I’d lost the flavor of your voice. That surrender went unnoticed until I heard it again today. The news played the interview, and your presence washed over me as strong as the day we met. In the middle of the waiting room, my vision grew misty with the realization that even after death, more of you could still be taken. Grief never ends.
The nurse called my name. I pulled myself up on the crutches and tried to smile apologetically, but that pretense broke me, left me weeping even as I clunked forward, hands and feet, hands and feet. I’d have given anything to go back, to make that small change that would make all this go away. I’d have bargained my soul to the devil and kissed his cloven hoof to undo what I’ve done.
The examination room felt like a crypt. The temperature plummeted, leaving me shivering, my breath rolling out like a winter’s storm, and in that empty, white space I heard the chattering echo: I’d sell my soul. I’d sell my soul. I’d sell my soul.
My tears fled before the fear that bled within me. I bowed to pray, to disavow my words and swear all earnest devotion to the good and glorious God who let these things happen, but no disavowal came. No prayer. Only the silence of loss.
The door opened. A warm radiance pulsed from some unseen distance, bathing me in warmth and comfort. Perfect voices sung of wonders unknown to man, reaching notes that should have pierced my ears to bleeding but left me awash in the joy and splendor of their praise. A cascading rainbow of eyes filled the room and left me with every pretense and protection stripped bare, and a voice rumbled within my soul, felt but not heard.
What if this is what I want from you, the persistence within the pain?
An unvoiced cry rose as far as my throat, denying the possibility.
In return, I felt the burden of my unworthiness and shrunk, curling bodily before that manifestation of holiness as if I could escape by collapsing inward.
Dare you choose anything else?
A moment’s release washed over me, just enough to answer. “I do.”
The vision vanished with all its warmth and comfort, and I sat alone again, waiting in grief and madness.
If the devil had come that day I would have cut any bargain. I swear. If he’d come in a month, in a year, you’d be here in today, in my place, but you’re not.
The devil came, but he came too late.
Look at her, pigtails flapping as she swings, and see the brilliance in her eyes.
The last line is pure poetry.