Above the Vaulted Sky - Page 17

I want to see my parents too and I’m torn between who I should visit first. Seeing my parents upset will only upset me, but there is no way to avoid it. But they might not know about the accident yet.

I feel the change in my stance as I realise that I can see them happy, just for a little while.

I break into a run, past the standstill traffic. None of them know what’s happened. I wonder who the driver of the van was. There were three body bags. Me, Penny and the driver. And there was nowhere to place fault. A van had blown its tyre at high speed. It swerved, we collided, we died. There was only one survivor from the crash and it was the screaming woman. I can’t imagine being her. The lucky one.

Is that ever lucky? Surely she’d feel the imprints left by the dead until the end of her days. Not to believe in the presence of people hanging over them forever, but a memory every now and again. When she least expected it, over breakfast, or stressed at work, she’d close her eyes and see the van, spinning out of control, the road a blur before her. I know I’d feel a cold fist around my heart every time I thought of it.

My house isn’t far away. As I enter the high street, slowing to a jog as I run out of breath, I see the afternoon shoppers, ducking in and out, umbrellas blustering above them.

I think of Benjamin, looking as solid as any living person before me and I wonder – how would I ever know anyone is dead? I can walk down the street and see everyone and any person I pick could be a spirit, but they could easily be alive. I could reach out to touch them and bring a moment of discomfort.

I’m reminded of parties at school. House parties I was invited to by association, before I even met Penny that day by the smoking hut. I would feel lonely in a roomful of people. Penny was the one person who saw me when she looked at me. She wasn’t my friend and then my girlfriend because I helped her with schoolwork, or because she could hide behind my good behaviour to gain favour for themselves. She was my person.
                I realise that I’m starting to think of her in the past tense. I don’t want to. I feel alive. I still have sensation in my fingers and toes. I can pinch myself and I don’t wake in my bed. I have thoughts and feelings and dreams and desires. If that isn’t still alive, then I don’t know what is.