Anna, Beth Stafford [books to read in your 30s .txt] 📗

least, the two to three years I had left.
    Telling my mother had been the hardest. Being her only child, she depended on me. Now, I depend on her.
    Her hands are twisting in her lap as she sleeps, and I fleetingly wonder what she’s dreaming about. Is it my father? Does she dream about him the way I dream about Anna?
    Dawn is still hours away, I know. The prospect of lying here in this frozen silence all that time is suddenly very exhausting. I figure I have nothing better to do than sleep. At least when I sleep, I’m free.

***

    Anna’s hands are on my face, smooth and soft. I can hear the gentle roar of waves crashing onto sand, the rush of a tropical breeze rustling palm fronds. I can feel the sun warming my skin, and the soft kisses of the sea as it brushes against my toes.
    I open my eyes. Anna is leaning over me, her face bright. She’s my Anna, and yet she’s not. Her hair’s a delicate shade of honey-blonde, and falls in cascading waves half-way down her back. Her tanned skin is dusted with a coating of fine sand, as is the vibrant teal sarong draped over her shoulders.
    “Wake up, sleepy head.”
    “I am now.”
    She smiles, that face-encompassing smile I’ve always loved so much. She rests her head on my chest, and it rises and falls to the rhythm of my breathing. I run a hand through her hair, surprised to see my skin is just as bronzed as hers.
    “How long have we been here?” I ask her, tracing a fingertip along the bridge of her nose.
    “Here?”
    “Where we are.”
    “Honolulu?”
    “Yeah.”
    “I’ve been here for a long time now, waiting for you. You always seem to take so long to get to me.”
    I smile. “Sorry about that. I have to make appearance in the real world every now and then.”
    She props herself up on her elbow, her golden locks spilling over her shoulders. “So, how do you like it here?”
    “Better than New York, I must admit.”
    She laughs, the faint hints of dimples creasing her cheeks. “I thought you might. I told you I’d take you traveling, didn’t I? This is just the beginning.”
    She gets to her feet, a silhouette against the sun’s glare. She unties her sarong and it falls to her feet like a waterfall, deep and blue. Beneath she wears a simple white bikini, adorned with little shells.
    She makes her way into the ocean, every now and then casting a glance back at me over her shoulder. The water is up to her waist by the time she asks me to join her, but for now I’m content basking in the sun’s rays. I never knew how much I had missed the simple pleasure of warmth until now.
    Anna reaches an arm into the crystalline water, her face furrowed with concentration. She extracts a small blue starfish, and holds it up to the light. She’s almost childlike in her curiosity, and I can’t help but feel a surge of adoration as I watch her examine it.
    Without warning, I feel myself being yanked from this world. I try to call out to Anna, but my voice is gone. I drift away from the beach, from Honolulu, from Anna.

***

    “I’m so sorry to wake you,” my mother says, voice soft. “But I wanted to let you know that I have to go for a little while. I didn’t want you to wake up and not know where I was.”
    It’s still early morning out, the sun muted and distant as it rises. The room is filled with a soft yellow glow, and the rays light the outline of her head like a halo. She slings her leather handbag over her shoulder, pursing her lips. “The woman I have house-sitting at the moment has had to leave unexpectedly, so I have to go and feed Tiddles and then try and see if the neighbours would be able to watch over things for a little while. I should be back by tomorrow.”
    I don’t know why she’s telling me this. I’d rather she’d have let me sleep, let me sleep and be with Anna. I suppose she’s only trying to imbue as much normality into the latter days of my life as she can. I shouldn’t be angry with her for trying to be normal.
    She leans down and pecks me on the cheek, even though she knows I can’t feel it. I can see she’s trying not to cry. I wish I could speak and say, ‘I’ll try not to die while you’re gone’, if only to make her laugh. It’s been so long since I last heard her laugh.
    She rushes away, not even pausing at the doorway like she usually does. I hope she isn’t crying. She really shouldn’t feel bad about having to leave me. She hasn’t even been gone a full minute before I give in to sleep once more, so excited am I to delve into the joy my slumber produces.

***

    When I awake—and that’s what I call dreaming now, being awake—I’m struck by the intense aroma of lavender. I seem to be standing in a sea of it, rows of purple waves stretching out over the horizon. The heady, fragrant air fills my lungs, making me feel light-headed and giddy. Anna is by my side, our arms inter-locked. Her brunette hair is swept up in a high bun, a string of pearls adorns her neck. She smiles at me, her lips the deepest shade of crimson I’ve ever seen.
    “I hope you don’t plan on leaving me again so soon,” she says. “I have so much planned.”
    “What is this place?”
    “Plateau de Valensole,” she says, casting a glance back over the lavender ocean. “Isn’t it extraordinary?” She plucks a lavender stem from the sun-baked ground, and runs it along her lips.
    “Let’s stay here forever,” I say, winding my arm around her waist. “We can have a house made of lavender. Our clothes can be woven from lavender. You’d never feel unhappy then, would you?”
    “I never do,” she smiles. “Are you ready?”
    “For what?”
    “We’re going to Fontaine de Vaucluse.”
    Before I have a chance to ask what that is, we’re there. The rows of lavender fade into a picturesque, medieval town. It’s so pristine it looks as though it’s come from a storybook .
    Together we eat lunch on stone steps by a river, accompanied by the sounds of a slowly churning water wheel. I watch Anna’s reflection shimmer in the emerald-green water.
    “When I die, this is what I want Heaven to look like,” I say. I instantly regret my words. Neither of us wants to talk about death, not here. Anna pales.
    “Let’s go somewhere else,” she says, taking me hand.
    Fountaine de Vaucluse gets swallowed up by Milford Sound. We drift across the still lake in a small wooden canoe, our laughter echoing throughout the deserted fjord. From there we’re transported to a full moon party in Thailand, where we drown in a sea of flailing, neon-painted limbs. Onward to the Taj Mahal, where we kiss beneath a marble dome. Then we materialise in the bustling Otavalo market, where we learn the true meaning of vibrancy. In the next moment we’re in Kenya, being steely observed from afar by a pride of drowsy lions. We’re whisked away to Buñol then, where we pelt one another with tomatoes at La Tomatina.
   The entire world flashed before my eyes with its multitude of tastes, scents, sensations. And everywhere we went, Anna was different, and yet she was the same. I experienced the world with my Annas, and I never wanted to wake up. Never wanted to, but I did all the same.

***

    The room’s crowded, crowded with faces I can’t distinguish, let alone recognise. Everything around me is a blurred mass of subdued colours; whites, pastel blues, the occasional hint of a brown clipboard. I can sense that my tenuous grip on life is slipping, and I don’t try to fight it. I want to be gone, more than anything. The fear of death is nothing compared to what my life has become.
    I can hear the muffled sounds of hurried conversation, but I don’t pick up what they say. I’m drifting in and out of awareness, exhaustion permeating every fibre of my being. I can tell I’m nearing the end now, and I search the sea of unformed faces for my mother’s. I wish I had the ability to ask for more blankets. I’ve never felt so cold in my whole life.

***

    I stumble into another dream, and I’m not sure I even registered falling asleep. I look around the all-too-familiar apartment, feeling a wave of dread wash over me. This isn’t a dream at all; it’s a memory. I can hear Anna’s voice coming from the other room, seeping through the wall that separates us. I attempt to stand, but my muscles feel weak and lethargic. Anna walks into the room, her movements leaden, a blanket draped over her shoulders. A mug of steaming tea – or is it a honey and lemon drink? – is clasped between her hands. She looks haggard, run-down. I beckon for her to come sit with me, but my fingers are slow to respond. She comes and sits all the same.
    “I feel like shit,” she moans, slumping on the couch. The steam from her mug is weaving upwards, hazing her face. “This flu just won’t go away.”
    “Go to the doctor,” I hear myself say. My words are so slurred I can barely understand myself. How Anna manages to is a mystery. “I’m worried about you.”
    She takes a breath in, but the sound is wheezy, strained. “I’ll be fine.”
    I can see she’s trembling, and she pulls the blanket further around her frame. I reach a hand out to lay on her thigh. My arm feels like it’s being weighed down by a sack of bricks.
    “Look at us,” I say, mustering the best smile I was capable of. “So sick and pathetic.”
    She laughs, but it’s cut short by a cavalcade of coughs. I can hear a rattling in her breath.
    “When was the last time you ate?” I ask.
    She shrugs. “Yesterday, maybe? I’m not hungry.” The mere act of speaking seems to have made her short of breath.
    “Please go to the doctor.”
    “I’ll be fine, now stop worrying,” she pauses to wheeze. “I think I might go run myself a bath. I’ve got the worst headache.”
    She sets her mug of I’m-not-sure-what on the coffee table, untouched. I wonder, briefly, if she brewed it just so she could have the warmth of it in her hands. Before I have a chance to offer to run the bath for her, she’s already gotten up. Even just speaking seems to require so much energy these days.
    I hear the scream of taps coming from the bathroom, followed by a steady gush of water. Steam billows through the open door; she always did like her baths scaldingly hot. Anna fetches a towel from the linen closet, and pauses to smile at me. She looks so gaunt that I feel a stab of sadness in my heart. I really wish she’d go to the doctor.
    Anna leaves the door open while she takes her bath, and I listen to her hum softly as she washes herself, interrupted every now and then by a raucous attack of coughing. Outside, the sun is setting. This time of day always makes me so sleepy.
    Did I doze off? I can’t remember. The sun has completely set