Stolen Away

Hello Again 

By Dave Matthews

Sinnin' I've done my share of this

Still hope the lord forgive me my sins
Ten years ago down by the lake
I saw my sweet love, her watery grave
I close my eyes, still see her face
I'd give my soul to take back that day

Hello again, it's been too long,
Too long, too long, hello again
You know you got what it is I want
Anyway I'm gonna take it from you
Hello you know you got what it is I want
Any way I know I'm gonna take it from you
Hello, Hello, you know, Hello Again

It's like a note you got to never dance, man'
Over and over, I'm gonna see her face
Like inside my soul together with me
Over and over, I'm gonna see her face
Blown away, on that day

I am a waste of the flesh on my bones
I am a waste of the air in my lungs
So go far from me, man, go and be saved
This serpent, not God, that crawls through my veins
Here we go

Hello again, it's been too long,
Too long, too long, hello again
You know you got what it is I want
Anyway I'm gonna take it from you
Hello you know you got what it is I want
Any way I know I'm gonna take it from you
Hello, Hello, you know, Hello Again

a truck load got set on me man
Over and over I'm gonna see her face
The scum in me likes the devils scheme here
Over and over I'm gonna see her face
Blown away, on that day, yeah, I am
Hello, you know, Hello, Hello Again
You know you got what it is I want
Anyway you know, my love, I'm gonna take it from you
Hello, you know, Hello, Hello again

Pure Genius. :)

The following is a short story inspired by the above song. Dave Matthews Band is by far my favorite band ever. Dave Matthews is my favorite musician and song writer. It took quite awhile to decide on just which DMB song to use. 

Stolen Away

I died on a night like tonight many years ago.  It was mid-June, muggy, hot. Typical Louisiana summer. Long days stretching into longer nights. I didn’t expect to die that night, but I suppose no one ever really does expect to die; it’s one of life’s great surprises.

For years, I had labored under the impression that we were happy. Now that I’m dead, I realize I was dead wrong.

But we started out happily enough. High school sweethearts reunited years after our young romance had flickered out. We ran into each other in the city, on a rainy day. I stood under my red umbrella waiting for my bus. One of my heels on my brand new shoes was broken. I looked like a drowned, off-balanced rat. Through the rain, I saw him spot me. Brown eyes widening in recognition.  He said, “Hello, again.” From that moment, he took me back again; he stole me away.

In the early days, we were inseparable. Those are the days I can remember most vividly, a gift I suppose from some higher power. When you’re dead, you can no longer count on your memories. Memory becomes something altogether different than it was in life. Memory in death is usually faded and hazy. Surprisingly, I can still grasp the shadow of the memory of our relationship, the happy moments of my past, but I can’t remember my love for him at all. I suppose it may have died when I did.

He killed me in the most unseemly way possible. A gunshot to my temple. I was sitting in front of my vanity, removing my makeup and preparing for bed. I saw his reflection in the mirror, slowly approaching me as he’d done hundreds of times before. I didn’t see the pistol in his hand until it was too late. The barrel of the gun provided a stark contrast to my pale skin. Those brown eyes, the same eyes that had stolen me away years before, met mine as he pulled the trigger.

I see those eyes now. I see them every day. Sometimes I search them for hours, looking for some trace of remorse, some sense of regret. I never find it.

Lately, I’ve noticed that he can feel me. He looks over his shoulder at the oddest times, rubs the back of his neck in that insecure way of his. I want him to feel me. I want him to know I am here and to know that I will never leave.

Tonight reminds me so much of the night I died; even through the faded lens of death, my memory of that night is keen. I relive it over and over, and I wonder if he does as well.

 I watch him as he crosses our bedroom in search of something. He’s more frantic tonight that usual. That calm veneer is chipping. My presence is beginning to get to him. He pulls out the drawers of the dresser, throws clothes into the floor. Some of them are his clothes and some of them belong to Her. Poor Her. She’s a victim, too, another of his play things. She’s young, vulnerable, naïve. He plays Her like a fiddle. I long to be able to warn Her, but she can’t feel me. She’ll never feel me.

Tonight, she’s gone though. I don’t have to worry about Her. I can focus all of my attention on him. I wonder what he’s looking for?

Suddenly, he looks up, and his eyes are on me. I swear that he can see me. If I had breath, mine would catch. But I realize that he doesn’t see me…at least not fully. Not yet.

He turns his attention back to his search. His eyes land on my vanity. The bastard kept it. Wiped the mirror clean of my blood, as cleanly as he wiped me from his life. He approaches it slowly. I can tell that it scares him a little now. He used to sit at it, staring into the mirror with depthless eyes, but now he almost never pays it any mind.

His eyes avoid the mirror, as he hesitates for the briefest of moments and then sits down. Still avoiding the mirror, he pulls out the top drawer, rummages through Her belongings. At the very bottom of the drawer is a tiny box. Before he even opens it, I know what’s inside. He gave it to Her years ago, my ring. She only wears it on special occasions; even she seemed to sense the importance of it. It was a gift to me from my grandfather, a double pearl ring, one of my most treasured possessions.

He’d pulled it off my dead, bloody finger before dropping my body into the lake. I hated him for that affront nearly as much as I hated him for killing me.

He studies the ring now. I’ve moved to stand just behind him, just as he did to me on a night exactly like tonight so many years ago. I watch his face in the mirror. I watch as his eyes lift and finally, finally meet mine. He sees me, and I say, “Hello, again.”