Chapter 11
545words
The effects of the medication ebbed and flowed like the tide.
During his lucid moments, Yuri would sit by the tulips on the balcony, counting the petals.
Seventeen flowers—he counted them every day, afraid to lose even one.
These flowers were planted by Megan before she left, and now they were his only connection to the past.
There was still a chestnut cake in the refrigerator, though it was no longer edible.
On the day the bakery closed, he stood outside the door for a long time, as if doing so could preserve time within Megan's favorite dessert.
After Serena was sent to the mental hospital, this house became completely empty.
Sometimes he would hear a baby crying, rush frantically into the bedroom, only to find the cradle was empty.
That child, he hadn't even had time to give it a name.
His mother came to see him several times, and each time she would cry, saying: "Yuri, go visit the hospital."
He would just shake his head, holding the empty swaddling cloth and pacing around the house.
On his clearest day, he went to the bank and opened a card.
When the teller asked what password he wanted to set, he instinctively entered Megan's birthday.
That was what he owed her, owed her for those nights of overtime work, owed her for those years of frugal living, owed her a complete future.
When he handed the card to Megan, he actually wanted to say much more, wanted to say that the year when she developed a rash from exhaustion but refused to go to the hospital, he hid in the bathroom and cried for a long time.
Wanted to say that every time she sent him to the train station, he would wait until the train was far away before daring to turn around and wipe his eyes.
But he couldn't bring himself to say it.
Some words, once the moment passes, can never be spoken again.
When the effects of the drug hit him again, he returned to when he was seventeen.
"Megan," he heard himself say,
"If I ever make you sad in the future, just walk forward without looking back."
"Why?"
"Because if you look back, you'll see that I'm crying."
What he didn't finish saying was: "I'd rather you never know how much I regret."
His last moment of clarity was on the way to the airport.
The rain was pouring heavily, and flight information was being broadcast on the radio.
He heard the flight number that Megan would be boarding, that number pierced his heart like a needle.
It was then that the drug took effect.
His vision began to blur, his hands trembled uncontrollably, and he saw seventeen-year-old Megan standing in the middle of the road, wearing her school uniform, smiling at him.
"Megan, wait for me a little longer."
These were his last words.
In the moment the steering wheel slipped, he seemed to see it.
He saw Megan sitting in the waiting area, looking at the rain outside the window.
He saw her put away her boarding pass and walk toward the gate without looking back.
This is for the best.
He thought.
At least this time, she truly did not look back.
