part0090

T hroughout the past three years, I’ve grown more than I ever thought possible, but it didn’t mean that my demons died forever. I had to face them, for the first time in my life with a clear head, and without Liam to fall back on. For years, he molded my mind in ways that would affect me for the rest of my life.

I’m not sure what happened during my coma, and I refuse to believe that Rowan was simply a figment of my imagination. Especially when I found him in his final resting place. It took me a while but, eventually, I figured it out.

Rowan Peter Gallagher – Born September 10th , 1975, died December 31st , 1995. Sampson, the crow, led me here. He was barely twenty years old. He died far away from here, while backpacking in Europe. He was survived by his Nana, and his parents, Derek and Cynthia.

“Kind, exceptional young man” is what the obituary read. He was loved. Very loved, judging by the roses that surround his grave. It’s December 12th , days away from the anniversary of his death.

Sampson still follows me, and he sits on a grave nearby, haunting me with his yellow eyes. I smile at him as I pluck a blade of grass from the earth. I’m on my lunch break, eating a sandwich as I sit quietly with Rowan. He happened to be buried at my favorite spot, several plots away from the weeping angel.

He wasn’t one of them, like he said. He was an enigma, a spirit that must’ve decided to follow me during one of my visits – a friend that I’ll never forget. I guess when you come around these places enough, the souls sometimes stick, and there he stayed, in a special place in my heart.

In the years since my revelation, Liam has been in prison and my mother was forced to leave her home for fear of embarrassment. I haven’t seen her since. Liam will continue to serve his sentence for twelve more years. That is, if he doesn’t get probation. An early release would normally threaten my healing, but I’m not afraid anymore. If he ever touches me again, I’ll make my dream a reality and cut his tongue out of his fucking head. He got what he deserved. Lost his career, and now he sits in prison to think about what he did to me… the life he stole.

I still visit Gunther at the old folks’ home, and play at Ole Virgie’s, and visit with Earl as I wait for the bus. The city still moves at its own pace, except it doesn’t make me dizzy anymore, like it used to. My gallery is several blocks from my house, and its there that I paint, play guitar, and release the demons that litter my mind. I’m not a hundred percent, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be, but I’m getting better. Sometimes you have to get through hell to wake up, look around, and realize that you only have one life to live. I can’t control the past, but I can control the future.

The voice startles me, causing me to jump to my feet. “Oh, I’m sorry!” I say, reaching down to collect my things while she approaches Rowan.

Her eyes are glazed over, and she carries a cane. She looks like a nice, older woman. Gray hair styled to perfection, and red lips. She wears a long jacket as her feeble form sways from side to side.

“Did you know my grandson?”

I shake my head slowly as I watch the crow land on the old woman’s shoulder. “N-no…” I whisper. She tilts her head to the side, as if she’s listening intently… to something.

“That’s funny,” she remarks, hobbling the rest of the way to his grave. “He says he knows you.”

She laughs. “He thinks it’s funny, you playing dumb. It’s okay. Your secret is safe with me. His mother never wanted to believe me, either.”

She chuckles, her white eyes finding mine. “Silly girl. He helped you, yes?”

My lips part, but I’m not sure what to say.

“Rowan always liked helping people. Especially pretty girls, isn’t that right?” She pats the crow’s head, and my heart palpitates. I have never told a soul what happened. “I thought the bird’s name was Sampson?”

“Sampson?” She says incredulously. “That was his grandfather’s name.”

“So the crow is…”

“My grandson,” she responds simply.

Leaning down, she places the basket on the ground before retrieving a beer from it. Opening it, she places it on his grave before grabbing two more from the basket. “Here,” she says, handing me one of the beers, she turns and sits on the bench a couple of feet away, the crow, Rowan, never leaving her side. “Come. Sit. Let’s have a beer.” Leaning her cane against the bench, she opens the beer while I’m frozen in place. “C’mon, girl! I don’t have much time left on this dreaded earth to wait!”

I laugh as she finishes another story about Rowan as the crow pecks at the ground in front of us. She sighs. “He was too young to go, but even in death, he’s always made himself known.”

“I wish that I would’ve known him,” I say, reminiscent tears sitting in my eyes.

“Oh,” she says, “You two would’ve been trouble.”

“Why did he help me?” I ask, and she stares at the crow momentarily before responding.

“From what I can tell, you’re a special girl.”

I smile at her, though she can’t see me. She swigs the remainder of her beer, and calls Rowan, the crow to her. She turns and offers me a smile before telling me to visit “her little house right over the hill.”

The moon is visible as I stay at his grave, placing a hand over the grass and closing my eyes. “Thank you.”

“No sweat,” the voice says, and I smile at the sound of his voice as the memories of him and I rush to my mind.

Opening my eyes, I see that he’s right there, in all of his glory, but only for a moment. He fades away, and a weight feels like it goes with him. My heart feels full, and for the first time in a long time, I can breathe.