I sat on the warm concrete, basking in the sunlight, taking in every ounce of this flawless day. I turned my head sideways to see Rowynn bouncing a light purple ball around the chalk where she drew a bright blue flower. She soon shouted, “Mommy, catch!” Her little smile gleaming in the glowing light as well as her strawberry blonde hair seemingly dancing in the luminous afternoon. My reaction was too slow. My first regret. 

Rowynn turned toward the ever so depressing road as a stray VW Beetle came pummeling toward her. The smile slowly melted off my face, the remains of it landing on the now cold ground. She twirled into the road, her poodle dress swaying in the calm afternoon breeze, “Rowynn!” My screams barely seemed to leave my throat. My second regret. “Mommy, I got it!” Rowynn giggled, her petite features lighting up at the sight of the purple ball. 

I woke up. Sweat dripping down my face and seeping through my silk nightgown. The recurring nightmare played over and over again in my head like a broken record, my everything was gone, my daughter was gone. It was a fever dream, never ending, never seeming real. Yet it was. It was all too real, all something I could’ve prevented, I could’ve stopped. But I didn’t. I watched her die. I watched her run after that ball. I watched her… I couldn’t finish my own sentence. I washed my face off, the warm salty tears burning my torn up lips. I looked at the clock hanging on the wall, the clicking was repetitive and recurring but comforting in an odd way. It was a familiar sound, reminding me of something mellow, something warm, a new feeling, something other than this somberness dragging me down to the bottom of a lake, stinging my eyes, and gashing my heart. 

Everything was quiet for just a bit, just me and the clicking of the clock. The soft bathroom mat comforted me, although I was still seeing everything in black and white. Some things died down the monsters inside my head, and I had some reassurance in that. I trudged to the kitchen and put a record on the record player, I pulled some wine out of the fridge and poured myself a tall glass. I drank away all my problems and sorrows;  it was the only thing that would make the pain go away, the only thing that would heal my disfigured soul. The only thing that brought me into a world of make-believe, a place where she was alive, a world where I saved her. The same thing would happen every day, I would relive the, ‘accident,’ I would relive the day I regretted, the grief was all too much, the echo made it worse. It was like putting salt on an open wound, it was like everything around me reminded me of her.  

Perspective - Jeremy, October 7, 1964.

I was a mess, my wife was a mess, everything was just a mess. The pressure was on me, I couldn’t seem to find the right words to heal her soul, even for just a little bit, just to see her smile. Just for her contagious happiness to light up the room one more time before I went insane. One more time before I moved on. She walked into the room a tissue in hand, still in the same red dress she had been wearing for months on end saying, ‘It has her scent Jeremy, it’s the last thing I hugged her in! Please don’t wash it.’ 

The words were scrambling through my head, looking for one thing to keep us together. A silence entered the room, the atmosphere changed, a cooling sensation surrounding us. “What are you thinking about Jeremy?” She inquired, in a monotone voice. “Whatever you’re thinking about.” I answered. “Please Jeremy, say anything, anything! Tell me something I’ll forget, I’ll listen, just please, I just can’t get my mind off her!” She demanded, a deep yearning in her voice, eating me up from the inside out. Pulling her closer, I spoke through clenched teeth, “Go ahead and cry, little girl. Nobody likes you.” I paused for a moment, I squeezed her face, I could feel her sharp breath on mine, “But when you told me the whole story I felt like throwing up. Nothing, Melinda. Nothing can change the fact YOU killed her. She may have left a bad taste on your tongue. But,  you’ve been raining all day, couldn’t wait to see her shine. You made her shine. You held her tight, held her when she cried, isn’t that enough to stop you from sobbing it out? watching you fall out is killing me inside, you’ve already twisted the knife. Nothing can change the fact she’s gone. That's right she’s gone! For Heaven's sake, get over it Melinda!” I couldn’t believe the words that had just spilled out of my mouth. 

She pulled away, and looked at me. Right dead in the eye, she was staring into my soul. A single tear fell from her face. I saw the torment in her eyes, I was the one twisting the knife deeper and deeper into her agonized soul. She stepped closer, and lightly touched my face. “I see how you feel.” She trembled, a slight shake in her voice. She let go and walked out of the room. The clicking of her heels on the hardwood floor was just another reminder of the chaos I had just ensued. 

Time ticked by, just like it has always done, but lately, it’s been seeming longer and longer, I staggered to the door, my legs weren’t supporting me and wanted me to stay with Melinda, I couldn’t. It was all piling up pushing me into this…into this never ending rabbit hole of feelings forcing themselves out. I told myself I was doing it for her, I was leaving for her. Not me. I pulled my leather jacket off of the reflective, smooth coat hanger. The reflection was off a monster. Leaving his wife in her most strenuous time. What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t assure her everything was going to be fine, because it wasn’t. It just wasn’t. I couldn’t bear to hear her weep every night. I opened the door.

I took one last look at my wife passed out on our old, beat-up couch, I then looked outside to where it was slightly drizzling, the street was bustling with people with lives, family, and bliss. All I was leaving behind in this run-down house was memories. Memories flipped through my mind, a million per second. Each one was different. Some bitter, some sweet. Now yes, I’ve seen these memories before. But this time was different. It was as if the universe was whispering all the truths and lies into my head. The tragedy swirled in my mind like an artist painting his final masterpiece. The streetlights, the sidewalks, the people, they were luring me into this new, exhilarating view. A freshly paved path arose before me, the question was; would I adhere to it? Only time would tell, and I didn’t have much to spare. I opened the unwelcoming door, forced one shoe out after another, I could smell the opportunity in the air. Something, someone new is coming, I just didn’t know who or what.

Perspective - Melinda, October 7, 1964.

‘BOOM,’ the lightning crashed down a tree outside in the cold, wet rain. It must’ve been weak, like my husband. He had just left for work apparently and I was sitting on my raggedy couch waiting for my cheating husband to get home. I knew in the long-run it was better to confront the man than to wait out the treacherous storm yearning me to stumble upon it. I pulled out a cigarette and lit it with my silver lighter engraved with my initials. The smoke filled the air, and fogged up my mind. I cautiously got up and looked at the dusty clock in the corner of the dimly lit room. He would be coming home in the next twenty minutes. He always says he has to work late though. My feet turned towards the wine bottle sitting on the countertop almost as if it was saying, “Open me,” I moseyed over to it, the clicking of my vermillion heels covering up the sound of my record on the record player. I grabbed a knife out of the wooden, rusty drawer and flicked off the cork cap.

I poured a tall glass of white wine and fluffed up my jet black hair, “Any minute now..” I murmured under my breath, “Any minute now,” I gingerly sipped the wine until the whole bottle was empty. I couldn’t tell if I was drunk or just full of envy and pain from my husband. I plucked off my gold wedding ring and threw it in the trash, I then threw my lit lighter in there and quietly stepped onto the green, moldy porch, the old Chevy Corvette rolled into the driveway and shut off with a hushed purr. All I could hear was the rain pounding against my uncovered arms. Now was my time. The man hopped out of the vehicle obviously drunk, ha! He was definitely at work. He threw on his fedora and stumbled up to the porch, I turned on the porch light, watching it buzz, it sounded about as furious as I was. He glanced up in shock as if he was in a daze of some sort, “What are you doing home so late, mister?” I inquired, “Melinda..I,” He trailed off, shooting me up a sickening smile. I could smell the scent of another woman's perfume on him from a mile away. “I just had to work late, honey bunches. It's really no biggie.” He collected himself, and leaned against the greasy looking handrail nonchalantly. “Mhm, no biggie, it’s really no biggie you coming home every day for the past month at 2 am. It’s no biggie that I only see you once a day, and you don’t even talk to me. It’s no biggie that you’re just pushing me aside like a pest! You want to know who the real pest is Jeremy?! It’s you!” I hissed, pulling out the wine glass from behind my back. It's reflection showing a disgruntled woman, makeup running down her face. Was that me? “Fine, you want to know the truth Melinda?” He sighed and took a long, exaggerated breath, rubbing the bags under his eyes.

“The truth is, I have been seeing another woman. I mean look at you Melinda, where is the woman I married? You’re in total shambles; when I come home you are always drunk, or even worse, I can’t find you. You can choose to live your life this way Melinda, but just a warning, you’re digging your own gra-” I cut him off. I had heard enough. I was perfectly fine. I smashed the wine glass against the handrail, and tentatively  stepped over to him. I felt bulletproof. “Melinda, you don’t have to do this…y-you have a choice.” His voice was agitated, yet paled in comparison to the sound of the rain pummeling down on us and the ear-piercing thunder that were soon to deafen out his screams. 

“I wore my red dress for a reason, dear.” Those were the last words he would ever hear, and I am content with that. I thought as I dug a hole, perfectly shaped to his body, “Who's digging their own grave now?” I mocked, a deep vile smirk filling my face. “I told you…I wore my red dress for a reason.”