This month I will be participating in the “Blogging from A-Z Challenge”
What is it?
I will be Blogging everyday beginning on April First with a topic themed on something with the letterA, then on April second another topic with the letter B as the theme, and so on until I finish on April thirtieth with the theme based on the letter Z. The theme of the day is the letter scheduled for that day.
My theme will be short fictional (well mostly fictional) stories about women. Each woman’s name will begin with the appropriate letter of the alphabet for that day.
All of the women will have the common life experience of a loss of some type.
I invite you, Dear reader, to comment on how you interpret the loss.
I don’t know why I am thinking about her today. Perhaps it was the strange dream I had last night. It’s funny, you know, that I refer to my dream as strange. Aren’t they all strange? Dreams I mean.
Well, anyway about my dream.
I was in a hospital. Lying in a hospital bed. I felt comfortable lying there. More than just comfortable, rather I would describe the feeling as snug. You know that cozy feeling you get when you wake up on a cold morning and you just want to stay in your bed? The comforter is puffy and cozy and your pillow fits under your neck just the right way. Safe and warm.
That’s the way I felt in the dream as I lay in the hospital bed. I was wearing a blue hospital gown with yellow ties. The garment was cotton. It was soft against my bare skin.
I heard a noise, like a moan. I turned my head towards the sound.
I saw a young girl, sitting on the edge of the other bed in the room. Her hair was messy, wild shards of wire sticking up and poking out. She was bent over and hugging herself tightly. She was whimpering and repeating words that sounded like gibberish to me. I couldn’t understand what she was saying.
I was drowsy. My body felt heavy. I couldn’t lift my head, or arms. My legs wouldn’t move.
I tried to call out “help?” But the words came out as merely a hoarse whisper.
He was shaking me. Startled, I jumped up, my heart beating fast.
“You were moaning,” he said.
The dream has been haunting me all day and I’ve been feeling a bit off. You know how it is when you have that kind of dream.
I clicked on the email. It was from my friend Kat. We keep in touch through Facebook and send an occasional note back and forth.
“Just thought you should know, Willa passed away last night. She was a passenger in a fatal car accident.”
Willa. She and I used to get into all kinds of mischief when we were kids.
There was the time she coaxed me into getting on her motorcycle. We were sixteen.
“Come on,” she said. “It’s easy.”
She gave me a quick lesson.
“You turn the right handle towards you to go faster. Then, if you want to stop, you pull this lever here.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll ride on the back with you.”
I saw the car. I tried to stop. I panicked. Instead of grabbing the brake lever, I turned the handle towards me. The one that controls the accelerator. The bike jolted, sped forward, went into a skid and flew out from underneath us.
I got away with a few superficial cuts and a bruised knee.
Willa, a broken leg.
Luckily, we both survived, but our friendship kind of waned after that.