The Girl with Flaxen Hair

For some strange reason, I see the face of a girl in everything I see. Even in my dreams. Her name—her name, I cannot remember. She had pallid skin, deep, inquisitive brown eyes, long flaxen hair, and a thin and lithe body. She is someone I know of, and yet I remember few things about her, few things that send bolts of electricity throughout my body.

I can still remember the way she smiles, but never the sound of her laughter. I’ve racked my brain hundreds of times, rummaged through fragments of my memories, and waded through a sea of shattered puzzle pieces, and yet I can’t seem to find out who she is, and what role she plays in my life.

After a moment, words flood my brain. Parts of dialogues I have no recollection of deafen my ears. I hear a chuckle that makes my heart twist and my stomach flutter. I struggle to catch that voice—possibly the voice of the girl with flaxen hair—and try to keep it with me, as if it were something so tangible. I struggle to reach it, but it disappears shortly after.

Then, photographed memories flash before my eyes, images of the girl. She looks straight at me with a playful smile, and I smile back at the image. The girl mouths a goodbye, and desperately I run after her. She fades away slowly, into what looks like glowing dust.

My heart breaks and my chest tightens. Strange. Excruciating pain kills me inside, like an invisible blade piercing through my soul. I feel longing for the girl. Feel as if she is a part of me, as I am a part of her. I crave for her warmth, for the warmth of her hands. I feel her hands on mine, but when I look at my hands, there’s nothing.

Few more images fill my head, all blazing and painful. A bright beam of light blinds my eyes, and then my view spins. Something hard bumps into me, and I smell something sweet—cologne. Her cologne. My stomach turns as her cologne becomes tainted with the rusty smell of blood. Tears fill my eyes.

A door opens and I snap back into reality. I realize that I am in a white room, in a bed, with devices connected all over my body. The smell of medicine reeks. I look at the woman who claims to be my mother. That’s when I remember that she is the one who takes care of me each day.

“Darling, how are you?” her voice breaks. “Have you regained your memories?”

“Regained…my memories?” I ask her.

The woman sits beside me and takes my hand. “Why are you crying, my son?”

Crying? I wonder. My fingers move up to my cheeks, then to my eyes. Tears keep streaming, uncontrollably. Too much pain. I struggle to breathe.

How can I feel like I am dying, when I’m alive and breathing?

“Mom,” I say shortly, like the words are coming back to me. “Mom…”

Her eyes widen. “Have you regained your memories?” she asks again, frantically. Her hand tightens around mine.

“Who…is the girl with flaxen hair? I see her every day. In my dreams, she smiles. Who…who is she?”

My mother finally cries beside me.

“You lost your memories after getting hit by a car. It would have killed you, but someone saved you…at the cost of her life.”

She buries her face against the sheets, and I feel a terrible aching in my heart. Every part of my body freezes, rendering me unable to move from where I sit.

“We tried to save her, too,” she continued. “The doctors did their best. They really did…but it was too late.”

She looked up apologetically, her face filled with sorrow.

“Her name is Sally,” she muttered, holding my gaze. “Her name is Sally, Leo.”

That is when I remember the girl with flaxen hair.

Remembering my name doesn’t even matter. I don’t care at all about my name, or whoever I was.

All I care about is Sally.

My brain does not remember, but my heart does, as clear as day.

Sally, whom I dearly love. Whom I have no memories of. Whom my heart yearns for every second.

Sally, whom saved my life.

My precious Sally, with pallid skin, deep, inquisitive brown eyes, long flaxen hair, and a thin and lithe body.

The girl with flaxen hair, Sally, whom is now gone.

Forever.