I once knew a woman. Swan was her name. Isabella Swan. She wasn't the prettiest girl in town, but she was pleasant to look at. I remember her through school as a quiet bookworm. Her nose always in a book during class, lunch, I saw her walking to her house one day and she was reading the way there. Swan was rather sharp too. When a teacher would ask her a question she would answer in that quiet voice of hers. Soft and uncertain; even though she was always right.
I didn't talk to her often. Actually we weren't really friends. The occasional hi passed between us, simple discursive at the most, nothing much. Even so I noticed her often while others didn't even know she existed. I noticed how she wore long sleeved clothing during the summer. Swan also was very jumpy and skittish avoiding physical contact like the plague. I questioned my friend Jessica Stanley about she answered in her usual clipped tone, "She's a freak. Who knows what's wrong with her." I admit with no shame that we didn't talk much after that.
Graduation came. A grand celebration it was. With each name called hoots and hollers could be heard over the boisterous clapping. When my name was called I could here my dad and two older brothers yelling out my name almost as enthusiastically as when there watching football. But when Isabella Swan's name was called there was only polite clapping and faint whispers of confusion of the identity of this girl. She scuttled across the stage looking down slightly, shaking hands, taking her diploma, and tripping on her way to her seat. When it was all over no one was there for Swan. She was one of the first people to leave.
Not many people left town around here and made it big. Mike Newton left but came two years later. I stayed with my parents for two years before moving into my grandmother's house to watch over her. I worked at the grocery store and helped my mom out at the modest café she owned. Swan worked at my mom's café. She looked a little better over the years but she took a sharp decline four years after graduation. From what I heard she was dating a guy who moved here 6 months back. She became skittish again, the trait had lessened slightly after her father died, her mom was out of the picture and she was an only child. Swan looked happier the first few months of dating the guy but one day she came in to the grocer with a black eye, things changed. My mom approached her asking what happened. Swan answered in a quiet voice that she walked into a wall. A voice all too similar to when she was in school. I'm sure my mom didn't believe her I know I didn't.
My mom left her alone choosing to observe from afar. Swan would come to work bruised all the time sometimes with a broken limb. Her straight nose looked crooked one day, after she took off for a week, the way a nose looks after it's broken. That wasn't the worse that had happen but it was one of the more obvious ones. Two other girls worked at the café with my mom and
Swan, both acted as if Swan was even there. I finally talked to her after eight years of mustering up the courage I asked her if what her father did to her. I asked her what her boyfriend, Jake, was
doing to her. I didn't let evade the question and she broke down finally telling me. She told me what I already knew. Isabella only confirmed it. I cried with her that day. I begged her to report it to at least fight next time to Jake tried anything. She nodded promising she would. I saw in her eyes that she would at least fight back. I didn't think she's ready to tell the cops. The next day she didn't come back. And the day after that. It was two weeks later that I found out what had happened. Isabella was in the hospital in ICU. I visited her she was paler than usual the yellowish hue around her told me that it was a healing bruise. Her eyes still swollen about the size of a golf ball. I left before she woke up leaving a white rose on the side table. I asked the
doctor what happened. He told me Jake called he said she fell down the stairs. I
didn't believe she fell. I cried again that night for her. I couldn't stop myself no matter how much I knew crying wouldn't help I did. I came back the next day. She was awake. I asked her what really happened. She had closed her eyes. Tears slowly falling from her eyes. Isabella told me she faught back and threaten to call the cops. Jake said if she did he would kill her. She tried to run she made it the stairs but Jake grabbed her by the shoulders begging her not to go. She said she would and he let go. She fell down the stairs only remembering waking up in the hospital the next week. Isabella's injuries where to intensive for her to leave. Her ribs broken
punctured one of her lungs. The doctors doubt she would make it saying she was to weak. She smiled at me. It was a weak small smile but I started crying too. It was my fault. And as if reading my mind she grabbed my hand and told me it wasn't. I gave her a watery smile. Our meeting was cut short when a Jake walked in. I didn't recognize him then. Isabella instantly tensed, her hand tightening around mine. "That's him," she whispered her eyes cast down. It was the first and only time he talked to me but his voice was enough. "You need to leave. Bella-boo needs to sleep," he said in this deep intimidating voice. I saw Isabella blanch at the name Bella-boo. Then again I would to. I looked at her and she nodded. I left the room glaring at Jake.
Isabella went into a coma that very same day and died two weeks later. I visited every day. The doctors said it was a malfunction of the respirator or something. I knew better. Jake killed her. But nothing I could have said would have made any difference.
They buried Isabella in a field behind her house next to a willow tree,
her and her mother's favorite tree. I visit her anytime I can. Still years from when that happened I wonder if I could have made a difference or done something and maybe she would be alive. But I can't live my life in what ifs.