A Second Chance – Chapter Twenty Eight
Author's Note: This Chapter is from David's POV. It picks up after David had lost the radio connection with Lizzie and Gordo. He's standing at his desk, looking at the note Lizzie had written to him twelve years ago.
This chapter marks the beginning of the conclusion of this story, and it will tell you what happened to Lizzie and David twelve years after they first got together. There should be two more chapters after this one, and then we'll be done! Read and review. HM.
DAVID'S POV
David examined Lizzie's letter one last time, then carefully folded it and put away in his desk drawer.
It's time to let go of the past, just like Lizzie said . . . .
After shutting the desk drawer, he sat down at the desk and stared intently at the ham radio, his mind drifting towards thought of Gordo and Lizzie.
What were they doing right now? He wondered.
He concentrated deeply, hoping that new memories would start popping into his mind once more.
But, nothing.
His head was still a murky mess, and all he could see were a jumbled set of incoherent pictures.
It's all out of my control now, he sighed, so, just let it go . . . let it all unfold however it may . . . .
With that thought, he was suddenly hit with a wave of fatigue.
He vigorously rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, hoping to chase away his sleepiness.
But, as the adrenaline rush that kept him going was starting to subside and dissipate, he was now starting to feel the physical effects of this stressful and difficult night.
Oh man, it feels like I've been run over by a steamroller. I need some sleep, right now . . . .
He picked up his weary body, dragged himself from his desk to his bedroom , and stumbled into his king-sized bed.
Once underneath his covers, he closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep.
But, as tired and exhausted as he was, he wasn't able to drift into unconsciousness. Instead, he laid there in his bed, replaying the events of the past few days over and over.
In particular, he kept replaying the conversations he had with Lizzie, cherishing those all-too-short moments when he was actually talking with her and once again hearing the melodic sounds of her sweet, adorable voice.
Finally, after an hour of reminiscing about the events of the night, he found himself slipping slowly, inexorably, into a deep slumber . . . .
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. . . . An hour into his sleep, David Gordon's eyes popped wide open and he frantically sat up in his bed, grabbing his head with both of his hands and wincing in pain.
"Oh my god!"
David was in an incredible amount of pain. It felt someone was slamming his head with a sledgehammer.
He violently shook his head, trying desperately to make the pain go away.
As he continued to struggle with his pain, he suddenly saw a sudden burst of intensely bright white light flash in front of his eyes.
"Ohhh!" He shouted, as the glare from the light felt like it was melting his eyes.
He tried to use his hands to shield his eyes from the brilliant light, but he quickly realized that it was useless, because the light was not coming from the outside, but it was actually coming from inside of his mind.
What in the world is happening to me? Am I dying?
As the light finally subsided and disappeared into the quiet darkness of his consciousness, he breathed a sigh of relief, then gingerly got up off of his bed.
Furiously massaging his temples with the palms of his hands, he muttered to himself, aspirins, I need aspirins, as he stumbled towards the bathroom.
He entered the bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet, and took out a large bottle of advil. He popped several of them into his mouth, took a swig of water from the faucet, and then wandered out of the bathroom and into the living room.
He was wide awake now, as the pain in his head simply wouldn't let him go back to sleep.
He flopped on the couch and looked at the clock on the wall.
It read 4:30 a.m.
Oh, geez, it's still nighttime, he said, as he stretched his body along the length of the couch.
Outside, the rain was still falling, and the rhythm and pitter–patter of raindrops hitting the ground was having a soothing effect on his head and on his nerves. He was starting to breathe steadily again, and he found himself entering into a more relaxed state.
Alright, maybe I'll be able to get back to sleep after all, he thought.
He was wrong.
Just as he was about to close his eyes, he started to feel a soft rumbling coming from underneath the couch.
Oh? What's this? He wondered. Are we having an earthquake?
As the rumbling stopped, bright white light engulfed the couch, as if the couch was turning itself into a shining star.
"What the!?!??" He shouted as he leaped off the couch and watched the couch shimmer and glow.
The light show lasted a few seconds, then, in a blink of an eye, it was over.
He slowly crept closer to the couch to see if it was burned or damaged by the light. As he moved closer and closer, his jaw dropped in stunned astonishment.
"Oh my god . . ." He said, as he rushed over and flicked the light switch on the living room wall.
He rubbed his eyes several times to make sure, but his eyes were not deceiving him . . . his once black leather couch had been transformed into a plush, cream-colored, u-shaped sofa.
He scanned the living room, to see if anyone was there, if someone was playing some sort of practical joke on him.
He didn't see anyone, but what he did see made him even more flabbergasted.
The entire house was now glowing with flashes of white light, and all the furniture and furnishings in his house were shifting, moving, changing, disappearing and reappearing; it was as if he were in a carnival funhouse full of those magical mirrors that warped and distorted your reflections.
Overcome with awe and fear, he just stood there, frozen solid in the middle of the living room, utterly captivated by the events transpiring around him, and just watching as his house re-arranged itself right in front of his eyes.
The coffee table turned from an old, wooden, aging table bought at a yard sale into a sleek, refined, glass coffee table with a marble base.
The bare walls were now being covered with beautiful impressionistic paintings.
And candles! Large, thick, candles, small, colorful candles, thin candles, votive candles, they were appearing everywhere, on the coffee table, on the side table, on the bookshelves, on the entertainment center.
Plants and flowers also started to bloom out of nowhere -- lillies in a clear glass vase appeared on the coffee table, roses in a blue vase on the side table.
The amazing aroma from the flowers was absolute heaven to David's senses.
This . . . this is unbelievable . . . .
When it was all said and done, his living room had instantly been made over, as if by magic, from a sparsely furnished bachelor pad into a cozy, warm, inviting, and impeccably decorated home, with a distinctive feminine touch.
As he gazed out in his new living room, slowly, he was beginning to understand what was happening . . .
Could it be? He wondered, as his mind raced with all the possible implications and consequences.
Yes, it must be. That's the only explanation.
Lizzie and Gordo did it! Something must have happened since I last talked to Lizzie and Gordo, he speculated. Somethingwonderful . . . .
He also now knew why just moments ago he was awaken by the most intensely painful migraine headache . . . his head ached because it was now crammed and stuffed with all the new memories created since that night twelve years ago.
As try as he might, however, he still couldn't see or actually "remember" any of the newly formed memories. It felt like they were all there, but it was as if they were stuck, in a corner of his brain, unable to get out, unable to immerse themselves into his consciousness.
But, as he gazed at his transformed surroundings, he knew something dramatic had occurred, and it would just take time for his new memories to be unleashed.
He walked over to the coffee table and reached out with his left hand to touch the snow white lilies.
He then noticed something on his ring finger.
It looked like . . . .
Startled, he quickly put his hand to his face to closely examine the object on his hand.
It was indeed what he thought it was . . .
It was a ring.
More specifically, it was a gold wedding band.
Oh my god, I'm . . . I'm . . . married?!?!?
And if I'm married, who – who – am I married to?
He shook his head fiercely, hoping to shake his memories loose so that they would finally give him the answer.
Stubborn, his new memories refused to budge.
"Come on, let me remember! Tell me who I'm married to!" He yelled to himself.
Still, his mind was a complete blank.
Alright, if my mind won't help me out, there's gotta be clues around here somewhere. I need to know if – if – oh my god, I need to know if I'm married to Lizzie!
Pictures! There has to be pictures!
He feverishly scanned the living room, hoping to see any picture which would reveal to him the truth. There were no pictures on the walls, no pictures on the coffee table, no pictures on the side table.
He then scanned the entertainment center, and there, on the left shelf, he saw a 5 by 7 picture frame. Although he couldn't make out the faces, the picture in the frame looked like it was a picture of a man in a tuxedo, together with a woman in a wedding gown.
That . . . that must be it . . . .
As he slowly and cautiously walked over to the picture frame, he was suddenly overcome with a wave of anxiety and nervousness. It was as if he was about to find out the truth of his destiny, and he wasn't sure if he was ready for it.
As he reached for the photograph, he closed his eyes, grabbed the picture frame, and then brought it closer to his face.
C'mon, you can do it, just open your eyes, Gordo.
He did, but he then quickly covered the picture with his hand.
He gingerly moved his hand away to reveal only the identity of the man in the picture . . . it was him.
He was the man in the picture, and he was wearing a tuxedo and a broad grin on his face. He looked like he was about twenty-five years old, and he looked like he was the happiest man alive in the world.
Then, after taking in several deep breaths, he then slowly, deliberately, slid his hand away from the picture to reveal the identity of the bride . . . .
Okay, this is it . . .
He let out an audible gasp when he finally laid eyes on the picture of the bride.
She was breathtakingly beautiful in her flowing white wedding gown.
She had a gentle smile on her face, and her eyes were gazing lovingly at David standing next to her.
The bride in the picture was twenty-five year old Lizzie McGuire . . . .
TO BE CONTINUED . . . .