I stand next to her bed, grasping her cold hand in my own. She was gone. There was nothing I could do anymore. No amount of begging and pleading and bargaining with God was going to bring her back. The doctors had given up. Her brother had given up. Her dad had given up. Oliver had given up. She had given up. And, ultimately, I gave up as a result.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. We were supposed to live happily ever after. To graduate from high school together, walking across that stage in our gowns and caps, waving our diplomas high above our heads as we smiled and the cameras flashed. Then would come the graduation parties with the gift cards for a hundred dollars to book stores or for Sears so we could buy textbooks and bed sets.
Then college would come, where we would study hard and get goods grades in our classes, astounding the professors with our vast knowledge of the world because she was Hannah Montana and I was Lola Luftnagle and we went everyone for concerts. They would wonder at us during class and finally conclude that we would have long prosperous lives because we were just too darn smart for them.
After we graduated from college, we would travel around the world on the Hannah money that she had been saving up for years just for this occasion.
We would go to London and to the British Museum so we could see the Elgin Marbles, the Rosetta Stone, the world's oldest mummy and Lindow Man. The changing of the guard would occur at Buckingham Palace because the royal family was in town and we would try to make the soldiers with the tall, furry hats laugh. The Tower of London would attract our attention because that's where the Crown Jewels of England are kept.
Then we would make our way to Paris, buying berets and staring up at the Eiffel Tower in wonder as it towered above us. Couples would walk hand in hand, women resting their heads on their man's shoulder and staring up at him lovingly (or, in our case, she would rest her head on my shoulder and stare up at me lovingly). The Louvre would attract our attention, that famous museum that holds the world-renowned Mona Lisa.
Berlin would be next, with the Berlin Wall and the story that goes along with it. The Berlin Zoo would attract our attention as we went around to see all the animals, holding hands and showing everyone that we would love each other no matter what they said about it. And we would visit the museums and art galleries and concerts that are in that amazing city.
Venice would be next on our list, that great city of canals and gondolas, and we would float along the canals and watch the scenery passing us. We would visit Piazza San Marco, with all the tourists and photographers and pigeons, among whom we would blend. St. Mark's Basilica would tower above us, silencing us in our awe. The Venice Film Festival would be going on during that time and Hannah and Lola would be making an appearance, of course.
We would make our way around the world, traveling to Bangkok, Singapore, New York City, Hong Kong, Istanbul, Dubai, Shanghai, and Rome until finally we arrived home in Malibu, California, ready to settle down for the rest of our lives. Finally, I would get down on one knee and propose to her in the most romantic way possible (a late night, candlelit dinner on the beach under a full moon and a sky full of twinkling stars) and she would jump up and down as she screamed, "Yes!"
Then we would both get steady jobs, her as a music producer at a world-renowned music company that she owned, and I as a writer who spewed out books every couple months but never traveled far from home because soon there would be an addition to the family.
Our family of two would grow into a family of three as she gave birth to our first child, a little girl who giggled and gurgled and kept us up at night but made us sigh at her cute little face. Then our family of three would grow into a family of five as I gave birth to two little twin boys who would end up running around the house and making us crazy. And we would have a sixth addition with a little puppy who would end up getting into almost as much mischief as both of our little boys together.
But no, it wasn't supposed to be. Because she would get very sick one night in our junior year of high school get rushed to the hospital, then we would wait endless hour upon endless hour in the waiting room until the doctor came out with a solemn look on his face. He would take us into an office and tell us in a grave voice that she probably wasn't going to make it because these huge, ugly malignant tumors had spread all over her perfect, beautiful body.
We would sit in her room hour after hour, watching TV with her, reading out loud to her, talking to her so she wouldn't get bored and think about what would ultimately happen to her. The nurses would come in and change her IV bag and give her pills that would make the pain go away, that would keep her from wincing every time she moved and throwing her guts up twenty-four/seven.
Then, finally, it would all end for her. Her torturous existence on this world would end as she took her final breath telling me to never give up, to always keep living, and remember that she would always be there for me no matter what it seemed like. And I would clutch her hand, crying and sobbing and begging her not to leave. The doctors would give up. Her brother would give up. Her dad would give up. Oliver would give up. She would give up. And ultimately…
I don't give up as I press my mouth to her soft lips, breathing life into her limp body, showing her that even though there is pain in the world, it isn't always like that. Because there is love, and where there is love, there is happiness.
And where Miley is happy, I'm right next to her.
Yeah, I don't know where that came from. I just started typing. Tell me if it doesn't make sense to you, because I'm not so sure if it makes much sense to me. I'll try to get a couple of my other stories updated by the weekend, but if not, I'll definitely get one or two updated over the weekend. Pleaser REVIEW!!! Thanks.
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