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A mix of rainwater and salty tears slowly dripped down my face as I sat in the grass. My jeans were stained in the knee area where I knelt, but I couldn’t feel a thing. My eyes were fixed on the grey stone; engraved with her name, ‘Annalyssa Goldbloom’. She loved her name, the fact that it was a combination between Anna and Alyssa, the names of her two great grandmothers. Under her name was the date: 1967-1983, and the short epitaph: “The more I see, the less I know for sure,” - John Lennon. This was her favorite quote from her favorite musician.
“He led a life of peace,” she would tell me in her many rants on why John Lennon was the most amazing musician who ever existed, “he could do whatever he wanted with his fame, and he used it to spread peace.”
“He was a druggie,” I would say, trying to see how far I could push her. But she kept calm and assertive, as she described his reasons for turning to drugs.
“Yeah, he was flawed,” she would admit, “but aren’t we all, Cassandra? His music was poetry and it touched millions. Not everyone can say that. In fact, most people can’t.”
She would always win our debates, if you could call them that. I halfheartedly agreed with her, that John Lennon was pretty great, but I didn’t think he was “the most peaceful, amazing person who ever lived.”
Annalyssa had this trait to her, a characteristic that I simply could not describe. She was a dreamer, her mind always in the clouds. She would always sit there and tell me about her dream world, where peace was universal and music was the first thing on people’s minds.
“I’m telling you,” she told me, one summer day in 1979, “In twenty years. I’ll live to see it. The Cold War will be over and we’ll all just be happy.”
Sometimes I would listen and imagine the world she described, and sometimes I would roll my eyes, knowing her dreams would never become reality. I never said it to her face, though. If she knew I didn’t think peace was in the future, she would take it personally, and probably never forgive me.
Annalyssa was my best friend, the sister that God had forgotten to give me, so he let Janice and Marco Goldbloom bring her to me. We were two months apart in age, she was younger, but she acted mature beyond her years. I remember in February of 1981, when my father left my mother and me. Annalyssa had just started to regain the closest thing to normalcy, a feeling she lost in December of 1980, when John Lennon passed away. When she heard what happened, she ran three doors down to my house in the pouring rain and walked in, using the spare key under the doormat.
My mother and I were sobbing and hugging on the soft couch, a blanket draped over us and tissues were an arm’s reach away. Without a word, Annalyssa turned on the record machine and began to play John Lennon’s song, Imagine. She sat down on the couch next to me and gently took my hand, as well as my mother’s. Her eyes began to tear and we all sat there on the couch, crying ourselves to sleep.
Annalyssa was always there for me, and I had promised her I would always be there for her. That’s why when she started vomiting uncontrollably every morning before school and constantly complained of headaches, I came with her and her mother to the hospital. It was the summer of 1983 when we learned that Annalyssa had leukemia. Every day that summer we would spend every waking moment together. She came to my house Independence Day, a welcome change from her room or the hospital, and we watched the fireworks from miles away. Every other day, I would bring two cartons of ice cream, strawberry for her and chocolate for me. We would talk for hours and listen to music. Sometimes I would bring a book to her house or the hospital, depending where we would be, and we would take turns reading it out loud.
One day at the hospital, she introduced me to Sean, a boy who she had met in the Oncology ward. He drove his younger brother, Billy, to the hospital for chemotherapy everyday in an old, rusty red convertible and would stay at the hospital until it was time to take Billy home. Sean was the male version of Annalyssa; he loved John Lennon and dreamed of peace. They instantly clicked, spending as much time together as possible. He requested that Billy was placed in the same room as Annalyssa and we would watch movies or play games together.
In late August it was almost time to go back to school. I couldn’t come to the hospital with Annalyssa the Saturday before school started because my mom wanted to have a bonding day with me, since she had barely spent time with me all summer. After a day of homemade facemasks and manicures, I called Annalyssa to see how she was doing. Since she didn’t answer the phone, I assumed she had fallen asleep and decided I would go to her house in the morning.
When I walked into her house her mother was sitting at the kitchen table drinking a mug of coffee and smiling to herself.
“Good morning, Mrs. Goldbloom,” I called as I raced up the stairs.
I opened Annalyssa’s bedroom door and saw her and Sean, holding hands. She was sleeping peacefully on the bed while he sat on a chair next to her, also asleep. I smiled and gently closed the door, walking downstairs to eat some breakfast.
“Did you see them?” Mrs. Goldbloom asked.
I nodded and grinned, “You’re okay with it?”
“Of course I am,” she said, “I want her to have a boyfriend. She’s a smart girl; they didn’t do anything that sixteen year olds shouldn’t be doing.”
Suddenly, I heard the sound of footsteps trudging down the stairs. Annalyssa and Sean were walking hand-in-hand to the breakfast table.
“Good morning,” I said to them, “have a fun night?”
Annalyssa nodded and winked, “How ‘bout you? How was your mother daughter bonding day?”
I shrugged, “Not bad. So what are we doing today?”
We decided to go shop for school supplies. As soon as Sean left, Annalyssa’s mom dropped us off at the supplies store.
“Okay. Mom’s gone. Tell me everything,” I demanded.
Annalyssa smiled, “Well. We kissed. A lot. And we talked about music. He kept bragging about how he has the same name as John Lennon’s son.”
I giggled and we started to shop for supplies.
Once school started, I saw less and less of Annalyssa. We had no classes together, and my large amount of homework kept me from being able to spend a lot of time with her. Sometimes I would bring my homework to her house or the hospital, but junior year of high school was difficult enough, and it was harder to focus when I wasn’t studying in my room.
By the time December rolled around, Annalyssa’s condition was worsening. The doctors were not sure if she would survive, they predicted that she wouldn’t last to see 1984. She could no longer go to school, as she was tied to the hospital bed. On December 8, I skipped school and spent the day with Annalyssa. I brought all of her John Lennon albums from home and a notebook, as well as two pints of ice cream, candles, and a box of chocolates. She was asleep when I entered her room, so I took time lighting the candles around the room with the lights off. I put one of her John Lennon records in the record player and it started playing quietly. I sat in the chair and watched her sleep, waiting for her to open her eyes.
When she woke up and saw what I had done, she burst into tears. I came over to her bed and gave her a hug while she cried on my shoulder. We spent the day listening to music and eating, barely saying a word to each other. I painted her toenails a dark shade of red and she returned the favor by painting my finger nails bright pink. Sean came in multiple times throughout the day and I would leave the room to give them privacy. Once he finally left for the night, I gave him a hug.
“Thank you for being there for her,” I said to him.
He bit his trembling lip and said in a shaky voice, “I told her I love her. She, she can’t die.”
Sean let a tear slowly go down his face, “I would die for her.”
“Sean,” I said, hugging him tightly, “So would I.”
We said our goodbyes and I walked back into Annalyssa’s room.
“Can you believe he died three years ago? Gosh, the time has flown,” Annalyssa whispered to me once I made my way to her side. I wasn’t sure why we spoke in hushed tones, but it suited the mood.
“Scooch,” I said and joined her on the small hospital bed. Her tiny body barely took up any room, so I fit in perfectly.
“Sean told me what he told you,” I whispered to her. She smiled lightly to herself.
“I love him, too,” she said, “so much. And I love you. And my mom and dad and your mom, too.”
“Annalyssa,” I said, just as she closed her eyes. She had fallen asleep so I gently whispered; “Send me daisies when you die.” Daisies were her favorite flowers. It was a morbid thought, and I was glad that she had fallen asleep when I said it.
I put my arms around her. We both fell asleep, entangled in each other’s protective arms.
I was woken up at 11:30 pm, an hour after we had fallen asleep, to screams and sobs. Somebody pulled me out of the bed and pushed Annalyssa’s to a nearby Operating Room. Her mother and father were holding hands and crying, and my mother was hugging them in her open, loving arms.
I didn’t have to ask what had happened. It was pretty self-explanatory. I said nothing and crouched into fetal position on the floor, but no tears fell from my eyes. I just sat there.
Her funeral was the next day. I dressed in her favorite black dress that I had borrowed ages ago and forgotten to return. It still smelled like her lavender-scented self. The whole day was a day of silence. No tears, though. I didn’t cry at all. I wondered why, the sadness had overcome me, but I could not cry. Maybe I’m heartless, I thought to myself. Everyone else was crying, Sean and Billy and my mom and her parents and half of the town. Everyone but me.
They played John Lennon’s Give Peace a Chance at her funeral. Sean stood next to me, his eyes bloodshot. Billy held his hand and cried as well. Billy was starting to get better. I liked to think that Annalyssa gave up her life so Billy had a chance. I grabbed Sean’s hand and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
“She died on the same day as John Lennon. She would’ve been happy about that,” I whispered to him. December 8, a day she had always mourned. Suddenly, I felt a tight feeling in my chest and burst into tears. Sean wrapped his arms around my shoulders and pulled me into his chest, where I cried for what seemed like hours. The warmth of his arms was comforting and he smelled just like Annalyssa.
“Did you use her lavender soap?” I asked him.
Sean nodded and bit his lip, “I bought ten bottles of that stuff.”
When it was time to go home, Sean came with me and we spent the night in Annalyssa’s room, listening to her John Lennon albums and looking through her journals and photo albums. I found one of her journals, pictures of John Lennon gracing the cover. This was the journal she kept during her fight with cancer. I flipped to the entry she wrote on the day she died.
Dear Journal,
Three years ago today, John Lennon was shot. He died from something he couldn’t control, and I feel that this will be the same way that I will die. But I’m not scared. I’m ready to die.
Annalyssa left this entry unsigned, as she always did. She never wrote her name atop school assignments and always had reduced points because of it, but it was something she constantly forgot.
Sean took my hand into his and pulled me up from my seated position on the floor.
“Lets go,” he said. I quickly grabbed Annalyssa’s journal and her favorite guitar, as her parents allowed me to, and he walked me home.
Now at forty-three years old and I kneel at the sight of Annalyssa’s grave. The cold water seeps in through my clothes. Sean stands behind me, holding the hands of our twin daughters, Anna and Alyssa. I carefully place a bouquet of daisies next to the headstone and stand up, with the help of Sean. We all quickly run back into the car, for fear that the twins will catch pneumonia if they stand in the rain for too long. Suddenly, we pass a field of daisies. The combination of wind and rain cause the daisies to blow all over our car, covering our windows. I happily opened the windows, allowing the daisies to fill up the interior.
“What are you doing?” Sean asks curiously.
I smile and close my eyes, “She’s sending us daisies, like she promised.”
Sean smirks at me for being so spiritual and turns on the radio, where the song Give Peace A Chance by John Lennon fills the car. I could almost hear Annalyssa’s voice sing along as she strums on her guitar, “All we’re saying is give peace a chance.”
“He led a life of peace,” she would tell me in her many rants on why John Lennon was the most amazing musician who ever existed, “he could do whatever he wanted with his fame, and he used it to spread peace.”
“He was a druggie,” I would say, trying to see how far I could push her. But she kept calm and assertive, as she described his reasons for turning to drugs.
“Yeah, he was flawed,” she would admit, “but aren’t we all, Cassandra? His music was poetry and it touched millions. Not everyone can say that. In fact, most people can’t.”
She would always win our debates, if you could call them that. I halfheartedly agreed with her, that John Lennon was pretty great, but I didn’t think he was “the most peaceful, amazing person who ever lived.”
Annalyssa had this trait to her, a characteristic that I simply could not describe. She was a dreamer, her mind always in the clouds. She would always sit there and tell me about her dream world, where peace was universal and music was the first thing on people’s minds.
“I’m telling you,” she told me, one summer day in 1979, “In twenty years. I’ll live to see it. The Cold War will be over and we’ll all just be happy.”
Sometimes I would listen and imagine the world she described, and sometimes I would roll my eyes, knowing her dreams would never become reality. I never said it to her face, though. If she knew I didn’t think peace was in the future, she would take it personally, and probably never forgive me.
Annalyssa was my best friend, the sister that God had forgotten to give me, so he let Janice and Marco Goldbloom bring her to me. We were two months apart in age, she was younger, but she acted mature beyond her years. I remember in February of 1981, when my father left my mother and me. Annalyssa had just started to regain the closest thing to normalcy, a feeling she lost in December of 1980, when John Lennon passed away. When she heard what happened, she ran three doors down to my house in the pouring rain and walked in, using the spare key under the doormat.
My mother and I were sobbing and hugging on the soft couch, a blanket draped over us and tissues were an arm’s reach away. Without a word, Annalyssa turned on the record machine and began to play John Lennon’s song, Imagine. She sat down on the couch next to me and gently took my hand, as well as my mother’s. Her eyes began to tear and we all sat there on the couch, crying ourselves to sleep.
Annalyssa was always there for me, and I had promised her I would always be there for her. That’s why when she started vomiting uncontrollably every morning before school and constantly complained of headaches, I came with her and her mother to the hospital. It was the summer of 1983 when we learned that Annalyssa had leukemia. Every day that summer we would spend every waking moment together. She came to my house Independence Day, a welcome change from her room or the hospital, and we watched the fireworks from miles away. Every other day, I would bring two cartons of ice cream, strawberry for her and chocolate for me. We would talk for hours and listen to music. Sometimes I would bring a book to her house or the hospital, depending where we would be, and we would take turns reading it out loud.
One day at the hospital, she introduced me to Sean, a boy who she had met in the Oncology ward. He drove his younger brother, Billy, to the hospital for chemotherapy everyday in an old, rusty red convertible and would stay at the hospital until it was time to take Billy home. Sean was the male version of Annalyssa; he loved John Lennon and dreamed of peace. They instantly clicked, spending as much time together as possible. He requested that Billy was placed in the same room as Annalyssa and we would watch movies or play games together.
In late August it was almost time to go back to school. I couldn’t come to the hospital with Annalyssa the Saturday before school started because my mom wanted to have a bonding day with me, since she had barely spent time with me all summer. After a day of homemade facemasks and manicures, I called Annalyssa to see how she was doing. Since she didn’t answer the phone, I assumed she had fallen asleep and decided I would go to her house in the morning.
When I walked into her house her mother was sitting at the kitchen table drinking a mug of coffee and smiling to herself.
“Good morning, Mrs. Goldbloom,” I called as I raced up the stairs.
I opened Annalyssa’s bedroom door and saw her and Sean, holding hands. She was sleeping peacefully on the bed while he sat on a chair next to her, also asleep. I smiled and gently closed the door, walking downstairs to eat some breakfast.
“Did you see them?” Mrs. Goldbloom asked.
I nodded and grinned, “You’re okay with it?”
“Of course I am,” she said, “I want her to have a boyfriend. She’s a smart girl; they didn’t do anything that sixteen year olds shouldn’t be doing.”
Suddenly, I heard the sound of footsteps trudging down the stairs. Annalyssa and Sean were walking hand-in-hand to the breakfast table.
“Good morning,” I said to them, “have a fun night?”
Annalyssa nodded and winked, “How ‘bout you? How was your mother daughter bonding day?”
I shrugged, “Not bad. So what are we doing today?”
We decided to go shop for school supplies. As soon as Sean left, Annalyssa’s mom dropped us off at the supplies store.
“Okay. Mom’s gone. Tell me everything,” I demanded.
Annalyssa smiled, “Well. We kissed. A lot. And we talked about music. He kept bragging about how he has the same name as John Lennon’s son.”
I giggled and we started to shop for supplies.
Once school started, I saw less and less of Annalyssa. We had no classes together, and my large amount of homework kept me from being able to spend a lot of time with her. Sometimes I would bring my homework to her house or the hospital, but junior year of high school was difficult enough, and it was harder to focus when I wasn’t studying in my room.
By the time December rolled around, Annalyssa’s condition was worsening. The doctors were not sure if she would survive, they predicted that she wouldn’t last to see 1984. She could no longer go to school, as she was tied to the hospital bed. On December 8, I skipped school and spent the day with Annalyssa. I brought all of her John Lennon albums from home and a notebook, as well as two pints of ice cream, candles, and a box of chocolates. She was asleep when I entered her room, so I took time lighting the candles around the room with the lights off. I put one of her John Lennon records in the record player and it started playing quietly. I sat in the chair and watched her sleep, waiting for her to open her eyes.
When she woke up and saw what I had done, she burst into tears. I came over to her bed and gave her a hug while she cried on my shoulder. We spent the day listening to music and eating, barely saying a word to each other. I painted her toenails a dark shade of red and she returned the favor by painting my finger nails bright pink. Sean came in multiple times throughout the day and I would leave the room to give them privacy. Once he finally left for the night, I gave him a hug.
“Thank you for being there for her,” I said to him.
He bit his trembling lip and said in a shaky voice, “I told her I love her. She, she can’t die.”
Sean let a tear slowly go down his face, “I would die for her.”
“Sean,” I said, hugging him tightly, “So would I.”
We said our goodbyes and I walked back into Annalyssa’s room.
“Can you believe he died three years ago? Gosh, the time has flown,” Annalyssa whispered to me once I made my way to her side. I wasn’t sure why we spoke in hushed tones, but it suited the mood.
“Scooch,” I said and joined her on the small hospital bed. Her tiny body barely took up any room, so I fit in perfectly.
“Sean told me what he told you,” I whispered to her. She smiled lightly to herself.
“I love him, too,” she said, “so much. And I love you. And my mom and dad and your mom, too.”
“Annalyssa,” I said, just as she closed her eyes. She had fallen asleep so I gently whispered; “Send me daisies when you die.” Daisies were her favorite flowers. It was a morbid thought, and I was glad that she had fallen asleep when I said it.
I put my arms around her. We both fell asleep, entangled in each other’s protective arms.
I was woken up at 11:30 pm, an hour after we had fallen asleep, to screams and sobs. Somebody pulled me out of the bed and pushed Annalyssa’s to a nearby Operating Room. Her mother and father were holding hands and crying, and my mother was hugging them in her open, loving arms.
I didn’t have to ask what had happened. It was pretty self-explanatory. I said nothing and crouched into fetal position on the floor, but no tears fell from my eyes. I just sat there.
Her funeral was the next day. I dressed in her favorite black dress that I had borrowed ages ago and forgotten to return. It still smelled like her lavender-scented self. The whole day was a day of silence. No tears, though. I didn’t cry at all. I wondered why, the sadness had overcome me, but I could not cry. Maybe I’m heartless, I thought to myself. Everyone else was crying, Sean and Billy and my mom and her parents and half of the town. Everyone but me.
They played John Lennon’s Give Peace a Chance at her funeral. Sean stood next to me, his eyes bloodshot. Billy held his hand and cried as well. Billy was starting to get better. I liked to think that Annalyssa gave up her life so Billy had a chance. I grabbed Sean’s hand and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
“She died on the same day as John Lennon. She would’ve been happy about that,” I whispered to him. December 8, a day she had always mourned. Suddenly, I felt a tight feeling in my chest and burst into tears. Sean wrapped his arms around my shoulders and pulled me into his chest, where I cried for what seemed like hours. The warmth of his arms was comforting and he smelled just like Annalyssa.
“Did you use her lavender soap?” I asked him.
Sean nodded and bit his lip, “I bought ten bottles of that stuff.”
When it was time to go home, Sean came with me and we spent the night in Annalyssa’s room, listening to her John Lennon albums and looking through her journals and photo albums. I found one of her journals, pictures of John Lennon gracing the cover. This was the journal she kept during her fight with cancer. I flipped to the entry she wrote on the day she died.
Dear Journal,
Three years ago today, John Lennon was shot. He died from something he couldn’t control, and I feel that this will be the same way that I will die. But I’m not scared. I’m ready to die.
Annalyssa left this entry unsigned, as she always did. She never wrote her name atop school assignments and always had reduced points because of it, but it was something she constantly forgot.
Sean took my hand into his and pulled me up from my seated position on the floor.
“Lets go,” he said. I quickly grabbed Annalyssa’s journal and her favorite guitar, as her parents allowed me to, and he walked me home.
Now at forty-three years old and I kneel at the sight of Annalyssa’s grave. The cold water seeps in through my clothes. Sean stands behind me, holding the hands of our twin daughters, Anna and Alyssa. I carefully place a bouquet of daisies next to the headstone and stand up, with the help of Sean. We all quickly run back into the car, for fear that the twins will catch pneumonia if they stand in the rain for too long. Suddenly, we pass a field of daisies. The combination of wind and rain cause the daisies to blow all over our car, covering our windows. I happily opened the windows, allowing the daisies to fill up the interior.
“What are you doing?” Sean asks curiously.
I smile and close my eyes, “She’s sending us daisies, like she promised.”
Sean smirks at me for being so spiritual and turns on the radio, where the song Give Peace A Chance by John Lennon fills the car. I could almost hear Annalyssa’s voice sing along as she strums on her guitar, “All we’re saying is give peace a chance.”
