Screams to whispers

She lies directly in front of the door. Her black mourning dress is wrapped around her shapely legs. The dingy carpet around her is littered with demolished tissues and dog toys. Marcellus’ golden ears perk up as my voice floats through the air.

“Amelia. Get up.”


She doesn’t stir.

“No. Not today.”

There is no sadness in her voice just that matter-of-fact tone that people have when they are really sure of something. Marcellus, Kellan’s dog, whimpers at the sound of her voice. His tail sways as he rises to greet me. The tattered couch cries as I lean onto its back.

“What’s going on?”

She rolls onto her back. Dried charcoal streaks line her face. Carpet fuzzies cling to the smashed side of her unruly, chestnut locks. She stares, not at me, not at Marcellus who is licking her cheeks and prying on her clasped hands, but at nothing in particular.

“Do you remember…Do you remember when the four of us went bowling?” An odd smile tugs at her cracked, bleeding lips. “The band? And when Charlotte threw the ball across three lanes? She made a strike…Is that what it is called? A strike?”

“Yeah, Amelia, a strike.”

“A strike…” Clearing her throat, she starts again. “And do you remember the walk to dinner? How pretty it was outside? The sky was purple and the rain was pouring, but we were all too drunk to care?”

She’s still not looking at me.

“And the food? At that place? On Magazine Street? What was the place called?”

“Semolina’s.”

“Yeah, Semolina’s. We had the waiter so flustered he dropped Charlotte’s wine in her lap…”

“We can’t change anything now, Amelia.” I slide to the floor next to her. Her hair is crunchy between my fingers. I pull her trembling body to mine.

“You know? The tears just won’t come anymore. I try. It’s just not fair.” Her voice is barely a breath now.

“It’s not our fault, Amelia”

My own voice sounds weak and unsure. It wasn’t our fault…As much as it hurts, I can only try to convince myself (and Amelia) that there was nothing we could have done to stop Kellan from doing what he did.

“But, see, it is. I shouldn’t have slept with you. I loved him. I loved him more than I love myself…”

The blood rushes to my face and I can feel my nails threatening to pierce my skin.

“But you love me.” My voice drips with insecurity. The statement presents itself as a question. “You didn’t love him as much as you love me. Don’t try to change the plot after the book is published. You wouldn’t have changed a damn thing and you know it.”

I stare at Amelia with disbelief. I destroyed my relationship with Charlotte. I betrayed Kellan. MY best friend, Kellan Montoya Jenkins, the kid that I used to play catch with in grade school, the big-eared class clown that taught me how to pick up girls and drive a car was gone because of my relationship with this woman. I wanted to scream. I wanted to shake her until she realized what she was saying, what her words were doing to me.

“But if I would have opened the door, I could have calmed him down, I could have…”

And in that instant, it all comes rushing back to me. I can no longer hear Amelia’s obnoxious rambling. My ears roar with the sound of the gunshot and the shattered glass. I see the pink mist fly from the back of his head as he crashes to the ground. The steely scent of blood and the sweet sulphur of the gun smoke fill my nostrils, gagging me. I can feel the warmth of his blood slipping through my fingers as I reach for him. So much blood, more blood than I had ever seen in the ER. Red stripes painting the door behind him. The neighbors in the apartment next door, screaming broken English into their phones, the scratching of their bodies against their doors, struggling to see what has happened. I sit there as his life escapes, as his heart stops beating. I don’t feel it, I hear it.

“He would have listened to me because he loved me.”

“He was going to kill you, Amelia. If I hadn’t been there, he was going to shoot you just like he shot himself.” I’m pacing as if pacing will somehow erase the crushing feeling pounding in my chest. I stop pacing and my legs refuse to continue support. The floor rushes up to break my fall. She calls my name. I try to smile and speak. I want to let her know not to worry, but the room fades to black as her frightened screams turn to whispers.