FicWad

Finally freedom! I was ecstatic to be going home, first thing I was going to do was pick up my guitar and tune it finely, I couldn’t wait, ideas for new songs scattered my mind and I was buzzing.
I sat stiffly on my old bed, I could hear Mum clattering tea-cups and plates around the kitchen from where I was- the water spluttering from the tap as she cleaned up after dinner, she never did let me buy her a dishwasher.
I held my guitar tightly in my hands, it was gleaming, and fresh, like a bathroom that has never yet been stepped in, as soon as you enter it, it changes into the place you’re familiar with. I looked out my dark brown window, rain splashed down so fast and soundlessly with a cool breeze and a grey evening sky.
I was glad to be out of the hospital, I was still stiff of course, but the doctors told me that after some work outs that should vanish.
With my left hand I ran my finger down my cheek, it stung slightly but it was healing- at one stage after the crash if you touched my face you would be covered in dark scarlet blood. It was terrifying to think back about that.
From my memory, things were still blanks, Shannon told me that I would sit and stare into space for hours just thinking but I never realised it after. I needed to fill in the space that was missing.
Twisting the pegs on my guitar I looked to my side, a mysterious little red sonnet book sitting freshly there on the blue creases of my duvet. I had read everything in it by now, or it had been read to me.
When I read them I felt incomplete, something was missing, but I never knew. Tomo reminded me that everyone felt funny after reading the enlightening works of Shakespeare- even Shannon and himself. But my emptiness was different, I would flick through the book and my stomach would heave, my fingers would twitch and I would feel uncomfortable. I began to only read the book at night when I was alone. The sensation was overwhelming but addictive.

“So Jared, we never discussed your mystery girlfriend.” Shannon started one morning.
I blinked at him, “The reason being that I don’t have a girlfriend.” I mumbled, chomping on a raw carrot.
“The nurses in hospital told me that she visited you everyday for a while, left a little book…”
I blinked at him again, “Girlfriend? Book? Are the doctors sure I’ve gotten all my memories back?”
Shannon popped a grape into his mouth, “They’re sure enough; nurses say that she read that book to you a lot.”
“Why didn’t you mention this to me when I was feeling better?!” I demanded, unsure and my inside dropping again.
“I didn’t think you’d want to hear about it until you recovered.” He said bluntly, maybe he was right; this would have put me back a bit.
“I got out months ago, how will I ever know now?” I hissed.
Shannon shrunk a little; suddenly it was tense and awkward between us. “I thought that it wasn’t important or- or- that you wouldn’t have recovered if you knew that she left.”
My shoulders flopped down, “She left me? Do you know her name? I want to talk to her.” My stomach was knotting tightly, I felt sick now; I couldn’t take another bite out of my food.
“I have no idea who she was.”
“I’m going to find out who she is.” I grunted.
“Whatever bro, but we’re starting touring again soon.”
“Ugh…”

I sat with the book again, I wasn’t going to read it but inspect it rather. I saw a purple pen-marked flower on it but other than that not much else. I could almost remember her voice though, she had a small lisp on the end of words, and she sounded like she was smiling. I didn’t remember a face or anything. Just the sonnets, every time I read some sonnets I would get déjà vu from them, I would be lying back in the hospital bed within an instant. Why didn’t I feel this before? I needed to find her and thank her at least. I had so many questions for her. I needed to know if her stomach knotted too at the thought of that little book. I wanted answers! I wanted to hear her voice.
I flicked through every page, looking for my memories, she must have been an impact in my life, but I couldn’t remember anything. I cried out, my head hurt and I felt alone again, reading line after line of poetry. Cursing Shakespeare for the words he wrote so well. “What’s in the brain that ink may character?” Why do our brains do this to us! When I put a pen to paper all I could do was listen to her words.
Tomo walked in cheerfully, looking me up and down ad his expression moulded into stress, “What is it Jay?”
“I can’t remember her name!” I shouted, hurling the book at the window.
He sat down at the end of my bed, “I think you need to get some counselling, I think the crash went to your head.” He whispered.
“You think I’m depressed? Angry? These blenches gave my heart another youth!” I argued. I stopped. I was going insane. No one should quote poetry like that. “Maybe you’re right…”
“Yeah, and after counselling you can go to Shakespeare Anonymous…” He chuckled awkwardly.
I faked a smile, he had given me an idea, but I wasn’t going to tell him that part.