Anika's Point Of View ~ 

"We fell in love and once we did, something rare and beautiful was created. For me, love like that has only happened once and that's why every minute we spent together has been seared in my memory. I'll never forget a single moment of it." 

Nicholas Sparks said that. 

I whisper as I read it out to myself. But I don't think of my husband when I read this . . I think of someone else instead. Am I a terrible person? I feel that way. How could I not? Because I know it's not meant to be this way. It's not right how I am feeling, how I am thinking. I keep thinking about him. I keep recalling so much of him and when we were us. It's not right, I know this. 

But I just can't stop. 

I clear my throat softly, putting the book back in it's place on the shelve. I retreat, moving backwards slowly but my eyes remain on the book. I know that if I buy this book . . I won't put it down. I will continue to fall deeper and deeper into my past . . with him. Something I know I must stop. Because it's fiction like this, quotes such as the one I just read out that remind me of him the most. It's making me very aware that quotes like that won't appear just once in that book . . but throughout. I turn my head as I see grandmother coming towards me from the corner of my eye. She is carrying a handful of books. She always loved to read. For as long as I can remember, she had a book in her hand. 

"Oh Anika, there you are dear . . " She says. 

She puts the pile of books on a small table, located just behind me. I look at all of them. I pick up one book that is leaving me confused a little bit. I am just not sure why grandmother picked this book in particular. 

"Since when do you read horror books, grandmother? . . " I ask her. 

She pauses. 

I can see she is really thinking right now. This breaks my heart. She won't be able to give me an answer, I can already tell. I already know. My face turns soft as I look at her. My hand gently placed on her arm now. She looks at me . . her eyes beaming with confusion. 

" . . I don't know, Anika . . " 

"I don't read horror books? . . " She asks me. 

I shake my head gently at her. 

"You always said you never liked horror books, grandmother . . " 

" . . that you never will like them. You said it a few days ago actually . . " I tell her. 

Grandmother doesn't say anything. This makes me so sad. To see her like this is just devastating for me. She raised me. When I was a little girl, I thought of her as a super hero. And as I grew up, she was something as simple as my security blanket. And now, she is slowly disappearing. I feel so helpless. There is nothing I can do to help her. The only thing I can think of is just being here with her . . to look after her. Keeping an eye of her, if you will. Ensuring I'm here with her makes me feel better, somewhat. It's not a cure . . but it's something. 

"It's okay, grandmother . . " 

I say, picking up that particular book. 

"I'm going to go and put it back. Wait here for me . . " I tell her. 

The book is in my hand. My feet moving quicker than normal. Left foot, right foot. I find the horror section . . my eyes fixing on it. The book back in it's original place now. I turn around, back towards grandmother and she is just where I left her. She tells me she wishes to purchase the rest of the books she has acquired. Grandmother smiles, seemingly pleased with that decision. Making her way past me and towards the check out register. I smile at her. She is so funny sometimes . . so cute. My mind telling me, it echos throughout it. How my eyes know exactly what my mind is talking about as they land back on the book I put down earlier. I'm constantly telling myself not to but it. 

Because I know . . it's dangerous. 

_______________________

The bag makes a solid thud as it's lifted onto the kitchen counter. We are home from the book shop now. Grandmother excited. She is ready to read her books. As soon as possible, she says. She decides on the book she wishes to read now while the others twiddle one's thumbs as they wait their turn. She walks out of the kitchen, out to the front verandah. That is where she reads, she always has. I put the kettle on . . coffee on the way for us. 

"Oh thank you, dear . . " She says sweetly to me. 

I place both mugs onto the white, bistro table before sitting down on the white seat opposite grandmother. I look at her. She is completely taken by her new book. It's hilarious. It's good to see she is still the same when it comes to her reading. I see as her eyes follow along as they sit behind her large, clear reading glasses. Her hand slowly coming down, picking up her mug and bringing it to her lips to take a sip . . or two. She is so involved in what she is reading. She would always read mysteries or detective fiction as grandmother calls them. That hasn't changed, thank goodness. But I brace myself as I know that will change. I don't know when. I just know it will. The feeling of the warm mid morning sun hits my face. The gentle salty, breeze blowing my hair softly. I look down at my book . . the book. It is the book that I told myself not to buy, however I didn't exactly object to myself as I was doing so. 

I open it. 

Flipping past that quote that sits on the very first page. Chapter One. I take a deep breath. My eyes doing the same as grandmothers, following along. It's quite between us as our minds are taken over by our very different books. It's about a beautiful love story . . a lost love. I feel like I wrote this book, pairing that thought with feeling as if this book was written about me. I am now  completely embedded in this book, unable to take my eyes away from it. The next page sitting atop my fingers, getting ready to turn the page. Wow. I have never been like this before. I am connecting with something that was written from the authors imagination . . but it's something I am living with. It's so true for me. As page after page of this book has now been read, another quote comes along.

I knew it. 

"Sometimes you have to be apart from people you love, but that doesn't make you love them any less. Sometimes you love them more."  

It is like this book knows. It's as if this book wanted me to find it, hoping I would find it. Perhaps so that I wouldn't feel so alone. To help me through it. I don't know. It's just so insane to me that this book is so true to what I am feeling . . to what I have been feeling for 10 years. He was the one, the one that I loved so much. He was the one that made me believe that I was the happiest I could be in my life. And he was the one that was always there for me when I needed him the most. I had him . . but now I don't. 

And now I'm stained by him. 

Like a coffee ring upon this table, I'm unstable. Like a goddamn solider that just can't forget the battle. I am stained by you, Michael. 

Grandmother suddenly speaks. She takes off her reading glasses and closes her book. Placing it on the table that sits between us, her glasses sitting onto of her book. 

"I'm going to have a little lay down, Anika . . " She tells me. 

She gets up from her seat, walking back inside the house. She is slow moving, holding onto nearby structures as her age has got the best of her now. I watch as she walks, making sure she is okay before my eyes come back to my book. No. I must stop reading it. I slam the thick book cover shut, crashing each single piece of paper that holds all the dialogue. 

"Anika, Anika! . . " I look up to the sudden sound of my name, towards the voice. 

It's Lisa and she's walking right for me. 

"We still need to catch up, Anika . . " 

" . . dinner tonight? . . " She asks. 

My eyes drifting away from Lisa, landing on my book. I can't go back to reading it. Not yet. Not ever? I think about it. It sounds like a great idea. Something that is much needed. I smile, looking back at Lisa once again. 

"Dinner tonight sounds great . . " I tell her. 

It'll be an amazing distraction as I try to pull my together.

to be continued.