A Porcelain Existance

Your voice fills the room for the hundredth time tonight. Sweet, melodious; you chatter and laugh. I can hear you from the upstairs bedroom, it makes me smile. You’re a beautiful person, really. Outside and in. Beautiful, even with your quirks.
I never see you smile much anymore. It’s a shame, because you have the most exquisite smile. It’s perfect, yet not so much that it looks doctored. Your smile alone can light up a darkened room. Your face as a whole looks as though those all around ought to emit a heavenly chorus.
I’ll never forget you, even when you die. Those shining locks of honey that will forever tumble down your back in boundless waves will haunt my every moment, waking and sleeping.
At this moment, your laugh gives me hope. Your voice makes me dream. Please....Stay happy forever. Or at least until tomorrow. Without a sound, I creep down to the room that you’re in. The door is open and the light is on. I won’t go inside, I’ll just watch you from the door way, silent and still.
My breath catches in my throat and I’m filled with disappointment. I thought you were better. I thought we were finally free. I was wrong.
You’re talking to yourself. Laughing at unsaid jokes and dancing to music that only you can hear. You’re wearing the wedding dress again. Perhaps reliving the ceremony once more? Perhaps dreaming of another yet to come... If only.
Still, in all your peculiarity, you are stunning. I continue to watch you from the doorway, knowing that you’ll never notice. You laugh like I do. We share similar gestures, and similar features. I know what you’re thinking and I know this won’t last. Tonight you’ll laugh and dance and then fall asleep in your white dress. Tomorrow, you’ll wake not remembering what happened the night before and saddened by the memories this dress provokes in you. You will come to me hysterical, and I will patch up your broken heart so that you may last through the day.
On impulse, I leave you in your imaginary wedding and retrieve my camera from the study. If her mood won’t last, at least I’ll always have proof that it exists. Proof that she can be happy. I sneak back to the door and poke my head and the Nikon around the corner. One photo. Flash. Two photos. Flash, flash. Three, four, five. Flash, flash, flash.
The flash wasn’t meant to be on. You’ve noticed. For a moment, I’m certain you’ll turn around and snap at me for taking pictures of you. But you don’t.
I can see a look in your eyes that is both afraid and knowing. The joyful girl I saw before is gone. Replaced by the woman too suffered for her years. A tear rolls down your left cheek. It’s perfect. It’s beautiful. And it cuts through to my core.
You stare at me. I stare at you. For what seems like years, you stand there with silent and unwilling tears gently undulating down your porcelain skin.
Abruptly, you scream. “DAVID! No!” My skin begins to crawl. There is something so poignant about the image you portray in that instant. Of course I know exactly who you mean and exactly why you’re screaming.
David.
The love of your life. The sire of your bastard child. The husband you never had...
I watch as I see you go through the crash yet again. I do nothing but survey your agony. What can I do? You’re trapped inside a world made of glass, a world to which I am not part. I would take away all your pain if I could. I’d give my life if you could have your David back, even if just for one day. If only things had turned out different. If only it wasn’t raining. If only he would have let you drive.
If only...
I can only vaguely remember the accident. I was only small at the time. No more than three or four. Although, I remember enough to know what keeps replaying over and over in your mind. The expression on your face tells me that this time is more vivid than ever.
You begin to claw at your arms. Trying to rip off a chemical spill that isn’t there. Fighting the flames that never attacked you. Your eyes are frantically searching for the baby that was once in the back seat. The baby that now watches you wordlessly from the door, a camera held limply in his hand.
Tentatively, I decide to speak up. “Mum. Mum?” I know that I need to be gentle. It’s somewhat similar to waking a sleep walker. “I’m here, Mummy.” You’re not listening to me; to the present. Your mind is lost in the past.
I walk toward you, briskly at first but I slow as I approach you closely. I touch your bare shoulder lightly, but it is enough. “Wake up Mum,” I say monotonously. You react slowly. Confused.
“Mum, it’s Peter.”
“No...” you’re disbelieving; in limbo between past and present. “Peter. Peter Adams.” Little by little you get your bearings.
“Yes, that’s me. I’m Peter. Your son.” I say to you, as though speaking to a toddler. I want this to be over; I want it to be like it used to be. Like it was when Dad was alive. Daddy.
“What’s...happened...David?” It breaks my heart to see you like this. No matter how many times I watch you relive that nightmare, it still torments me.
“Let’s go to bed and we’ll get you out of that lovely dress.” You comply, too weak to object. And once again, I’m the parent and you’re the child.

Morning comes too slowly. My night was full of terrors. I kept hearing you move about. I worried, but I knew it was not my place to condescend you further.
I roll out of bed gradually, not wanting to move yet not wanting to lie there amongst my Spiderman sheets. Barefoot, I pad down to the kitchen. Although I’ve only just turned ten, I feel that a strong coffee is in order. This is what happens when a child grows up too fast I suppose.
Upon entering the kitchen I notice a small note is weighed down by a box of Wheat-Bix. God damn it! Without reading the note, I know what’s happened and I know where you’ll be heading. You’ll be going to see David. You’ll want to apologize for everything. And then you’ll want to walk home down the middle of the highway.
I immediately call Sergeant Lyle at the police station. He knows what to do, and so do I.