Echoes of My Mind

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. And yet, hers echoes in the recesses of my mind, memories blending with the sound all but blinding my better senses. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I was supposed to save her. I was supposed to be the hero. But real life isn’t like the movies. Sometimes there aren’t any heroes, but rather, regular men going against their better judgment. But I wanted to be more for her. She deserved that much. It was never going to be me and maybe if I didn’t try things would’ve worked out differently. Maybe she’d still be alive, but she’s not, it’s just her scream that lives on.

We first met in high school, but I’ve known her my whole life. I was always on the peripheral, but she was always in my trajectory. We didn’t have much in common, which is why it took so long for us to interact, well that, and the fact that I was too scared. Scared of what could be or what never would, I’m not sure, but I didn’t want to face either. Her name was Hadley, and she was beautiful. Not because of her appearance, I mean she was physically stunning, but it was her disposition that always lingered in my brain. Except now, I can’t remember. I can’t remember anything from before that night. It all existed before then, I know that, but I don’t know how it did or why it did. Nothing else matters because she’s gone and yet the world keeps moving. I’m stuck on a page that I can’t turn, the words no longer make sense, and my mind doesn’t care. The sky ripped open and grabbed her with it. Like phantom limb pain, I still feel her fingers trying to hold mine, but the force grabbing her was too strong, and I lost. I lost her, I lost myself, and I lost the only chance of a future. A future I didn’t know I wanted, but realized too late, it was the one I needed.

Each night I go to bed knowing that I’m going to wake up covered in sweat, with the salt from my tears stained on my cheeks and my throat raw from my own scream. I often think of the creation of the word nightmare. It was derived from the Old English word “mare,” which was a mythological demon who tortured others with terrifying dreams. With time, the prefix night was added because it was emphasizing that these mythological demons visited at night, but later it became a common term to mean any scary dream. So historically, at some point in time, there were enough people collectively experiencing some variety of psychological torment that they chose to create and blame a faceless demon rather than reflecting on their own internal fears that manifested in those dreams. I didn’t have nightmares before Hadley. To be honest, I didn’t have dreams before her either. It was like my mind was devoid of all things right and good or wrong and evil, there was nothing indicative of experiencing anything but the mundane. As much as I drown in these nightmares, I would rather have them than not know dreaming of her. I’ve discovered that lately all time is measured in terms of before or after Hadley, or rather before or after that night. I guess I should probably talk about what happened, but I don’t think you’ll believe me.

Dr. Glass put the pencil down, removed his black rimmed glasses, and set his head in his hands. With a sigh, indicating potential regret, he nodded his head and dared me to continue.