The kids wander the streets after twelve. They are loud and inappropriate, and disrespectful to the men and women attempting to sleep.
The old woman lying in her bed wanted to go outside and yell at the damned children, but she could not will herself up. “O,” thought she, “my dear husband lies six feet under the Earth, and here I am, complaining about reckless little children…” It had been four days since her dear husband, Harold Brandoneth Fortmeyer, had been felled by two criminals wielding firearms after he valiantly tried to prevent them from hurting someone who looked like a teenager.
‘Oy!’ yelled he, ‘leave that boy alone! Whatever he has done, he is not deserving of this cruel punishment!’ His voice echoed through the alley, booming across the city. His voice was so powerful that it made children who were at home, dallying with their toys, shout: ‘Hooray!’
‘What do you have to do with this, old man?’ one said.
‘Yeah, it ain’t your business!’ the other said.
‘While it may “not be my business”, we have laws for a reason! Settle this dispute peacefully with no violence! Surely, you would not want me to inform the law of your… shameful behavior?’
‘You say anything, and I’ll pop your fucking head off, old man. This ain’t the thirties anymore. Run along now! Leave! For your own sake!’ one cried.
‘Get outta here, now! We ain’t scared of hurtin’ an old man! Especially one that’s gonna snitch! Leave! Scram! Go back to your wife or husband or children or whatever the fuck you do!’ the other said.
‘I shall not! And you shall not shoot me! I am begging you; please leave this boy alone! You do not know what you are doing! I am allowing you to learn without punishment! O, I wish I had this when I was your age; for if I were to do something as reckless and foolish as this, I would have both my hands on my rear!’
The two men would have grumbled furiously at each other. They would have had a disturbing smirk on their faces. They would have looked at Harold, then looked at each other again, and then looked back at Harold. ‘Okay, old man,’ they would have said. ‘We won’t hurt this guy anymore.’
‘O, good!’ Harold would have said. ‘I shall be on my merry way, then!’
‘Nah, nah, nah,’ they would have said. ‘We still need to punish someone. And, well,’ he cocked the gun, ‘you’ve clearly volunteered!’
“O, no!” Harold would have thought. “I never would have expected it to turn out like this! I must return home with Daniella! I cannot leave her without even a ‘So-long’! I must figure a way out of this!”
‘My sirs, we needn’t resolve this in the manner that you are implying! No, no, no. I was merely suggesting that you— you conjure up another method of resolving what ever gripes you might have with this poor boy, such as, for example, being: legally!’
‘Oh really?’ one said, ‘then what was all that threatening to tell the police for?’
“I am damned,” Harold would have thought. That would have been the first time he had sworn since he was but a lad.
The children would have cried as the men aimed the gun at Harold. A thunderstorm would have occurred as the trigger was pulled, and when Harold lay bleeding on the ground as the crooks fled, the world turned gray.
That is, at least, what Daniella Shalania Londana would have expected to happen. For she never saw the incident occur; she was only told by the policemen at her door, only hours after the incident. ‘I am sorry to tell you, ma’am, but your husband has been shot. He is at this hospital’—he handed her a sheet of paper with the hospital name on it—‘you may want to see him, as he is in critical condition.’
She wanted to collapse unto the floor, but her mind would not allow her to. “You must go see Harold! I forbid you to waste time mourning Him, for he is not yet gone! Quiet your despair and fly! Fly now!”
And fly, she did. She made it to the hospital eight miles away in only six minutes. “Thank the lord,” thought she, “that there were no police in my path, for I would not have stopped! I would have said, ‘Follow me, officers, if you want to see why I am traveling at eighty miles per hour!’ But they would not have heard me, obviously. O, Daniella, you fool!”
She entered, asked for the name, ‘Harold Brandoneth Fortmeyer,’ and they directed her to his room, where he lay, the light in his eyes almost gone.
‘O, Harold!’ Daniella cried.
‘Hello, Daniella. How do you on this fine day?’ Harold responded.
‘Do not speak to me as if you are not critically injured!’ Daniella said. ‘I worry for you. What if you do not make it? You know your body is weakening!’
‘Then I will not make it, and that will be the end,’ Harold said. ‘You must learn to accept these kinds of moments, Daniella. They will come, we surely know. Think of Pop-pop, or Ma, or our siblings. No, no, do not sob, Daniella. I will always be with you, if not physically. I love you. I truly, truly love you. I love you enough to tell you that I do not want you to mourn me. Do not despair, please. I beg of you, do not despair. You will only fall into worsening woe.’
‘But—’
‘Daniella, promise me, you won’t mourn too much. I cannot ask you not to mourn at all, despite being my preferred option; it is not realistic. Mourn for two days. After two days, if you cannot get out of bed without willing yourself, I ask that you seek salvation through someone, such as your friends or siblings. Oof! I love you, too, Daniella. Your hug is quite tight, however.’
‘I do not want you to leave! I forbid your leaving! I will not allow it! I tell you, God, do not allow Him to come to you just yet!’
Harold let out a pained chuckle. ‘I love you, Daniella.’
One more hour did Daniella spend with Harold before a loud beep echoed through the room, and doctors and nurses came rushing into the room, ushering Daniella out.
That night, she would drive herself home. That night, she would lie in her bed, staring at the ceiling. The tears would not allow her to sleep. That morning, she realized, was the last morning she was able to see Harold walking and talking. That morning was the last she would have breakfast with Harold. That night was the last she would touch Harold, hear Him say, ‘I love you, Daniella.’
One day passed. It was only woe. The funeral was that day. Harold’s family organized everything. No one spoke. Darla, Daniella’s sister, only looked at Daniella with pained eyes. Daniella stood still as the brown casket was lowered into the hole. She did not cry, for she withstood it. Until she returned home, “O, Harold, how I miss you,” thought she. She had naught for breakfast. She willfully skipped lunch and solemnly forwent dinner. “It is futile even to make a sandwich,” she thought. “I have no desire to eat.”
The second day arrived. Despair is the only way one could describe it. However, she ate breakfast, a simple banana, but skipped lunch. For dinner, she ate one slice of bread with provolone cheese on top. She had no thoughts other than “Harold” that day.
The third day. She wailed. She had broken her promise! She was still mourning Harold. How could she not? How could he ask for something so impossible for her? It was not fair! *“I ask that you seek salvation through someone, such as your friends or siblings.’ ”* Yes, that was right. Harold did not expect her to forgo mourning in only two days, at least not on her own! Who could she contact? Darla?
“Nay; surely Darla is in the same predicament as I. I mean, I saw her face at the f—funereal. She looked as dismayed as I! O, Harold, what am I meant to do? I haven’t a single person to aid me in my times of despair!” So, turning on the television, she had seemingly destroyed the promise she made to her late husband. She no longer knew what to grieve. She only grieved.
The fourth day flew by into the lonely home of Daniella. Silence was Daniella’s new partner. Last night, she could not sleep yet again. “What could I do?” thought she. “I could write, perhaps!” She flipped the light switch, scoured the bedroom, found a notebook, and clicked the pen. Then she began writing:
The days of doom pass! Dismay is the only thing I know, for I have lost the love of my life, my Darling Harold.
I weep every night that I cannot speak to Him, listen to His breathing, touch Him. Why, O, why does God punish me like this? What sin could I have committed to give reason?
I have not known true suffering, that is why. In my sixty-eight years of life, I have not once known true suffering! Even when my mother and father and brother and sister fell.
Shall I leave you, God?
*The same feeling befell her when she forced herself to close the notebook. ‘I can only write about my woe!’ she screamed. ‘Why, God? Why torture your faithful servant like this? I have done naught wrong in my sixty-eight years of life, and you take away my dear love? This is why many question you! This is why many leave you!’
*She heaved as her body rattled. Was it anger? Sadness? Fear? What was Daniella feeling? “I cannot possibly be upset at my dear husband! No, no, no! He did not choose his fate! But if he attempted to escape it, I am not sure. I know not the full explanation.” Daniella fell to the floor.
“ ‘No, no, do not sob, Daniella. I will always be with you, if not physically. I love you. I truly, truly love you. I love you enough to tell you that I do not want you to mourn me. Do not despair, please. I beg of you, do not despair. You will only fall into worsening woe.’ How could you say that to me? I am your dear wife! I deserve to mourn you! I do not feel that you are with me. ‘After two days, if you cannot get out of bed without willing yourself, I ask that you seek salvation through someone, such as your friends or siblings.’ I tried, darling! I tried, but it was futile! I have no friends I can speak with, either; they are all mourning you, as well! ‘You must learn to accept these kinds of moments, Daniella. They will come, we surely know.’ I cannot just accept it. I cannot. You think too highly of me, dear… ‘No, no, do not sob, Daniella.’ ” She remembered when they first met each other: ‘As fated lovers,’ her mother used to say.
Daniella had just gone through her math test in twelfth grade. “O, I certainly failed!” thought she. “My parents will not appreciate my coming home while knowing I failed a test due to my lack of studying!” She yearned to cry, but withheld it. Crying in school will quickly get one bullied.
Whether it be due to Daniella’s dismay or Harold’s recklessness, neither knew, but they ran into each other in the hallway, causing Harold to drop the notebooks and papers he had been carrying while joking with his friends and walking quite fast.
‘O, my days! Forgive me!’ Daniella cried, quickly attempting to pick up Harold’s papers.
‘When I looked at you that first time,’ Harold told Daniella when they had been married for ten years, ‘I knew I loved you. Your dashing brown hair, your beautiful honey eyes, your luxurious, white skin. I loved all of you. When I spoke to my friends about this, they merely laughed at me. “How can a hideous ogre-like creature be in love with such a pretty girl?” one said. “Yeah, she belongs only to the perfect guy!” another laughed. “We are all ogre-men. Do you not remember? We took an oath all those years ago when we first became friends! We three men are no longer men but ogres,” another chuckled. “I don’t know,” said I, “I merely feel this connection toward—toward… What is her name?”
‘My friends laughed at me soon after I asked that question. “How can you love someone and not even know her name!”
‘ “I do not know,” I said. “But I must learn her name! I must build a connection with her! I must ask her to the Senior Prom. After the prom, I will confess my feelings once and for all! I will then love her for the rest of my life, huzzah!”
‘They thought me a fool, but, obviously, they were quite wrong,’ Harold finished.
Daniella spent the rest of the day in despair, reminiscing on the happiness she once felt, until twelve.
*The children are yelling obscenities, and Daniella is quite frustrated. “O, just go home, children!” thinks she. “I am tired enough without you rascals being foolishly loud!”
The night is long. Every night has been long. It is only now that Daniella realizes a cruel fact about living: it does not wait for one to mourn. The bills for the house would soon climb the mountain. She needed to find work, but she could barely crawl out of her bed, let alone her house.
“Daniella,” says Harold, “open the door. Let the light in. You must survive. Survive for me.”
*“But how am I to resist, Harold? You are no longer with me! How can I work efficiently when I woe?”
“But I am with you,” says Harold. “Else how would you be hearing me?”
*“No!” thinks Daniella. “‘Tis but a lie! You are not with me. For you would not allow my suffering to occur! You lie—! I lie.”
“Daniella,” says Harold. “Do not fill your mind with corruption. I will always be with you. Whether you feel it or not is different.”
*Daniella lets out a cry of anger. ‘Do not fill my head with lies and—and fibs and—lies! I am alone! You hear? I am alone! You have forsaken me! I am but a widow!’
“Let us end this quarrel,” says Harold, “please. It is hurting me.”
*‘You cannot be hurt! You are dead! And, perhaps, soon I shall join you! What reason is there for me to continue this sorrowful life? You are gone. You were the limitless, and now you are gone! There is now a limit, and I have reached that limit.’
Harold no longer responds.
Was Harold ever there?
The kids wander the streets. They are loud and inappropriate, and disrespectful to the men and women who sleep. “Why can't my husband be here to lose sleep with me?”
“You must accept it.”
*“No.”
“You must.”
*“Why?”
“Because I want to see you walk.”
*“You won’t see me walk; you won’t see me ever.”
Silence.
She feels something brush against her back.
“Harold?”
She quickly turns, but sees nothing. She continues hearing the children outside. ‘How could I be such a fool?’ she says to herself. ‘To think it would be Him. What an ass you are!’
“Forego saying such cruel things about yourself, darling.”
*Daniella says naught.
‘You are—’
“I am not wrong, I am not a fib, I am not a fool; I am Harold Brandoneth Fortmeyer. And you, Daniella Shalania Londana, are—”
‘—were—’
“—are the love of my life. Suffering is part of living, and so is climbing up it. Daniella. Please. For me, survive.”
*‘Survive for what? Survive for whom? For you? You are dead! It is finite!’
“Do you not believe in God?”
*‘I thought I did.’
“I am with you—no matter your beliefs.”
*‘Why do you torture me with your loving words? I cannot see you, I cannot touch you!’ Daniella cries as the troublesome children keep playing around. What are their lives like? Have they suffered? “No,” Daniella thinks, “they do not know suffering as I do.”
“And for that reason, you must keep trying—keep going. I will always be with you—”
*‘You repeat that over and over! Hold your lies! Hold your God-damned lies!’
“It seems that I cannot help any longer. These will be my last words, and you know them well:
“I love you, Daniella.”
She no longer feels the presence.
‘Harold!’ she cries.
“Was that truly Him? No, he is dead! There is no afterlife! It all ends after death! But how do I truly know that? Because it is science! But I felt Harold. I heard Him. It could have merely been my mind playing tricks on me. But what if it was not? What if it was not naught?
“He was right, even if it was not Him, He was right. ‘Mourn for two days. After two days, if you cannot get out of bed without willing yourself, I ask that you seek salvation through someone, such as your friends or siblings.’ I will try, Harold. I truly will. I may have broken my promise, but I will attempt to remedy it.”
Daniella rose from her bed. She swung her feet onto the ground beneath her. It felt as though four hundred pounds fell on top of her suddenly. ‘Harold,’ Daniella groaned. ‘I will fix it all!’ She attempts to rise, but cannot find the strength to. “Daniella, rise! Rise! Harold would have wanted you to!”
The children make a ruckus.
“ ‘I ask that you seek salvation through someone.’ I will try. I will find someone. I swear it! ‘I will always be with you, if not physically. I love you. I truly, truly love you. I love you enough to tell you that I do not want you to mourn me.’ I cannot believe that you are with me. I cannot, for it was but a trick of my mind. I do not expect to ever see you again, but I will honor your final wish. I will survive!”
Daniella lifts the weight off her. The sky is beginning to clear, but in the sky are storm clouds ready to rush in.
She travels to the front door that He once stood at Himself. He opens the door and leaves, not knowing that he will not return. Daniella looks at her coat—the coat touched by Him. “I will.”
The coat feels cold. The doorknob is cold, but her tears are warm. Upon opening the door, a cold wind rushes through.
*The children make a lot of noise.
“ ‘I love you, Daniella.’ ”
‘Children!’ she yells. ‘People’re trying to sleep! Go somewhere else!’
The air has become warmer.