Second Wind

You told me you’d always be there for me, so where are you now? When I’m lost in the darkness, missing your smile full of sunshine. When I’m stuck in the hamster wheel of life, unable to stop running in fear, my feet will fall behind me, and I’ll faceplant. You were my brakes. You were my rock, solid and heavy. Solid and heavy. So how did the wind carry you away? 

Ever since you left, I’ve been stuck in this monotonous routine: wake, wash, eat, work, stare down our street for your silhouette, eat, sleep, repeat. The house is empty and stale, the only noise the soft humming of the fridge. The grass in the front yard is overgrown, yet dead and dry. The sky is colorless from gray clouds, not a single ray of sun poking through since I heard the news. Fitting; it matches my mood—apathetic, disbelieving, numb. Nothing at all feels right, not the weather, not the lonely house, not the children laughing as they run together after school. As I go through my days, I can’t shake the feeling that things will never feel right. There will always be something—someone—missing. 

From the day I met you eight years ago, you were a blazing star, a firework sprinkling my life with color and sparks. You waved hello, introduced yourself, and when I asked what your interests were—a common first date question—you dazzled me with your excitement and spirit. 

“Flying!” you said. “I love it!” 

And I could just tell from your voice that you wanted to get up on that table in the café and sing your heart out. I’d never met someone so joyous and passionate. 

“Flying?” I asked. “What do you mean?” 

“All kinds! I was born into the wrong body in this lifetime,” you said. “I should have been born with wings. Since I wasn’t, instead I’ll be a pilot! What about you?” 

Your enthusiasm was contagious, and as I thought about what I loved to do most in this world—play music—I felt my love for it swell. 

“I would love to do something with music,” I said, smiling at the thought, and your eyes sparkled. We’d only just met, but from that moment you spoke about flying, I’d fallen hard. 

Today is Saturday, so instead of being at work, I find myself at your favorite place. I welcome the chill air, the scent of imminent rain. Though the clouds are still grey, they churn with a restlessness, like a hungry stomach on the verge of a growl, not quite breaking but almost there. Here at this secluded park, the grass is green, and wildflowers dance to nature’s song. Caws and coos from the birds in the trees, whooshing from the leaves as they were ruffled with inconsistent breezes, the occasional croak of a frog from the bubbling river nearby. I almost feel like things are right again. Almost. I lie down in the grass among the daisies, letting them tickle my cheeks. All the sounds, the smells, the feelings of soft wind and grass on my skin lull me into a trance. 

You were there next to me, leaning over me and blocking out the sun, looking down into my eyes. Your smile was as bright as ever, your brown eyes full of mirth and life. You brushed the daisies away from my face, saying, “I’ve missed you.” And I cried, because I missed you too. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked. 

I grasped your hand that lingered on my face. “You’re always gone for so long. Can’t you work less?” 

You smiled sadly. “I love my job, babe. If I stay on the ground, I’ll be unhappy.” 

“And what about me? I’m unhappy when you’re gone.” 

You simply pulled me close and reassured me that no matter how long he was gone, or how far you flew, you’d always come back to me. 

When you were chasing your dream, when you were working towards your goal of becoming a pilot, I admired you. I envied you for your passion and drive. When you finally achieved that dream, I was so happy for you. But then I began to see you less and less. You became happier. I became more miserable, working several part-time jobs and saving up for a future I wasn’t sure I wanted. My mind slowly became poisoned with resentment that you were living your dream, and I was stuck in the same place, working for monetary reasons and trying to make it through each day. 

Four years ago, I stumbled upon an ad promoting a music group that was looking for members to travel and perform with them. The pay was meager, much less than the boring office assistant job I was currently working, but it sparked my interest despite my attempts not to let it infiltrate my mind. 

When you finally had some free time, we were cooking together in our kitchen, making every moment we had together count. The warm lights spread a yellow glow over everything, and after some inner debate, I mentioned the music group in an effort to get it out of my system.

You immediately set down your knife on the cutting board and grasped my hands, “You should go for it! You love playing music—it’ll make you happy!” 

I thought about my guitar, sitting in the corner of my room, collecting dust, like the passion that lay dormant inside me. “It’s not that simple,” I said. “I’d have to quit my job. How would I live?” 

Your smile fell, and you huffed, frustrated. “But how can you live knowing you passed up this opportunity to do something you love? Why won’t you ever take a chance?” 

Those words struck me, and I tossed and turned that night, thinking about what you said. In the end, I did nothing. You may have been able to take a risk, but I was too realistic to do such a thing. 

I remember that decision now. I had forgotten it over time. It had been a soft whisper in the wind, carried away before it became something of importance. I regret that decision now. Would I have been happier? Could I have lived without you? You were my dream, my love, but your dream was to be with the wind. What was it about flying that made your life so amazing? I wish I knew. I should have asked you rather than complained about it. Now it’s too late. 

You, my partner in life, who always said you’d come back to me, have traveled to a place I can’t possibly reach you now. You became the bird you always wished to be, the wind carrying you. But birds with broken wings don’t make it far. Birds with broken wings leave girls with broken hearts. 

As I lie among the daisies, the grass, on your favorite hill, a drop of rain hits my cheek. I open my eyes. 

You. 

In your uniform. 

Standing just above my head on the hill. The glistening path of a tear shows on your face. The drop on my cheek wasn’t the rain. You walk around to my side and sit down beside me, and I slowly sit up. A ray of sunshine pokes through the clouds and warms the back of my neck, where my hair stands on end. 

We sit side by side on the hill, shoulder to shoulder. “Why did you fly that day?” I ask, not looking at you, voice breaking slightly. I’m in shock. I don’t know what’s happening. But you’re there. Are you really there? 

“I always fly. You know me,” you laugh. “I don’t regret it, you know? Going out that night? Even on my final flight, I felt as free as the wind. I was the wind.” 

I look up at you, seeing that familiar sparkle you always get in your eyes when you talk about flying. You’re so real. You’re so alive. Except. . . you’re not alive. 

“What I do regret,” you begin, looking over at me with a sad smile, “is leaving you behind.” 

I blink hard, feeling a tear trace its way down my cheek. “Was being the wind worth it?” 

“Yes,” you breathe. You lean in close and stare into my eyes, our noses centimeters apart. “I have only one last wish.” 

I stare at your bright, beautiful brown eyes, getting lost in their endless depths. “What is it?” 

I want you to fly too. I want you to spread your wings and soar to great heights. Follow your passion. I want you to feel the love I felt even in my final moments.” 

My heart aches. I feel small. Voice trembling, I ask, “But how will I do it on my own?” 

You smile, brushing my hair away from my face. “You won’t be alone. I’ll be the current that pushes you forward, the draft that launches you higher. Until you believe in your capability to fly, I’ll support you. You can do this. Will you? Will you do it for me?” 

Your hope, your pleading eyes, your final wish—how can I say no? You loved what you did, so much so that it was worth dying for. I always admired you, even when I envied you, even when my mind was poisoned with resentment. That resentment flies away like leaves in the wind now, and you’ve inspired me, just like you did that first day we met. I steel my resolve and nod. I want to find what I will live for, what I will die for if it comes down to it. Your true love was flying; my true love was you. I am determined to live on and find my second wind just like you’re wishing for. 

And so, I break the moment—I stand, and just like that, you’re gone. A distant, bittersweet memory. And yet, as I determinedly set off to find my passion as the sun breaks through the dense clouds, the soft wind caresses my cheeks, lifts my hair, draws goosebumps of excitement across my arms, and I know it’s you, encouraging and pushing me on. You, who died for that feeling of being the wind, became the wind, and your memory will continue to inspire me for the rest of my life.