THE DIFFERENCE- Chapter One

THE DIFFERENCE

by

Erika B Michaels



1

“Do you think having you in his life might have made a difference?”

Why was she asking that?  The reporter held a sympathetic expression that a moment ago had seemed comforting but now suddenly felt intrusive and mocking.  Lisa did not understand the question.

She had been in her father’s life.  According to all accounts, she had been his guiding light, the most prized and most valuable jewel in his crown.  Rarely had a father ever adored and indulged a child the way her Dad had her.  He had a plane named after her.  He had showered her with gifts all her life- much to the chagrin of her always disapproving mother.  He had flown her to see snow when she had wanted to make a snowman, and then flown her back home.  All this love, all this indulgence- and still, her love, her adoration, her worship that was equally returned to him had not been enough.  Daddy had needed an escape.  Daddy had needed routes to dull the pain.  He had been taken over by people who did not have his best interest at heart- people who had killed him in one way or another. 

Why, oh, why had being his daughter not been enough?  Why had he not been able to stop himself and turn the tide- this one more time?  Why had she not been able to save him from himself?

So, no, not being in his life, obviously had not made a difference.

“Lisa-Marie?  I guess what I’m asking is if you think you could have saved Michael.”

Michael?

Why was she asking about Michael?  Saved Michael from what?

Before she could wonder about the peculiar question she noticed something had changed.  Lisa looked around and saw she was suddenly standing in a palatial space, surrounded by what seemed to be marble walls, and high, vaulted ceilings.  No, not a palace, it was some kind of church or chapel.  Soft light filtered in from painted glass windows.  Her hand felt cold and she glanced down, wondering about the gilded surface it rested on.  Her gaze glided along the golden reflection of the perfectly smooth cover and came to rest on the beautiful arrangement of white lilies.  This was not a church at all.  This was a tomb.  His tomb.  Pain ripped through her. In an effort to distract herself she once again regarded the flowers.

No, this was so wrong, he does not like lilies.  He loves sunflowers.  He should not be here, all alone, surrounded by those cold flowers, when he had always longed for the warmth of the ‘happy flowers’ making him smile.

Deep desperation penetrated her almost narcotic state and a stifled cry rose from some deep place inside as she remembered who lay there, mere inches below her gloved hand yet forever untouchable.  Just moments ago, she had thought she had to once again answer questions about her father’s passing, but really, this was not about him at all.  This was about the passing of another king.  This was about her ex-husband.

“You know, there are times I am so damn afraid I will go like your Dad, Lisa.”

“Why would you say that?  That’s so morbid.”

“I don’t know.  I have always felt I have this odd connection to him.”

“You do; you have me.  That is it, Michael.  That’s your connection.  That and being a walking god on earth- just like he was.”

“Yeah, great.  A god. I am cut off from humanity, sitting on my freaking Mount Olympus.  I can’t even go and buy my own toilet paper.”

“You want to go buy toilet paper? Mount Olympus comes with the special, 3 layer kind, I thought.”

He had ignored her attempt at humor.

“Yeah, I do want to buy stuff like that.  I want to run out and buy milk when I want to.  I want to take you on a date without either having to shut down a restaurant or have people stare at us. I bet your Dad felt like that, too, at times.”

“I guess so, but think about it, Michael.  Think about what you can do that so many people can’t.  You have opportunities unlike almost anyone else on this planet. Yes, you have restrictions, but you also have such freedom.  You won’t go like my Dad; you can make sure of that.  You can take his life as a lesson.  You can be aware and defend against the vampires that killed him.  You can deal with your inner pain by facing the it- and I am here to help you, baby.  You can rely on me. All you have to do is be open with me.  You have to let me in- you can’t delude yourself into thinking you can do it all alone.”

“I’m trying. I am trying so hard. It’s a constant fight.”

“Well, you don’t have to fight it alone any more, babe.  You have me.”

Finally, a smile had appeared and the worried expression vanished.

“Yeah, I do. And for that, I will be eternally grateful to your Dad.  And your Mom, too, believe it or not.”

“Well, let’s not go overboard here…”

She had laughed and embraced him, kissing the gorgeous face, aiming to dispel the dark clouds that had clouded his eyes and scared her for a second.

How had he known?  How had in the world had he foreseen that she would stand before his sarcophagus one day, frozen in time, not able to go, not being able to bear leaving him alone in this beautiful but cold and lonely place.  The tear fell silently and splattered on the surface, catching the light for a fraction of second, dispersing little rainbows into the air. Once upon a time, rainbows had signified hope.  Now they were just another element of utter despair and unbound grief. 

Once again, the scenery changed, and Lisa was sitting in the sun filled room once more, being interviewed by the friend of a friend.  She had agreed to this interview to once and for all shout her love for Michael from the rooftops.  She wanted to hurl all her desperate emotions into the faces of the naysayers and the doubters.  All her defenses had been shattered and the love had broken free like a deluge that could no longer be contained by damns created by mere humans.  This interview was so different from those given in anger in the past: the ones where she had asserted her fake relief over having been freed of any and all ties to Michael.  The occasions where she had, in almost blasphemous stabs, denied the love she had felt for him, had made fun of their devotion, and had attributed the most intense high of her life to some case of temporary insanity.  No, no more!  So, her answers this time had come from a deep emotional place and suddenly she felt liberated by the honesty:  No, it had not all been his mistake.  She also had hurt him and had played more than her part in the disastrous outcome of their tragic relationship.  Then, the question had hit her like a bullet.  She saw it was racing toward her, yet had been unable to step out of its way. 

Had her presence in his life been able to make a difference?

The slug made impact after the slow motion approach and ripped through her core, the exit wound tearing her wide open. Pain spread and engulfed her like a spider web after the initial numbness wore off.  It was too much… No, she would not survive this.  Her heartbeat increased as her heart frantically pumped to compensate for the bloodletting.  Her lungs burned with the effort to suck in oxygen in futile attempts akin to trying to breathe under water. 

There comes a time in every repeating nightmare when the sneaky realization that one might not be awake slithers into the subconscious: an attempt to defend against the pain by flashing a warning to avoid the hellish spot where all fears thrive and wait to overwhelm the dreamer. 

Wake up, Lisa.

The voice was like a soft beacon, guiding her way through the obscure labyrinth like a silken thread.

No, I have to stay.  I have to tell them how much I loved him.  How much he loved me.  Before it’s too late.

She beat down the voice shouting that it was already too late.  A part of her could simply not accept that it ever would be too late.  There would always be another chance.  She might have closed the door, but she had refused to discard the key and instead had hidden it in a very secret and sacred place.  The shroud had been so secret she herself had thought it to be made from the fabric of unicorns and dragons.  Childish fantasies she had once indulged in but had long accepted to be lore.  Just like the love she held for Michael:  Once a beautiful fairy tale, now decried as a cruel lie that could never have existed in the first place.  However, does something cease to be real by simply denying its existence?

No! Stop it! Stop lying! I loved him.  I love him.  I love him so very much.

“Wake up, Lisa!”

The voice this time did not belong to her and her mind raced through the foggy curtain toward the surface of awareness.

Michael? 

(to be continued)

 

©2010 Erika B Michaels. All Rights Reserved. This story is a work of fiction. Any names, places, and other identifying features are used in a fictional manner, for entertainment purposes only, and are in no way representative of actual events. This work may not be reproduced, copied, transmitted, or stored without expressed written permission by Erika B Michaels. All photos and images, mentioned songs or song titles are copyright their creators. 

The Difference is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.