Stephen Craig - Trapped in a Broken Mind

The greater part of me died last night.

I held her hand tightly and watched the slow rise and fall of her breathing work itself towards a gradual and pained end. Death entered the room with a callous disrespect for my feelings and took her from me whilst I simply stood there watching.

As ever, I was powerless.

I felt him touch me as he passed and it was the second time to my knowledge that I had been unable to protect her. At that moment I wanted him to take me too but I knew that he would not.

In some respects he did though because from that moment my eyes lost their focus on the real world. Empty and devoid of tears from an enduring sorrow and nightly vigil at her bedside — my sight and reason had both died.

She had been in a coma for the two months that had followed the attack; the violation of her life had started with the violation of her person. When we walked into the house that evening I did not see the attack coming — but I certainly felt the blow that knocked me into unconsciousness.

The two men stood and watched, simply making notes in the silence of the room.

I had awoken in a severe stupor and rolled over slowly to try and get my bearings and gain an understanding as to where I was. Her eyes were open and vacant. Staring at me but unseeing and there was an emptiness that pierced my heart. At that moment I remembered.

I remembered the evening we had enjoyed. The restaurant. The meal. The laughter. Recollections of a short lifetime spent together and how we were going to spend our tenth anniversary.

A Parisian evening where two hearts could be together and in love. Invisible to the uncaring throng who in turn had their own hearts in hand.

The machine made an occasional beep and the two men looked at each other. There was a knowing look between them and a slight shake of a head.

I could see the white light on the Avenue de Champs-Elysees and knew that heaven belonged here as I looked up and spoke my thoughts:

‘Les etoiles sont belles ce soir’.

She had smiled and looked up too

‘Oui. Ils dansent pour les amoureux’.

I held her tightly and we kissed. Hand in hand we continued to stroll towards the Arc de Triomphe.

The family were crying, embracing in the grief of loss. There was a screaming from somewhere:

‘Nooooooo… not yet’.

Sobbing and crying were real and owned the ‘here and now’.

‘I CAN HEAR YOU’! A voice screamed out in a mind that was in search of something.

The two men felt uncomfortable to be intruding upon the raw emotion of a family in their grief. Death brought with it a certain finality that was not just to the lost, but to the living left behind. They looked at the machine and made some notes in a scribbled hand. Here, a life was measured on numbers.

I do not think that she ever awoke from the attack. A catatonic seizure? A psychological collapse? Withdrawing away from a fractured reality? I would never know the answers to these questions because I would never be able to ask her.

No more warmth to hold. No more fragrance from her skin.

Not even a chance to tell each other goodbye.

We would have returned from that trip ready to start our family. We had discussed the names of our children — if it was a girl it would have been ‘Angelica’ and if it was a boy it would have been ‘Charles’. I would have called him ‘Charlie’ and taught him how to play football.

That would never happen now.

They had stolen my life.

They had stolen my wife.

I tried to crawl over to her to kiss her and tell her that everything would be okay, but she did not move. Her clothes were torn and ripped and there was blood on the floor where she lay.

Too much blood.

I lay my head by her and cried tears that burned. I cannot say for how long or even where help came from, but it eventually came and I remember hearing a door open.

The door opened and a nurse walked into the room.

‘Please take your time. If you want some privacy, there is a family room at the end of the corridor. If you have any questions, I will be at the desk outside’.

The door opened and closed and there was one less person in the room.

The door closed and Gabrielle walked into the room. She was beautiful. I remember the details as if it were yesterday, but this was only our second date. We had been to see a movie and returned to my apartment for a drink of coffee.

She must have visited the bathroom, but when she came through that door I just could not believe how her eyes shone. The hair that carried down the length of her back was blonde and as she walked it bounced as if it had a life of its own.

We had chatted for hours — literally until the sun came up. At some point she had snuggled herself up to me and fallen asleep. Her hair smelt of apples.

We had collected apples from the ground when we had visited that orchard on the south coast. It had been a hot summer, certainly I could not remember such a long period of prolonged warmth in the air. The evenings had been especially unbearable and often I would feel the sweat on the small of my back.

‘Please don’t leave me. I love you so much’. The tears were real and tasted of salt.

The machine was silent and had been rolled out of the room by the two men after it had been disconnected from the body. No more beeping. No more electronic message to give,. In fact, no more comment to be made upon the world of the living.

‘Entschuldigen Sie mich, wo ist der Bahnhof bitte’? It was all I knew and it did not help me get far.

Had we taken some time to travel? If we had, we could not have gotten far and besides — I could just hear crying’.

Gabrielle stood up from her chair and walked over to Peter. Turning towards her mother and brother, she looked down at her husband and kissed his forehead. Through broken words, she whispered in his ear:

‘I will love you forever’.

‘I will love you forever’. He spoke the words gently to her as she lay on the floor. His arms cradled her head and his tears washed her face.

The three left the room and began the difficult journey down the corridor. They would need to step out into sunlight and try to continue to live their lives.

‘I will love you forever’. The words were a continuing resonance on an electrical pulse.

The two men spoke to the nurse:

‘How long had he been like that’?

‘Two months apparently’.

‘It must have been hell for his wife’?

‘They disturbed a burglar’.

‘Oh God’!

‘He got hit over the head’.

‘Christ almighty’!

‘They say he never regained consciousness…’

The discussion in the corridor continued.

Somewhere, a memory spoke and existed.

The greater part of me died last night…

In her car, Gabrielle held clutched hands to a leather steering-wheel. Her head was slumped forward and her eyes were closed as she held the memory of his face close to her.