Feathered Notes

“YOU”

Michael lived the remaining days of his life confined in his little white room. The room was empty most of the time, and the only thing that gave it its identity was the picture frame, manually and personally made out of collected shells from the shore. It seemed like it was made by a child who constantly tries to impress others with his wits and arts. The people inside the building knew him well….his life was an open book. They knew it all…. or so they thought…..

He came into their care when he was a score and eight. All dressed up in black, sulking and lost. It was that one rainy night when he came running in. Without any idea or thoughts as to who he was, where he came from or even why he was there in the first place. The only thing he had with him that night, was the tiny picture frame of shells that contained the gentle face of an angel. After days of inquiry, they found out the angel had a name… Kryan.

It took a week or so, before friends and relatives could claim and identify him. But they chose to leave him there anyway… where they felt it was more practical. When asked by the doctors, they recounted the story--- his story and soon enough, every nurse knew how Kryan and Micheal met and how she died. Soon, their story was the only thing everyone in the building ever talked about.

They were the best of friends. Kryan was a decade younger than Micheal. It was amazing how these two very different people, from two very different worlds and times saw the beauty in each other. He cared for her as if she were his own child. His baby. He cradled her in his arms and lulled her to sleep at night as she cried over the most trivial of girly matters. He gave her everything she ever wanted. When she was young- all the toys, all the pretty clothes her mother would refuse to buy for her, all the yummy treats. When she was old enough… even his heart. Micheal always left the impression of being a womanizer to everyone he met, in fact- he was. Women would die to get his attention and men wanted to be him. He could go around town with different women in his arms every night. He had women. Lots of them. But only one girl. The girl of his life. Kryan.

One June afternoon, when everything was going as they were expected. Micheal was going to fetch Kryan from school and take her out for a walk in the park. Treat her with some strawberry ice cream she loved so much and surprise her with pink flowers and with probably the biggest news of her life—that he was in love with her. Unknowingly, he was the one to be surprised with the biggest news of HIS life. Kryan was sick. She collapsed and was unconsciously lying in the small clinic of the humble school. After hearing the news from the doctor, he entered that small room as if it were the biggest place where he felt so far from Kryan….the flowers slid from his forceless hands. He knelt beside the bed. He wept. He wept the cry of a hopeless man who had nothing else to hold on to. His tears cried out Kryan’s name. Kryan was sick. She was dying. It was one of the most painful deaths… to kill one person’s memory and then his body. This was what Kryan had. And this was what Micheal was losing. Time. Love. Her. Kryan. He wept. Wept. Wept. He prayed to God. He was never a good believer. But now, his soul was praying so hard, negotiating for the life of his angel, chanting prayers that he knew had little chances of being heard. That night, he stayed with Kryan. He put the misplaced dangle of hair in place as he spoke to her….

“Kryan…. Don’t leave me. Ok? If you leave me, I will have nothing. I will be as good as dead for the heart inside will die without you in it. I wont make it without you. Fight it. Promise me…. You’ll live for me….promise me…. I love, I always have and I always will….”

And he wept some more….

That night was the start of sleepless nights and faster days that lasted for four emotionally unstable years. Micheal never left her side. He would always sing her songs they used to sing together in better days, read poetry to her and gossip with her as if she could hear or even remember. There were days she opened her eyes but cannot recall… and there were those she didn’t open at all. She couldn’t see him. She couldn’t remember him. She was slowly being consumed. Little by little, every part of her was lost. Gone.

Micheal tried to be strong. He tried to make himself believe she’ll make it. She has to—for him. But no matter how much pleading he did.. she just couldn’t hear him anymore. There were days of quiet desperation, when he’d leave the room and weep outside. A man, so strong and proud… crying. Helpless.

The alarm sounded calling the urgent need for doctors and nurses for room 56A. the patient seemed to be on the verge of dying. Micheal just watched the doctors run and nurses panic…. His mind was vacuum. He couldn’t think straight. She was dying. She was leaving him…. Without even saying goodbye. But then, her hands stretched out and opened her eyes once more and perhaps for the last time and held his hands. Her eyes said everything. She held his hands tightly as if trying to pull herself to him and whispered in his ears….

“I am now going to heaven. Isn’t that where angels are expected to go? Don’t worry about me. I lived a happy life. I am happy. I have lived a life that others cant even have in a lifetime. All because you loved me…. I’ll be watching you from where I will be. Promise me, you’d live life and be happy. Promise me, you’ll move on. Because if you don’t- I’ll be very sad up there and I’ll just have to cry for you. And everytime you miss me, just look for stars up in the night sky and know that one of those, is shining for you and watching you. I’ll wait for you. Don’t look for me, I’ll find you…..I’ve always wanted to tell you this…. I ….. love……”

With that…. She breathed her last breath. And left him forever. He didn’t even hear her say it….

He wept. He wept so hard until he had no more tears left. Then he stopped. He just started walking under the raging thunders of the strong storm outside. He wept and heaven wept with him. That was how he reached 51st Avenue. Clara’s home for the mentally and most of the time, emotionally unstable. From that day on… he lived there.
He was a man of few words. All he could say was “you”. When asked, “you” was the only answer, when greeted, “you” was the only reply and in the silence of the deep night, people would hear him repeatedly say “you” as if it were a chant or some sort of prayer. He lived a quiet life. He never talked to people. He never stayed in a place where there were people, he would always hide away in his solitude. He enjoyed taking walks in the little garden outside the building and watching the sunset with a pensive look as if he were thinking of very deep thoughts. The people noticed he had a certain fondness for pink roses, he collected the ones grown outside the building. He would carry the picture of the angel around, wherever he went. “You.” This was his life…. Revolving around “you”. Until the time for him to follow came. His was a quiet death. Peaceful and fast.

I was his personal nurse. I just had the certain light feeling around him, the kind that makes you feel comfortable even with a stranger. I would watch him at times, alone with his back turned to me as he quietly watched the sunset. I personally had the innate fondness for sunsets and pink flowers. At least we had that in common. It made the whole situation a lot easier for both of us, I understood him in a way I myself couldn’t understand and he… he had too much to think about to even try to understand me too. This was his life…. Revolving around “you”. Until the time for him to follow came. His was a quiet death. Peaceful and fast.

I was the nurse who was on duty then, he pointed under the little brown drawer where a box was hidden underneath. It contained a little black book. It was so small that no one even saw him carry it when he arrived the first day. I got it out and gave it to him. He took out the picture of his angel, pointed and said the only word he knew how—“you”. That was his last word. And breath and life left him. The soul left the body.

That night, as I was reading the notebook, it seemed as if I was reliving every moment described in the diary. I had the strange feeling that I had lived the life inside the little black book. Strange as it seemed. Yes. I felt what was written in the book so much that I myself cried. The first page was empty. As if the page was calling me to give it a title…. I got a pen and carefully wrote… “you”.

As I was closing the book. The last page- the saddest of all, was the story of Kryan’s last day of living. It was how she died and how he died with her that rainy day. At the bottom…. Was the date February 29 1981 smudged as if wet by the salty tears of the weeping heart writing it….

That night, I dreamt about what I read in the book…. So powerful was the impression and magic of the book that even in my dreams… their story haunted me. I heard voices…

“And everytime you miss me, just look for stars up in the night sky and know that one of those, is shining for you and watching you. I’ll wait for you. Don’t look for me, I’ll find you…..I’ve always wanted to tell you this…. I ….. love……you.”

The next day, as I analyzed the dream… I suddenly remembered February 29 1981 was the day I was born…..weird….

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