Tuning the Guitar Player

[This chapter is from an alternate perspective than Goth Girl. It contains some adult content and language. This is the 46th overall chapter.]

[14]

Parsley absolutely loved her lunch, even though I felt it was even more underwhelming and disappointing than the mall pizza. She deserved better; she deserved the absolute best of everything. My grandmother, when she was alive, made sure everyone in her sight was fully and thoroughly fed to bursting. She would’ve adored Parsley and totally stuffed her.

My girl delighted in every silly detail of the dorm. It wasn’t too much changed from before; just some minor aesthetic tweaks by whoever was in charge to make sense with how we were now. No sudden expert organization or pretty flowers adorning everything. The bathroom gained some new products I didn’t want to deal with, but that was about the worst of it.

Even though so many things were familiar to Parsley, she explained that the key difference was touching and interacting with all these things. Curling up in my blankets, opening and closing drawers, sitting on chairs, and sharing smiles with all the quiet little things in the closet. I couldn’t imagine the life she must’ve lived before. To just sit and wait with eternal patience. And it frustrated me that we couldn’t just go all the places on my list immediately.

My best effort to augment this physical shortcoming was to compile and showcase as many examples of the world as possible. Lush forests, glittering beaches, foreign rivers, Mardi Gras, concert halls, and whatever else. Sending the video to the biggest screen we had still felt desperately frail. Like trying to paint the world with just some sharp rocks and torches on a cave wall.

She actually recognized some things from before. However, little trinkets, and random, rarely-used sports equipment became bigger sources of entertainment than my plethora of videos. I understood that physical experiences, actually doing things, meant more to her than simply filling up on sights, but it still felt like wasting time.

Roaming around and playing became the crux of the afternoon. I considered taking her to one of the college softball games, but they were delayed. Taking her to one of the big sporting events in the area was a possibility, but I had to consider my budget. We got a lot of mileage out of going up and down the different stairs on the campus.

In the evening, things slowed down, and we quietly played some games while decorating random parts of my room with paper and cloth. Eventually, I read a couple different books to her, and she fixated on The Velveteen Rabbit. It was an easy read and definitely hit on several emotions I was feeling.

She picked up on the connections and asked, “Am I real?"

Enthusiastically, I told her, “Yes. As real as anyone. Beautiful and amazing too.”

“Because of love? Am I here because you loved me?”

I had no earthly clue if that was true, but it made about as much sense as anything, and I wanted to believe it. “That’s right. I love you.“

She was glad that the book had a happy ending for the rabbit.

Despite all we accomplished that day, I still felt like I wasted it because of how early we went to bed and how thoroughly the covers clung to me in the morning. Once again, fear flowed through me when I looked over at Parsley’s peaceful shape, feeling like it was too peaceful. But she soon got up and smiled at me.

The scattershot ideas that I had focused into heading to a nearby zoo. It seemed like a better idea than trying to stuff her childlike energy into a rigid museum or a dusty library. Making sure she didn’t climb the wrong things was my focus. She wanted to get as close as possible to every critter. The capybaras looked interesting to pet though. At least she figured out to stay away from the lions and tigers. The giraffes left her eyes wide and curious. She scampered back and forth to watch the otters dive and pop up. She marveled at the monkey island and hopped with the kangaroos. But I could tell the highlight was the petting zoo. It was what she really wanted to do.

She rushed to fill her hands with food. Appropriately, amongst the goats, hogs, and sheep, there were rabbits. While her smile never dimmed, I was well aware of some people around who gave her strange looks. Appearance of a young adult, but with the demeanor of a child. They could go fuck themselves with a rusty rod. Thankfully, they didn’t say anything to my face.

In contrast, several people who worked at the zoo actually keyed into Parsley’s personality. They loved her exuberance and curiosity. She even got the chance to feed the penguins and wave to them with delight.

When the day wrapped up, I was alarmed and stressed out that she needed my help getting up the steps to the bus. We were able to walk back to the dorm without any trouble, although her stride was a little slower than before. She seemed trembly and oddly sweaty. A warm shower helped, along with as much candy as she wanted and some actually decent pizza.

We had time, but not a lot of it.

Recovering from that took a little while, and we had to go slow, but making it to a theme park rejuvenated some of her energy. She didn’t understand most of the references since they came from movies, although a couple rang a bell. Water didn’t bother her much anymore. The main problem was the timing.

We managed to go in the middle of the week, and it was the fall, but that still meant crowds. Parsley talked to everyone, even though I would’ve preferred it if she didn’t. Kids greeted her, and random babies smiled when she looked at them and made silly expressions. Parents were again the problem, but I held my girl close.

Everything was going remarkably well when we got out of one of the dinosaur rides. She did a stalking walk like one of the dinos. I looked away for just a few seconds. Then, I heard a sharp sound against the pavement.

She was down on the ground, breathing raggedly, with an oozing scratch on her arm. I rushed over to help her get it back to her feet, but her legs just wouldn’t support her, no matter how much strength I desperately tried to wield under her arms and around her body. The people working there helped with getting her into a wheelchair.

I felt utterly exhausted just moving her. She was embarrassed, but I stroked her hair and told her it was alright. We had to cut the day short. I’d put off contacting Beatrice because everything seemed fine earlier, but I needed her help and the help of whatever energy from all this or spirits or whatever was lingering and what they could do.

Looking over at where she was seated and seeing the quiet sadness in her eyes about being stuck in one place again tore through me. She didn’t deserve to go back to being something inanimate that would just lay there and do nothing but wait for someone else to decide they wanted her. I would’ve gladly traded places. Without a doubt or a second thought. Let me sit in stillness and silence for whatever penitence this world decided she needed to do. Put it on me. I didn’t care. Please…

Beatrice had been having a rough day, but she met up with us on the way back. Parsley recovered somewhat, but we still needed to borrow a wheelchair from the administration office when we arrived. Beatrice really did all she could, getting close to Parsley, focusing, and practically summoning whatever was around her to help. No real, appreciable rejuvenation followed.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

We let her rest as much as she wanted, and I was on hand to provide her with whatever she desired. She wanted music. I had a pitiful amount to share. Just my lame ditty and fragments of far better songs. We played lightly together, with her expressing a few light melodies. It wasn’t at all what I was hoping to give her, but it made her smile.

In the morning, she still seemed weak but had a particular request. She wanted to see the ocean. It wasn’t a long trek, and I was still able to get the borrowed wheelchair again.

Her dark hair danced and fluttered like shifting clouds with the sea breeze from the half-open bus windows. A narrow pier jutted out into the water beside a quiet beach. A place for fishing, along with a quaint crab restaurant and a silly little gift shop stretched out over the water. Parsley’s eyes dipped half open until she got a boost looking at the waves.

I nervously fretted as she stood up from the wheelchair and approached the water. Even though it was difficult to roll the wheelchair in the sand, I kept it nearby as she removed her sandals and dipped her toes in the waves. My stomach ached bitterly, as though needles were rummaging around beneath my skin. Parsley went particularly deep, with the waves pulling and pushing on her. Gone was the fear from before in the shower and in the pool, even though my fear was heavy.

Before I could warn her not to go too far out to sea, she drew back and slowly returned to the chair. Her full weight slumped into it. We sat together and watched the steady tide. I had no idea what to say or do. She was improving though. She got up. That was a good sign.

“Thank you, mom… I never imagined life could be so beautiful. I’m so glad I got to share it with you.”

Whatever resilience and bulkhead of emotions I may have had completely dissolved. Tears streamed down my cheeks, and I whimpered noisily, messily, and alarmingly. I squeezed Parsley tight in my arms. My head rested right beside her head, and I cried harder than I could ever remember crying in my life. Everything blurred, and my glasses were useless. She squeezed back.

“Please don’t be sad, mom. I love you. And I know you love me too. Your love made me real. And my love is always going to be with you. No matter what. Make beautiful, happy music with it…for both of us. I’ll hear it. I can hear it already…”

Her eyes slowly, delicately fluttered closed. I squeezed her hands, but they felt limp. It wasn’t long before she settled into a harsh, gulping series of breaths that I recognized from the last family member I had to watch die. Why were we here? If we were somewhere useful like a hospital, then I wouldn’t have to be sitting here helplessly as she died in front of me. Her breathing soon slowed to occasional gulps before it all ended.

She was gone. My daughter was gone.

I wailed beside her shoulder while holding her body. This didn’t make any sense. She just started out. She had so much life. A better life than mine. She didn’t deserve this! Fuck this world! Fuck whatever force or figure decided this was the way things should be! You’re a goddamn asshole!

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!

……………

……………

……………

……………

Let me die too. It doesn’t matter. I don’t have anything worth it. She believed in me, but that was just beautiful idealism. I was a mess as I pulled away from her still-warm shoulder. I can’t… I can’t… There’s nothing for me.

The waves kept flowing incessantly when I just wanted everything to shut the fuck up. Like a quiet whisper, I heard a voice that may have been mine or something else.

You can let me go. Because you need to live. Please let me go. And live for me.

Why… Why? It’s not worth it.

Despite that feeling, I heaved a breath with everything I had inside and agreed. I’ll let you go. Goodbye. I’m sorry. I love you.

As soon as I thought that, a light, like a second sun blooming beside me, overwhelmed the wheelchair. It rippled out and traced the shape of Parsley, with angelic contours in shades of brilliant gold wrapped in warm, watery blue. The light ascended slowly through the air, soon hard to see against the bright sky. I squinted and carefully watched until I couldn’t see it anymore. Still, I searched.

Numbness was the main thing I felt in the aftermath. I wanted to drop onto the wheelchair and just let myself go too. Sleep for a thousand years and let everything pass.

Every moment that advanced without Parsley in my life was like a new pain sinking deeper inside. She was gone, but I was the ghost.

Gradually, I folded up the wheelchair and guided it back to the boardwalk. It remained with me when I got some lunch. I don’t remember what I said to the clerk or any of the other random people who acknowledged my existence. My mind was only on thoughts of the wheelchair, as though some stray fragment of Parsley remained and that invisible ember was still watching me, and I could chat with her inside my head. It wasn’t true, but I liked the idea.

The ride back to school with the wheelchair was quiet, so desperately quiet. When I arrived, I actually ran into fucking Nadia around Beatrice. Nadia made an effort to console me, but she kind of sucked at it. I appreciated the notion that Parsley was still around as some sort of energy, even though she was vague on the details of whether I’d ever be able to talk to her again. Beatrice was better; she hugged me, and she understood that sometimes words didn’t really help.

I didn’t hang around them for long after I returned the wheelchair. Heading over to my aunts’ place might have helped. But they probably would’ve asked about Parsley and no explanation I could think of right then would have been anything but painful.

My roommates were courteous and gave me space. I managed to keep myself from throwing up in the toilet. Napping and waking just brought fresh reminders whenever I woke up that I was alone in a way that felt more like slowly bleeding to death than living.

I desperately did my best to remind myself of everything that Parsley told me before she left. Love and life and all that jazz. Fuck. Listening to music just hurt. Trying to think of melodies burned. But a quiet sense softly lingered with me. It didn’t have the strength of a single word. More like a faint sound. Enough to hum.

The hint of a melody. Something desperately small but resilient. Like a seed of light delicately wrapped inside me. Carefully, I let it grow.

It wasn’t a fix for how terrible I felt. Nor was it even soothing. I couldn’t imagine writing music or even thinking in it. But a sound like a soft lullaby to a heart that had to say goodbye whispered in my soul.

Sing. Sing for me. Sing for you. Sing the love that’s true. Sing the love you feel, the love that makes you real.

The music and words that soon spilled out of me weren’t particularly good, polished, or worth keeping… but they helped.