See the compassion— do you remember?
I awoke to a void-like view out of the blackened window, a seatbelt clinging tightly to my chest. I could feel the cracks in the leather cushions I was sitting on, their purpose of cushioning being just barely fulfilled.
“You‘re awake“
Two piercing green eyes were staring intently through the rearview mirror before returning their gaze to the road. It would have been as black as the window to my seat, if it weren‘t for the headlights lighting up the large conifers to either side of the slim back country road.
„Where am I?“
I asked, looking through the rearview mirror. I stared, waiting for those piercing green eyes to return my gaze. They did, though a sorrow lay over them. He closed his eyes as he turned them back onto the road. He couldn‘t bear looking me in the eye, for one reason or another, so I assumed.
„Don‘t worry“
He quivered as he sighed:
„You‘ll be safe“
I could hear in his breath the tears that were welling up inside him, unable to escape his eyes and therefore trickling down to his lips.
As I thought over his words I struggled to grasp them fully. Why would I worry? From what was I safe? My head hurt, as I tried to grasp at the few whispers of memories floating through my head. A dense mist lay over my mind, with both myself and all memories hanging motionless in the air, both unable to move toward or away from each other. My head continued to throb with pain, even after I had given up on recollecting anything. That was until I turned to the front seat. It was the only thing that seemed certain, that gave me comfort: His soothing, almost motherly presence. I wondered:
„Who are you?“
He seemed taken aback by my question. His grip tightened around the wheel, until he responded:
„You don‘t remember“
It wasn‘t a question, it seemed more like a statement of reassurance to himself. I could see through his tank-top, all the tension from his hand up to his shoulders be released with the words leaving his mouth. Still, however, I could ever so often see slight spasms in his muscles, ones of nervousness and pain.
Why is he wearing a tank-top? It was cold, the heating of the car turned to the maximum, though likely broken beyond repair. I had a blanket haphazardly wrapped around me, that I was only now pulling tightly around my body. There was a dense leather jacket on the passenger seat. There were dark red stains on it. He never acknowledged them, nor the jacket.
He finally answered my question:
„It doesn‘t matter“,
His words were laced with pain, the same pain I had seen in the spasms of his arms. But in his words it became more clear that it was the pain of guilt that hung over him. He continued:
„And really, I don‘t think you want to know“
His eyes were fixed to the road. He was silent, yet still I felt I could sense thoughts sprawling from his mind. They seemed so close to me, as though he was whispering them into my ear. I could have sworn I knew them, the thoughts travelling through his head. I heard, as a whisper:
At least I don‘t want to…
He broke out of his thought to ask me:
„If you don‘t remember, do you want me to tell you about yourself“
I nodded, staring again at the mirror, hoping to glimpse again into his eyes. He started:
„You‘re Veronica, 25 years old, you studied at UC Berkeley…“
I listened intently to every word he said. I could see a warmth in his eyes. With every time he looked at me through the mirror, every word that left his lips, I felt a comforting warmth embracing me. He continued to the last few words:
„And to me you are…“
He couldn‘t utter those last few words. I still don‘t know what they might have been. I imagined what they were, his own thoughts of me. Could it have been You are the most beautiful or -the most intelligent or even -the first girl I loved…
All I know is that guilt swept over him the moment he tried saying the words. It filled his eyes to the brim. He was completely engulfed by it and fell silent again.
It was then that I heard sirens wailing ever closer to our car, echoing through the darkness of the woods. As they grew louder, I felt myself being pushed back into my seat. His eyes started to run up with tears, as he shifted his gears one last time and his foot pushed down on the gas pedal. Trees were rushing past and the sirens grew ever louder against the revving of the car.
There were a few moments, when the car had reached its maximum velocity, that I felt weightless in my seat. Watching tears stream from his face, I wanted to close my eyes and fall asleep, only to wake up in his arms, with the sun setting on a beach, far away from here.
A violent turn to the right ripped me out of my trance. He had begun to swerve uncontrollably, taking over the entire road. I could feel something would happen, before we were even close to it. I screamed with all of my might, right before then, before he could even process what was happening:
„Turn!“
But it was too late. I heard glass shatter. I felt the seatbelt fiercely clinging to my limp body. Then the cool sensation of blood dripping down my face. And so we laid there, motionless. When I opened my eyes, I saw his face. His lips, burgundy red. His nose, rigid, slim. All framed by shards and blood.
„Promise me“
He took a deep, almost violent breath. He coughed.
„Promise me, you‘ll be safe“
I nodded, my head shaking. I don‘t think he saw it.
He died in the crash. I read it in the newspaper. I didn‘t want it to be him, but the image was undeniable. The mugshot showed him with the same piercing green eyes. He was charged with the involvement in a sex trafficking ring. I would have loved to at least deny that, sadly it wasn‘t very ambiguous. DNA evidence, eyewitness testimony, the works.
I never testified. I couldn‘t have. Even as my memory returned, that time before I woke up in his car remained a blank spot. A misty haze lay over my mind whenever I tried remembering. I had to, a lot, every time the police tried gathering on the other members. But every time, the only image I could conjure up were those piercing green eyes. And every time I would cry.
