While My Guitar Gently Weeps
The season was changing. Autumn was slowly but surely giving way to the chill of winter. The golds, reds and browns of the leaves that crunched underfoot would soon be all but a memory, with only the bleak, black outlines of the bare trees to stand out against the deep sapphire of the changing sky. As the small group of mourners trudged up the small incline towards the cemetery, a biting wind began to blow; slowly at first, then gaining in speed and chill, as if it, too, was saying farewell.
Amy Dumas pulled her black wool coat tighter around her as she traipsed up the hill with the others, through the greyness of the afternoon. If she had HER way, she reflected, she certainly wouldn't be spending her time off attending a funeral. But that was the funny thing about life. It never asked you what you wanted. It never took your own thoughts and feelings into consideration. It certainly hadn't asked Ylana if she minded having her formative years ruined and scarred, or if it would be a problem if she was ripped from her motherland, or if she would be terribly upset about leaving mortality so soon.
Reaching the black, gaping wound that was to be Ylana's last resting place, Amy felt her grief, already twisting at her insides, begin to slowly choke her. The ebony of the wooden coffin reflected the sorrow of everyone at the graveside, the few close friends that Ylana had actually had. There was Trish, her pretty face streaked with mascara as she sobbed and tried not to, turning her face away as the coffin approached. There was Adam, Jay, Shane, Shannon, Joey and Matt, carrying the coffin to its bitter destination, with Paul and Chris walking sombrely behind them. There were others, too; some Amy knew and others she didn't, a testament to Ylana's popularity and affectionate nature. And last of all, behind the coffin, looking as though he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, came Jeff. In one hand, he held a battered old guitar, the only thing Ylana had bought with her from her homeland, and in the other he grasped the fragile palm of his daughter, Liberty, who at almost four was to young to understand anything other than the fact that her Mommy was with the angels now.
Ylana's body was at last committed to the cold of the earth; her soul, the priest assured them all, was already in paradise. Slowly, the group walked away from the grave, each one locked inside their own heads, remembering some funny story or image of Ylana. Only Jeff remained by the graveside, his brother and Amy a little way off, watching him as he released Liberty's hand and picked up the old guitar. As he began to sing, Amy felt as if her soul was being ripped apart.
I look at you all see the love there that's sleeping
While my guitar gently weeps
I look at the floor and I see it needs sweeping
Still my guitar gently weeps
I don't know why nobody told you how to unfold your love
I don't know how someone controlled you
They bought and sold you
That first verse reminded Amy of the dreadful autumn day three weeks previously, when she and Matt had gone to visit Jeff. He was in a dreadful state; Yugoslav-born Ylana had gone missing. After two frantic days, her body had been found washed up on the banks of the creek near their house, and she and Matt had gone with Jeff to identify the body. The sheet covered the worst part of her injuries; to this day, only the police, the coroner and the poor guy walking his dog who'd actually FOUND the body knew just how horrific her injuries were. To Amy, it looked just like she'd fallen asleep. Amy had cast her eyes down, noticing the leaves on the floor of the mortuary, trying not to think about what had happened.
Poor Ylana, she reflected, she'd been through so much. Her own mother had died giving birth to her, leaving her in the care of her alcoholic grandfather and soldier father. After a childhood of abuse, aged fifteen she had been sold into prostitution and sent to the United States, where - after two years - the police had freed her and she was allowed to remain in the Land of the Free. Eventually, when she was twenty, Ylana had met Jeff, and when Liberty had been born a year later, it seemed that the young girl from the former Yugoslavia had finally put her past behind her as she settled happily into her role of mother and - eighteen months ago - wife. She'd had everything to live for.
Shaking, Amy had to walk away from the grave. Ylana had been like a sister to her, and her murder had left her distraught. Matt put his arm round her as they silently walked back down the hill with Liberty, named because Ylana wanted her to be free in her childhood, something she'd not had.
I look at the world and I notice it's turning
While my guitar gently weeps
With every mistake we must surely be learning
Still my guitar gently weeps
I don't know how you were diverted
You were perverted too
I don't know how you were inverted
No one alerted you
Jeff felt the tears spill down his face as he played his young wife's favourite song, and he had to stop. As he put the guitar down, Jeff knew that he'd never listen to it again, as every line reminded him of her. He had only just started to realise that, while she was gone, the rest of the world hadn't stopped, and it both hurt and reassured him. Ylana would never have wanted the world to stop for her, he reflected, she wasn't that sort of person. She'd endured a lot in her life, and although she rarely spoke of her life in Yugoslavia or being trafficked, it had given her an inner strength to overcome anything. It had helped her to learn the American language so that she could make herself understood in her new homeland, and it had helped her to study for a high school diploma and begin training to be a nurse. And most of all it had helped him to understand her and to love her, something that no one could ever take away from either of them.
Jeff slowly turned and walked away from the graveside, tears stinging his eyes. Ylana was gone and nobody could ever bring her back, his angel. But he had known her and he had loved her and she had made him a better person, and that, he thought, was something worth living for. And best of all, she had given him Liberty, and in her, Ylana would always live on. As he walked backed towards his daughter and the other mourners, Jeff began to softly whistle the last few lines of what from now on he would know as Ylana's Song.
I look at you all see the love there that's sleeping
While my guitar gently weeps
And, as the wind whistled through the cemetery, Jeff thought he heard the unmistakable sound of her voice, singing her song, telling him to stay strong and to play her old guitar whenever he needed to feel close to her.
Look at you all.
Still my guitar gently weeps
Finis
The season was changing. Autumn was slowly but surely giving way to the chill of winter. The golds, reds and browns of the leaves that crunched underfoot would soon be all but a memory, with only the bleak, black outlines of the bare trees to stand out against the deep sapphire of the changing sky. As the small group of mourners trudged up the small incline towards the cemetery, a biting wind began to blow; slowly at first, then gaining in speed and chill, as if it, too, was saying farewell.
Amy Dumas pulled her black wool coat tighter around her as she traipsed up the hill with the others, through the greyness of the afternoon. If she had HER way, she reflected, she certainly wouldn't be spending her time off attending a funeral. But that was the funny thing about life. It never asked you what you wanted. It never took your own thoughts and feelings into consideration. It certainly hadn't asked Ylana if she minded having her formative years ruined and scarred, or if it would be a problem if she was ripped from her motherland, or if she would be terribly upset about leaving mortality so soon.
Reaching the black, gaping wound that was to be Ylana's last resting place, Amy felt her grief, already twisting at her insides, begin to slowly choke her. The ebony of the wooden coffin reflected the sorrow of everyone at the graveside, the few close friends that Ylana had actually had. There was Trish, her pretty face streaked with mascara as she sobbed and tried not to, turning her face away as the coffin approached. There was Adam, Jay, Shane, Shannon, Joey and Matt, carrying the coffin to its bitter destination, with Paul and Chris walking sombrely behind them. There were others, too; some Amy knew and others she didn't, a testament to Ylana's popularity and affectionate nature. And last of all, behind the coffin, looking as though he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, came Jeff. In one hand, he held a battered old guitar, the only thing Ylana had bought with her from her homeland, and in the other he grasped the fragile palm of his daughter, Liberty, who at almost four was to young to understand anything other than the fact that her Mommy was with the angels now.
Ylana's body was at last committed to the cold of the earth; her soul, the priest assured them all, was already in paradise. Slowly, the group walked away from the grave, each one locked inside their own heads, remembering some funny story or image of Ylana. Only Jeff remained by the graveside, his brother and Amy a little way off, watching him as he released Liberty's hand and picked up the old guitar. As he began to sing, Amy felt as if her soul was being ripped apart.
I look at you all see the love there that's sleeping
While my guitar gently weeps
I look at the floor and I see it needs sweeping
Still my guitar gently weeps
I don't know why nobody told you how to unfold your love
I don't know how someone controlled you
They bought and sold you
That first verse reminded Amy of the dreadful autumn day three weeks previously, when she and Matt had gone to visit Jeff. He was in a dreadful state; Yugoslav-born Ylana had gone missing. After two frantic days, her body had been found washed up on the banks of the creek near their house, and she and Matt had gone with Jeff to identify the body. The sheet covered the worst part of her injuries; to this day, only the police, the coroner and the poor guy walking his dog who'd actually FOUND the body knew just how horrific her injuries were. To Amy, it looked just like she'd fallen asleep. Amy had cast her eyes down, noticing the leaves on the floor of the mortuary, trying not to think about what had happened.
Poor Ylana, she reflected, she'd been through so much. Her own mother had died giving birth to her, leaving her in the care of her alcoholic grandfather and soldier father. After a childhood of abuse, aged fifteen she had been sold into prostitution and sent to the United States, where - after two years - the police had freed her and she was allowed to remain in the Land of the Free. Eventually, when she was twenty, Ylana had met Jeff, and when Liberty had been born a year later, it seemed that the young girl from the former Yugoslavia had finally put her past behind her as she settled happily into her role of mother and - eighteen months ago - wife. She'd had everything to live for.
Shaking, Amy had to walk away from the grave. Ylana had been like a sister to her, and her murder had left her distraught. Matt put his arm round her as they silently walked back down the hill with Liberty, named because Ylana wanted her to be free in her childhood, something she'd not had.
I look at the world and I notice it's turning
While my guitar gently weeps
With every mistake we must surely be learning
Still my guitar gently weeps
I don't know how you were diverted
You were perverted too
I don't know how you were inverted
No one alerted you
Jeff felt the tears spill down his face as he played his young wife's favourite song, and he had to stop. As he put the guitar down, Jeff knew that he'd never listen to it again, as every line reminded him of her. He had only just started to realise that, while she was gone, the rest of the world hadn't stopped, and it both hurt and reassured him. Ylana would never have wanted the world to stop for her, he reflected, she wasn't that sort of person. She'd endured a lot in her life, and although she rarely spoke of her life in Yugoslavia or being trafficked, it had given her an inner strength to overcome anything. It had helped her to learn the American language so that she could make herself understood in her new homeland, and it had helped her to study for a high school diploma and begin training to be a nurse. And most of all it had helped him to understand her and to love her, something that no one could ever take away from either of them.
Jeff slowly turned and walked away from the graveside, tears stinging his eyes. Ylana was gone and nobody could ever bring her back, his angel. But he had known her and he had loved her and she had made him a better person, and that, he thought, was something worth living for. And best of all, she had given him Liberty, and in her, Ylana would always live on. As he walked backed towards his daughter and the other mourners, Jeff began to softly whistle the last few lines of what from now on he would know as Ylana's Song.
I look at you all see the love there that's sleeping
While my guitar gently weeps
And, as the wind whistled through the cemetery, Jeff thought he heard the unmistakable sound of her voice, singing her song, telling him to stay strong and to play her old guitar whenever he needed to feel close to her.
Look at you all.
Still my guitar gently weeps
Finis