Chasing Memories

Prologue

I’m speeding down the highway, singing at the top of my lungs. The air-conditioning is on full blast, and the windows are down. This might seem contradictory, but there are times in life that simply warrant a window-down moment, and today is one of them. And when one is driving in Texas at the beginning of September, unless the moment includes sweaty makeup dripping down the face, air-conditioning is recommended. 

My song of the month is on repeat, blaring through my car speakers. I’m belting out the words to “Stitches” by Shawn Mendes like it’s my job. I suppose it isn’t the most fitting song for the occasion, but I can’t get enough of it. It’s my current obsession, which means I will play it on repeat until I can’t stand it anymore. At which time, I will never listen to it again, if given the choice.

I’m happy, plain and simple. Tomorrow, I am getting married! Life is going according to plan. 

Meet the cutest boy in high school and immediately fall head over heels for him? Check.

Start dating said cutest boy sophomore year of high school? Check.

Experience homecomings, proms, and enough firsts to fill a glittery pink diary? Check.

Go to the same college? Check.

Be one of those annoyingly sweet, adoring couples whom everyone hates—knowing, in reality, they’re just jealous? Check.

Buy a house together right out of college? Check.

Get engaged? Check.

Get married? Tomorrow. Check.

When I was younger, I wrote a narrative of the way my life should play out in my sparkly purple diary, the journal prior to the pink one. Its pages are full of my hopes and dreams from the middle school realm of my life. I wrote daily during that time when I was secretly in love with half of the boys in my grade, but I was too self-conscious to talk to any of them without giggling like a hyena. That was back when a pimple was the worst tragedy life had to offer, and a cute boy’s attention was the best. It was a carefree time full of self-discovery and firsts. 

Though I’d like to block out my first real kiss with Corey. My school had two Coreys—gross Corey and hot Corey. One guess on which one slipped a tongue into my mouth for the first time? Only because he cheated in a game of Spin the Bottle, but that is neither here nor there. 

My point is that, at a young age, I knew. I visualized my life, and I wrote it down. I created my own path. I constructed my destiny. 

My life is perfect.

I reach toward my radio to hit the Back button on the display screen. The song just ended, so, naturally, I must play it again. When I look back up to the road, I’m blinded. Bright lights are assaulting my vision. 

A scream infiltrates my car. It’s deafening, so familiar. It seems close, but at the same time, it’s so distant. 

Screeching.

Glass breaking.

Metal crunching.

An excruciating pain tugs me down toward the darkness. A panicked fear invades my mind. I think my body is trembling from it, but I can’t be sure. I can no longer feel anything. 

Silence surrounds me. Blackness is all I see. 

Terror rises. 

I gasp, struggling to breathe. There’s no air. I scream, but there’s no sound. There’s nothing. 

I’m alone, sinking in a sea of emptiness.

Panting, I cry into the void. 

I’m dying. 

Please save me. 

I’m fading. The agony is almost over now. 

Please save me. 

My life is coming to an end.

I can’t believe it. 

Why now?

It’s not fair.

Air fills my lungs. I’m met by the most striking emerald eyes I’ve ever seen. 

Simply stunning.

An immense love permeates my body, pushing out all the fear. 

I am no longer afraid because I can see, but more importantly, I can finally breathe.