to crawl it's way onto her lip, never a lot but enough for her to become flustered and frustrated and rush out of the room. She started spending more and more time sleeping; in the library, during study hall, sometimes she'd even clock out during class, often earning we a lecture I'm positive she'd tune out. She had been a smart student, no valedictorian or anything, but bright enough to to get her into a good college, yet suddenly she stopped showing up for class, staying for attendance then scurrying into the bathroom. Her bones started to become more prominent, her face sullen and pale, her lips chapped and cracked. Her emerald eyes lost their sparkle, turning dull and empty. She was still beautiful, nothing could change that. But she had changed, she now seemed so sad, so damaged. Broken. 

The office lights of the overachievers still working late, the ones loved for their job, who rarely went home and their significant other was the company laptop instead of a real living a breathing human, lit up the city. It was my favorite view, the brightness in contrast to the dark skyline. It had been that way ever since I was a child. I'd sit on the small window seat next to the window of our 2 bedroom apartment on the fourteenth floor of the old brick building and watch the sun disappear and the stars come out. The city continued to move no matter the time, taxi drivers swerving around everyone else, horns muting the expletives almost every driver would yell. Some people hated the noise, the inevitable craziness of city made them turn their noses away and sprint towards the suburbs. But I loved it. The city was filled with people constantly moving about and noise that never stopped and the occasional rodent that would scurry past you and hiss while you waited for the subway. That germ-infested, rodent-crawling, street food selling, office light lit up city was my home, it was where I belonged. 

I have always been afraid to fly. The idea of being trapped and restrained inside a metal contraption that's flying hundreds of miles an hour thousands of feet above the ground just isn't something I find to be fun or exciting. When I was a child, and my family took us around the world, I was fine with planes and the idea of flying. The sky didn't scare me and I enjoyed flying with the clouds. The constant motion of all different people inside the airports always captivated my attention and as a child, you can never go wrong with gift shops at every corner. Security was always my least favorite, the shrill sounds of metal detectors always hurt my ears. But flying never really bothered me. But for some reason, when I boarded the plane headed towards Europe, panic set in and the plane walls caved and all I wanted was to get off the plane. I hadn't been on a plane ever since the accident, but I didn't think it would be problem. It shouldn't have been an issue, I had flown countless times with them, but all I needed was to get off the plane. 

Three hours. All I had to do was make it through three hours of the reception then it was officially acceptable to leave before everyone became too hammered and something awful would happen. The ceremony had been torturous. Her blonde hair was perfectly curled and pulled into a fancy knot that rested by the nape of her neck. Her dress was simple, white with some embellishments around her petite waist, fitted tightly to her perfect figure. Her skin was perfectly tanned, a perk of living by the water and never having to work due to Daddy's paycheck. Her jewelry was equisite, probably costing more than my student loan debt. And then there was him, waiting for her at the end of the aisle. Smiling, his eyes only on her. His tuxedo was perfectly tailored to fit his slim figure perfectly. His usual scruff had left his chin and his hair had been cut and styled perfectly. And I hated him for it. I wished he had gotten fat so his suit looked rumpled and wrinkled, ugly and imperfect. I wished he had gotten some gene from his family which made him go bald and grey by the time he had hit 25, and I wish his wife to be wasn't a supermodel who never looked less than perfect. But I got the invitation asking if I would attend, a phone call promising it wouldn't be weird, and now I'm here enduring torture for at least three more hours.