I AM THE WIND

Do not stand at my grave and weep;

I am not there, I do not sleep...

Chapter 1

I am here! I do not yet know why I am here, or exactly how I came to be  here, or even where here might be. Not only do I comprehend that I am here, I also somehow know that I always have been and always will be, although how I came to know these things remains a mystery. Yet, this hardly matters, for I am still  Lara, and I am here!

As I look around, things appear nearly the same as before, yet somehow different. For example, I seem to be able to move faster and easier now, almost as if I can float from place to place. Strange as it seems, I  may even be able to think myself from one place to another.

Probably I should not have used the term look around. I suppose I only thought around, since in the physical sense I can no longer see. Now that I think about it, I doubt that I can hear, smell or taste either. Could I be only imagining these sounds, odors and flavors that remain a part of my being? Although nearly certain that I can still feel, possibly that, too, might only be imagined. Naturally, I cannot feel physically because that old body no longer works. Of this, I am certain, for I saw it in its mangled, useless state: dead they called it. Perhaps I should say I discerned it in that state, rather than saw it, but since it still feels like seeing, I will continue to use that term to describe the sensation.

The last thing I remember seeing before being here was my body lying on a bed or a table in a hospital emergency room. Suddenly I am becoming aware that I am not in that body. Strangely, I feel as if I am above looking down, watching and  listening as two young doctors try to find a pulse, a breath, any sign of life in my body. Almost like in the movies, I think as I try to accept the reality of this new form, which feels nearly as I always imagined it would, only amazingly  better as I seem to float above everything. Of course, I cannot be certain that I am actually up here. Perhaps I am merely imagining this strange sensation, which feels similar to watching myself in a dream. Yet this feels much stronger and  somehow more real.

Suddenly, I hear someone speaking. "We've lost her! She's gone."

I AM NOT GONE! I'm here! Why are these people unable to hear me? I feel as if I am speaking, although possibly the words exist only in  my mind.

Wherever I am now, I do not want to go back. Everything here is so peaceful and I feel remarkably free. I thought dying was supposed to be painful, but I cannot remember feeling any pain. I am not certain, of course, that I am  dead. Out of my body? Yes, or so it seems. What else could that mean? And besides, the doctor just pronounced me dead. Yet how can this be, if I am still here? Although I do not understand this state in which I find myself, I somehow sense  that it is right; exactly as things are meant to be.

I begin to recall the events leading up to my being here. I remember waking up this morning and thinking, Oh no! Look at the time! I'm gonna be late for school again. Guess Lynn and I  stayed out too late last night. Gotta hurry!

Scrambling out of bed, I quickly dress and brush my teeth. On my way through the kitchen, I grab a banana. In the garage, I jump into Dad's old 1985 Honda Accord that he has been allowing me  drive for the past few months. As I back hurriedly out of the driveway, I notice the morning is cool, but bright and sunny. I take a moment to observe how beautiful the lake appears as I drive along the road that meanders around the deep blue  water, which appears so still, with hardly a ripple. I notice a lone man in a small boat casting with his fly rod against the far shore. Does he think spring is here already--in January?

Spring? At the end of this springtime, I will be  graduating from high school. How weird. And I have no idea what I will do then. College? Dad seems to think so, as do many of my friends, but I am still not sure. Unless my grades improve, I may not have a choice, of course, so I suppose I had  better buckle down from here on, or I might not even graduate on time.

Upon reaching the main highway, I turn onto the narrow, two-lane road that snakes its way through six miles of beautiful rolling farmland. By now I have this whole  stretch of road memorized, having made the trip frequently during the past three years, often as many as three or four times a day. Although I have only been driving for a few months, already I feel as if I could navigate this road with my  eyes closed. The little Honda seems to know the way, needing only an occasional urge of encouragement when entering some of the sharper turns.

While lighting my first cigarette, I quickly increase speed to seventy-five miles per hour. Dad  has warned me that using the cruise control on this winding road is unsafe, but I decide to set the cruise anyway. After all, I still have to put on my lipstick and fix my hair. Besides, as I said, I could navigate this road in my sleep, and  there is hardly any traffic at this time of the morning.

As I top the hill approaching that sharp curve near the old house that advertises antiques, I adjust the rear-view mirror so that I can see myself. Confirming that my hair is a mess,  I fling my cigarette out the window and reach into my bag for a hairbrush. When I locate the brush, I begin pulling out some of the tangles. The car careens around the next curve as I glance back and forth between the road and my image in the  rear-view mirror. Suddenly, I notice the dashboard clock. Oh my God! Only five minutes till first bell! I punch the cruise on up to eighty and begin searching for my lipstick.

Suddenly, from the corner of my eye I glimpse the road ahead: Oh, God! I'm on the WRONG side of the road! Thank goodness there are no cars coming from the other direction. But since I cannot see over the hill directly ahead, I quickly  swerve back to the right, causing the Honda's tires to scream as they skid on the pavement. Fighting now to stay in the road, I realize I might be going a little fast, so I tap the brake pedal to disengage the cruise control.

The warning, Never hit the brakes when in a skid, either from drivers' education or from Dad, flashes into my mind as I fight the steering wheel.

The front wheels suddenly slide off the pavement onto the graveled shoulder and I try to remember  what to do in a front-wheel-drive car to recover from a skid. I have to do something fast, so I jerk the wheel back to the left and the skid reverses. Panic overcomes me as the car continues to fishtail down the road, sometimes on the  pavement, sometimes off.

As I feel the rear wheels sliding farther into the ditch, I fight the wheel harder. Suddenly the car leaves the road completely and I feel a terrible jolt as the Honda slams into something alongside the road.

Suddenly the car slams onto its side and begins rolling . . . over and over . . . bouncing . . . crashing down on its top . . . sailing through the air . . . bouncing again. Horrible metallic crashing sounds! Glass breaking! Someone screaming!

In my panic, I try to remember if my seatbelt was fastened. Although nearly certain that it was, I am still being thrown about in all directions. Then the car smashes into something solid and it envelops me like a vice. Oh, God, I'm being crushed.

Then all motion ceases.

Next, I sense the sounds of flowing liquid, hissing steam and gurgling liquid. An acrid stench of gasoline fills my nostrils. Somewhere a radio is playing and I imagine I am hearing  my favorite song, After All, from that movie called Chances Are. Did I have the radio on before the crash? Probably so, since I seldom turned it off.

I try to move but find that something is restraining me. I feel as if I am  trapped underwater and I gasp for breath as a warm substance bathes my face, covering me until I am drifting in the substance, floating into it, becoming a part of it.

Then there is only blackness.

Sometime later, I dream that I hear a  faint sound of sirens in the distance. Now a man is speaking. "My God! Her chest is crushed . . . head too . . . gonna be tough gettin' her outta here."

Then another voice: "Worst I've ever seen, Bill. Don't see no way she's  gonna make it."

What does he mean, don't see no way she's gonna make it?

Everything remains dreamlike as apparently I float in and out of consciousness. First I am cold, and then hot. I try to speak, to call for Dad, but I  still have hardly any breath.

Next, I imagine I am in an ambulance, and I hear more sirens. Someone then places something over my face, and I cannot see or move. I hear a man talking about me as if I am not here. He is saying horrible  things about my body.

"Chest crushed, fractured skull, BP eighty over forty, pulse too weak to measure. We're administering oxygen . . . I think we're losing her . . . roger, we're about five minutes away."

The next thing I  remember is watching those events taking place in that hospital emergency room. And then it is over as someone pulls a sheet over the face of the young girl they called Lara.

I AM HERE! I scream as loudly as I can. Lara is NOT GONE, I shout  from somewhere above. But no one seems to hear; obviously, the words are only in my mind.

I watch now as they wheel the body that I so recently occupied out of the emergency room and down a corridor. Where are they taking my body? Oh,  God! Not the morgue!

In the distance, I hear a woman's voice. "Have her parents been notified?"

Then I remember that Dad is not here. He is out of town, and I try to tell them that I know where he is. He is visiting my  sister, Tracy, who lives in Knoxville, the nearest large city, about seventy miles away. Dad went to help her move into her new apartment. He tried to get me to go with him, but of course, I refused, using the excuse that I did not want to  miss school today, but the real reason was that I wanted to go to Steve's party tonight. But I guess I will miss that party, after all.

Whoa! What is happening? All at once, I find myself there with Dad and Tracy. They are just  finishing breakfast and are laughing and talking; obviously, they do not yet know.

Now how can this be? I am in the hospital, yet I'm not; I'm here with Dad and Tracy. How did I get here so fast?

Suddenly a telephone rings and Tracy answers.

"Hello . . . yes . . . yes . . . Nooooooo . . ."

She falls to the floor and covers her face with her hands. Dad grabs the phone, and after a few words are exchanged, he slumps to  the floor beside Tracy. He drops the phone and his whole body jerks as he sobs. Somehow, I know the caller was Dad's friend, Andy Parrish, calling to give Dad and Tracy the horrible news. Poor Andy, I wonder how he got Tracy's new phone  number; but of course, that is of no matter now.

As Dad and Tracy hold each other and sob, I try to tell them, to think to them: Dad, Tracy, I'm okay; I'm here. But they do not hear.

I am surprised that I can share Dad's feelings as his  heart breaks. Then I realize that I am aware of everything he is feeling, and Tracy, too. It's all right, I continue to try to tell them. I'm here! I'm okay!

But they do not listen. I scream the thoughts, yet they do not hear.

As Dad and  Tracy begin the dreadful drive back to our house, I find myself in the car with them. Dad is in a semi-trance, but he insists on driving. I continue to feel his every emotion. Primarily, he is experiencing disbelief, his mind unable accept  that this awful thing has happened.

I think now of a movie I saw recently about a similar situation, where a man died but was not really gone in that he could still see, hear and feel, just as before; yet, no one else seemed to be aware  that he was among them. Sometimes they sensed that something was there, some presence, although not the person--merely an illusion, they thought. Just the mind playing tricks.

The mind! Suddenly I wonder if I still have a mind.  Surely I must, for I can reason and feel; and I am still Lara, in the sense that I know the things I knew before, and perhaps more. Maybe a mind is all I am now. Or a soul? Could I be just a soul now? I know, of course, that I am no  longer in my physical body, yet I feel as if I am, since I seem to be able to move about.

I remain with Dad and Tracy throughout the trip, trying to comfort them. Surely, they must feel my presence. Finally, we are home. As we enter our  house, I notice that things look the same as I remember from this morning. In the garage, I see my little Honda motor scooter that Dad bought me for my fourteenth birthday three years ago when we first moved here. I feel Dad's dread at ever  having to look at that bike again. He feels his heart will break again every time he sees it.

Once more, I try to tell him, It's okay, Dad. I am fine.But it is no use. Why are they not aware that I am with them?

Later, I  watch as Tracy sorts through the several items that I left scattered about my bedroom. Dad has asked her if she will arrange my things. What a mess, I think, feeling embarrassment at having left my room in such a state. I think a gasp  as my sister finds a note that I recently wrote to my best friend, Lynn. Please don't read it, I think to her, and she does not, although probably not because I thought her not to do so. Instead, she places the note inside a box where I  have kept everything I have ever written through the years: my journals, diaries, and notes to and from friends. I shudder, wondering if Tracy or Dad will ever read these things. It would be so embarrassing if they ever did. But for some  reason, I do not think they will. Then I remember that note I wrote to Dad just a few days ago; the one I never gave him. I do wish he could read that.

Tracy spends a long time in my room, and I feel her anguish as she organizes my things,  looking at each item for a few moments, holding it, feeling a connection, and then experiencing an awful emptiness. Tears fill her eyes and I want to comfort her, yet I cannot. Soon my room looks better than it has looked in months and Tracy  leaves the room, closing the door behind her.

Wait ! I yell, but she is gone. Then suddenly I am in the living room with her and Dad. Did I just float through that closed door?

A few of Dad's friends have come to visit tonight,  including his best friend, Andy Parrish. Andy and Dad are the same age and have been friends since soon after we moved here. They play golf and tennis together, and Dad helps Andy with some computer work at Andy's place of business. Andy lost  his wife a few years ago and has never remarried either, so he and Dad have that in common.

Andy stays with Dad and Tracy long after the others have gone. They try to comfort Dad, but nothing seems to help. I hear them discussing the  memorial service scheduled for tomorrow evening. Dad cannot even imagine how he will ever get through this event. And then there is the funeral scheduled for the following morning. He wonders how he will ever survive these services.

Finally, Andy leaves, and soon Tracy talks Dad into going to bed. But he does not sleep, and long before daylight he is up, walking through the now quiet, empty-feeling house. After a while he slumps into a chair in the family room and just  sits there, his head in his hands. I think he still cannot believe that the accident actually happened and that I am gone.

Dad is still sitting in the chair later when Tracy gets up to fix breakfast. Since sunrise, he has been sitting in  this chair, staring out the window toward the lake. With intense dread, he thinks of the long day ahead and the memorial service this evening, and again wonders how he will ever muster the strength to get through it. I feel his silent prayer,  asking God to help him to endure.

I'll be here to help, Dad. I think this as strongly as I can, but he still does not seem to be aware of my presence. Although I do not know how, I have to find some way to let him know that I love  him and that I am all right.