It is often a habit for someone to ramble about seeing a
loved ones face on a wall or in the bedroom after they
have passed away. We often believe that we see these
images of the people we have lost because we don't want
to forget them.
I have never had a fascination with the dead, and I
rarely listen to ghost stories without sighing in a
dubious manner. Personally speaking, death and the after-
life are rather troublesome topics that are best left to
those participating in cults or seances. However, and I
say this without a doubt, it's not enough for one to be
utterly impassive about ghosts. For even if you forget
about the dead, they wont necessarily forget about you.
Let me begin.
In my high school years, I became infatuated
with a lovely girl named Isabella. Like most claims made
by young boys about their objects of affection, she was
the prettiest girl I had ever laid my eyes upon. She was
a mysterious young girl, hardly like the other females at
school. She mostly kept to herself and always carried a
red string that was securely wrapped around her thin
little wrist.
She was a rare beauty; her long, black locks
fell softly over her shoulders. Her skin was pale and her
eyes were a brilliant green. She reminded me of the
porcelain dolls my mother kept in the attic. Isabella had
very few friends and those whom she did converse with were
frightened of her. I know this because I would hear the
girls making remarks about Isabella being a witch or the
daughter of Dracula himself. Then they would go on about
how they should steer clear from her in case she casts a
spell on them.
Isabella wasn't threatening or dangerous in
any way, but there was something about her appearance, a
vibe even, that pushed people away from her. Being 17 at
the time and quite the outcast myself, I noticed Isabella
like a diamond in the ruff. I didn't feel as though I was
being pushed away by her appearance. In fact, I felt as
though I was being pulled towards her, much like a
magnetic force that is impossible to break.
I noticed her eating her lunch alone in the cafeteria, I
noticed her walking home from school and I noticed her in
my science class as she would delicately dissect a worm.
There was something about her that I found absolutely
irresistible. She hardly seemed well off; her clothes were
torn and worn consecutively throughout the week while the
other girls happily pranced around in their brand named
jeans and expensive shoes. Nonetheless, I was taken by
her.
So one day after school was over, I had asked Isabella if
she would accompany me to the library. She never replied,
rather, she nodded humbly and made me feel rather awkward,
as though our visit to the library was top-secret. I asked
her what part of the city she was from and she told me
that she grew up in Sighisoara, Transylvania. How
extraordinary, I thought. The famous Count Dracula is said
to have lived in that very same city in the 15th century.
Perhaps this is why so many people were afraid of poor
Isabella, because of the location of her birth home. I, on
the other hand, didn't really give it much thought after
that.
After a couple of weeks, I developed strong feelings for
Isabella and I was determined to ask her to the school
dance which was going to be held on the Friday of that
week. We had spent our lunch breaks together and though
she did not say much, I always felt that I could read her
silence. We didn't have to say anything to each other, we
just knew what the other person was thinking. I knew then
that we were falling in love with each other. I knew very
little about her, but I felt assured that we had our
entire lives to learn about one another, much like the way
it happens in fairy tales and such.
On a most unfortunate Thursday afternoon, the eve of the
school dance, it was announced that Isabella had passed
away in her sleep that very morning. The cause of death
was never mentioned.
I fell into deep despair, one that took my mind off
everything that was going on in my life. I had taken time
off school to cope with my distress, but it seemed that
the more I tried to forget about her, the more she roamed
around in my mind, like a splinter in my brain. I was
angered by this because the sorrow I felt on account of
Isabella was becoming insufferable.
I tried terribly to forget about her, in hopes of claiming my life back. I had
been non responsive to the world around me like a zombie
for almost that entire year. My mother decided that it
would be best for me to seek therapy from a psychiatrist.
And so I did.
The therapy, or so they call it, didn't help
much. Isabella was in my mind night and day, and I had
spend many nights crying myself to sleep.
Years after the incident I had volunteered at an animal
clinic, graduated from high school, met my fiance in
college, and before I knew it, Isabella was long gone from
my memory, locked up somewhere deep within my subconscious
and away from my everyday life.
I have been married now for five years. My wife and I had
our first baby boy and are expecting a second. I work as a
veterinarian and my wife works as a computer graphics
designer. Everything in my life seemed normal until the
night on February 12.
It was a Thursday night and my wife had gone to bed early.
I was sitting alone in the livingroom watching jeopardy
and I was just about to call it a night when the lights in
the kitchen suddenly went off followed by the TV It was
pitch black. I usually keep a flashlight in the drawer
next to the couch and just as I went over to search for
it, I saw her.
In the far corner of the room stood a girl
wearing a white dress. I reached over for my glasses to
get a better look and ended up knocking over the lamp. She
was so stunning. Her pale skin shimmered in the darkness.
Her hair was long and black and her eyes were bright
green. And surely enough, a red string was tied around her
wrist. That was when I knew I was looking at Isabella.
She was so beautiful in her white dress, just the way I
remember her from high school. She had a peaceful
countenance about her that brought ease to my heart. My
eyes were welling up and my mouth was stiff. I managed to
whisper her name..and that was when she spoke back. She
didn't actually speak out loud; she spoke to me in my
mind. She asked me why I had forgotten her, why I stopped
loving her. I could not speak. I was filled with countless
emotions but could express none. The silence in that
living room was oddly deafening. In an instant she
vanished, the way an image is suddenly deleted from the
screen of a computer, and all that was left in her place
was a sheet of blank paper. "What is this for?" I remember
asking myself out loud.
In my mind that very second, a voice replied: "because you
are the only one who can read my silence."
I have kept the blank sheet of paper ever since. Isabella
visits my house once every year on Thursday in the month
of February. Sometimes she visits me in my bedroom, the
kitchen, or the livingroom. Once I even saw her in my
office at work. Her visits are brief but allusive. She
comes to remind me of the days when we fell in love; the
days when she was still alive. I once took a picture of
her, but nothing showed up on the film.
I have never told my wife about Isabella, but she will
always be a part of me now and I can never forget her.
After all, she wont let me.
Contact me here: gorgosthke88@yahoo.com
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