Can't Repeat
(Based on the song "Can't Repeat" by The Offspring)
Katie Achilli
When you hear that the road was blocked for more than three hours, you know that somebody died in the crash. Almost
an hour later the phone rings, deafening the alarming silence in the room. The blood rushing through your ears makes it
incapable of hearing the hysterical voice on the phone. Anna is dead. Anna is dead. The words tangle in your mind like a
mangled wreath, and they come out of your lips in an incomprehensible whisper. You put the phone back on the receiver,
hands throbbing. You can barely feel yourself, but you know that your face is twisting into anguish, hands holding your head
as you lower yourself to the floor. The salt tastes terrible mixed with the dirt on the wood that was once on Anna’s shoes.
You bring your knees to your chest; you feel heavy. A heave escapes from your throat; an agonizing scream. The crows
flutter away outside. You want to fly with them. Fly to Anna. Fly to the place where memories are kept; the place where you
can go and immerse yourself into the life you wished you still lived. The life you had yesterday, only a few brief hours before
the life, the love you lived for was frayed and ripped like burning strings. Another cry shudders your walls. Walls that
enclose your vibrant past now dulled; blurred by something that you don’t understand, but you want to. It’s amazing, you
think, that the world is capable of taking something away from you that is precious. Just like that. You think of what you
have done to deserve this. Does it matter? All that matters is that it is gone. All gone. She is gone. Then you think it’s your
fault. Why didn’t you tell her to stay home? You wanted to, but you didn’t. But that doesn’t matter either. All that matters is
time rules on.
Yesterday laughs,
Tomorrow cries.
an hour later the phone rings, deafening the alarming silence in the room. The blood rushing through your ears makes it
incapable of hearing the hysterical voice on the phone. Anna is dead. Anna is dead. The words tangle in your mind like a
mangled wreath, and they come out of your lips in an incomprehensible whisper. You put the phone back on the receiver,
hands throbbing. You can barely feel yourself, but you know that your face is twisting into anguish, hands holding your head
as you lower yourself to the floor. The salt tastes terrible mixed with the dirt on the wood that was once on Anna’s shoes.
You bring your knees to your chest; you feel heavy. A heave escapes from your throat; an agonizing scream. The crows
flutter away outside. You want to fly with them. Fly to Anna. Fly to the place where memories are kept; the place where you
can go and immerse yourself into the life you wished you still lived. The life you had yesterday, only a few brief hours before
the life, the love you lived for was frayed and ripped like burning strings. Another cry shudders your walls. Walls that
enclose your vibrant past now dulled; blurred by something that you don’t understand, but you want to. It’s amazing, you
think, that the world is capable of taking something away from you that is precious. Just like that. You think of what you
have done to deserve this. Does it matter? All that matters is that it is gone. All gone. She is gone. Then you think it’s your
fault. Why didn’t you tell her to stay home? You wanted to, but you didn’t. But that doesn’t matter either. All that matters is
time rules on.
Yesterday laughs,
Tomorrow cries.
