...and I'm haunted by her memory

As I rub the sleep from my eye and vision clears from a blur, a corpse appears beside me in the chair by the bed. It is sitting there silently, it's mouth doesn't move. Yet I hear her voice clearly and sweetly in my head. 'Where were you? Why didn't you come back? I waited, I waited, and you didn't come.'

What, what is it? Who are you? What are you doing in my house? I ask but aloud.

'Don't say you don't know me,' says the voice in my head, 'don't say you've forgotten, for I can't live with that.' The voice is familiar, just vaguely, I know. Somewhere in the annals of memory, I can't place it, Who - I don't know.

'Say you remember!' howls the voice in my head, 'speak out my name,' she demands - but I shake and I shudder. No words do I spake, for be paralyzed with fear. 'How dare you forget me! How dare you not come!'

In a flash of my memory, we are no longer in my room. We're at the park near the creek; some thirty years ago. Who it is I now I know, but her name I can't speak, I tremble with fear. She was the sister, of that girl that I liked. Just a homely, lonely girl looking for a friend.

So to the park would I go, to meet her, and listen. Spoke of her mom she did, and the guys that she dated. Kids from her old high-school, the little brother that teased her. Sometimes she'd joke about school teachers, bus driver or the man at the shop. Actually, I don't she liked that man at that shop. But then she'd light up a smoke and talk about something else.

Just out of high-school, and dressed like a loner. Not many friends, I knew how that was. I felt sorry for her, so I came by just to listen. Be that someone to talk to, when things we too hard. She'd snuggle up and hug me close. Sometimes, she'd cry on my shoulder, and I'd give her a hug. She'd perk up and smile, then go home feeling better.

In all that time, I thought I was just being a friend. I wasn't romantically interested in her, nor did I think that she was in me. I thought we were just friends; and we were. One of her favorite stories was about one of her high-school friends that used to let men in her neighborhood do things to her, just so her mom wouldn't lose her job. Sometimes the tales where about being touched, others about having to do things. Then she'd laugh, light up a cigarette, and say, 'can you imagine, someone letting a stranger touch you this way and that?' I'd smile and shrug, and let her continue with her fanciful tales.

Only they weren't fanciful tales, were they?
And it wasn't some other girl that she knew at her old school; it was her.

And I didn't listen, not really, not truly. She was asking for help, but I didn't hear.

Then her sister found a boyfriend; and it wasn't me.

So I stopped going to the park, but she still needed someone to talk to.

She waited for me, but I didn't come. She waited for me, but I had moved on.

And she put herself to sleep in that park, waiting for me.

Now she's 18 forever, and I'm haunted by her memory.

and I wake with a start...
Please forgive me RM... I'm so sorry