Small chest with my clothing in it, table, bookshelf with a few of my favorite books tucked between others that just happened to be here when I arrived. A poster of a rockstar that I didn’t tape to a wall. A ratty crochet blanket. Bits and pieces of someone else’s life. Whoever was in this room before me. Mingling with my few belongings.
I run my fingers along the edge of the crochet blanket and feel each stitch and where it’s coming apart. The ratty blanket is mine, not theirs.
Despite how worn down it is, and the fact that I have no idea how to mend it, I can’t get rid of it.
It’s grey and red, with small bobbles sticking up every other row in an alternating pattern.
My throat tightens as I feel the worn yarn against my skin and I close my eyes.
I don’t want to think about her. I don’t want to think aboutit.
I can’t stop myself. The memories flood my head without my permission and all I can do is see and hear everything in my mind’s eye as if it is happening here and now.
Her voice calling out to me. Desperate and terrified. She screams my name but I’m not able to get to her. I can’t move fast enough. I can’t move at all.
Flames surround me from all angles, burning through my clothing and licking at my flesh every now and then. I try to move out of the way but something pins me to the floor. Heavy, overbearing. I’m not strong enough to move it.
I call out for her. My heart races in my chest.
“It’ll be okay, I promise!” I tell her. I hear the fear in my own voice. Even I don’t believe it, but I make the promise anyway.
One that I’m unable to keep.
My hands ball into fists as I’m caught in these memories. I swallow down the lump in my throat and try to push them away, but I can’t.
I see her face through the fire. Her bright eyes, so full of life—they’re filled with horror now. The flames are engulfing her, all she can so is cough and scream. Cry.
Her tears prompt my own, but I hold them back as much as I can. Trying to keep myself as composed as possible. I need to get up; I need to help her…
Everything is so fuzzy. I’m so dizzy.
“Aleksandr!” she calls for me.
I try to will myself up, pushing the beam off my body but I feel so weak. I can hardly breathe.
Within the darkness that starts to overcome me, I see her face one last time. I watch as her visage is melted beyond recognition. I listen as she goes silent, and that silence brings my own pain to its highest point.
“No,” I growl, pulling myself out of my own head. “No, no, no!”
I slam my fist against the wall beside the bed and ignore the prickling of tears at my waterline.
I stand up and start to pace the room.
“I shouldn’t be here,” I huff. “I can’t…” I put my head in my hands and start to shake. The glimpses in my head are too much to bear.
“It’s been years. Stop this. Stop it,” I talk to myself. Trying desperately to make the thoughts go away.
I thought coming here would make the flashbacks less frequent, but sometimes it feels like I’m in the middle of a war zone. All I can remember are the flames and the cries for help.
“I need to see her.” I decide this very suddenly. I cannot stay here any longer, pacing the room, feeling sorry for myself. I need to leave; I need to go to where I left my heart and make sure it’s still there.
So, I do. I make my exit quickly. Not telling a single soul where I’m going or what I’m doing. Simply disappearing into the early evening with only the bare essentials of what I need. Passport, ID, and cash. Leaving behind everything else I own, because none of it matters right now.
I won’t be there long.
The overnight flight is long enough that by the time the plane touches down, I’m almost entirely calmed. My body doesn’t feel like it’s being torched and the flickers of memories have ceased. Still, I can’t shake the feeling of grief. Heavy and hollow in my chest.
I stop by a flower stand near the airport and carry them with me the entire way. Poppies. They smell so familiar that it aches. I haven’t even been around one in almost a year, much less smelled one. It reminds me of the day I had been surrounded by dozens and dozens of them… All centered on tables and sending wafts of their clinging scent all around the room.
