I couldn't sleep a few nights ago so I "borrowed" my moms iPod touch and wrote this. The title is from a Kenny Loggins song. I recommend it.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles
I hear the screams. I hear the shrieks. If I strain my ears, I can even hear the occasional chord. My eyes are locked on the four boys standing onstage. John, strumming away and singing about a love that never exists yet everyone knows. Paul, to his right, adding haunting melodies and a steady baseline. George, to John's left, is clenching the neck of his guitar, nerves taking over. Ringo, bobbing his head in the background, completes the picture.
Standing when everyone else dances. Crying when everyone else laughs. Such is the life I now live. Amanda, my baby...my world. Every day I live, I think of her. And it kills me. Oh, how she would of loved this. The Beatles were her favorite. A tear slips its way down my face. Oh, Amanda. I'm so sorry...
I sit, shoulders wracking with sobs. Every day I live with the ghost of my dead daughter. It should of been me. I shouldn't of let him get a clear shot. Oh, I tried and have the scars to prove it. But the hole in my soul is larger than anything a bullet could do to me
"Ma'm, the show's over," a security guard touches my shoulder. Suddenly, I realize I am alone. I whisper an apology and leave. How long ago had I walked out of a Beatles concert with Amanda's hand tucked firmly in mine? How long ago had I failed to protect my child from my ex- husband? How long ago had I knelt in the alley by the stage, praying she would survive. I didn't matter. But by the time the ambulance got here, it was too late. The reason for my existence was gone.
The alley is as dark as before, yet the concrete was not slick with blood. Her blood. And mine, I suppose. But I had enough left in me to survive. She didn't.
"Hey!" I hear the shout and turn to the source, a well-kept man in a suit. I take a step forward and I see the recognition in his eyes. The scar that now marks my face is hard to forget. Especially if you were there when the scar was made. I stand there, a ghost living in the past. History coming alive again. He stands for a second, unsure of what to say. The last time we met, there wasn't much time to talk.
"I heard she didn't survive. I'm sorry," he whispers, stepping closer to me. I shake my head.
"It doesn't matter now."
He won't ever understand. She was my only child, the only good thing from my failed marriage. We look at each other, remembering the scared little girl curled up in my arms as blood dripped off my face and joined the pool that was steadily growing around us. Amanda had asked me to sing to her. My voice cracked but I did it. There was no way I would deny her that.
She had looked like she was sleeping as they slid her into the ambulance. So peaceful. Like an angel.
"Eppy, we need to go!" John appeared, snapping me out of my reverie. I looked at him and he recoiled. My face was no longer beautiful. To many scars, to many miles marked my face. Turning, I walk away, the simple white dress I wear fluttering around my knees, blonde hair blowing in the wind. For the first time in a long time, I found a purpose. I knew what I had to do.
The building was tall. Very tall. Wind whips my body, urging me to jump. Jump to Amanda. Find her, go to her. The ledge is so close...it wouldn't take much. I take that last step, that leap of faith. The ground rushes up to meet me, yet I'm flying. The sky rumbles in the distance, but that no longer matters. At long last, Amanda, I'm coming home