“Daddy!” A little girl with bright, flashing green eyes said as she ran up to Aj. She grabbed his hand and started pulling him after her, “Come see daddy.”
Aj laughed joyfully, and followed her, she appeared to be about five or six years old. She ran to the end of the pier, and pointed towards the slow, blue, speedboat. A little boy, about seven, with big brown eyes sat in the driver’s seat.
“Tommy’s drivin’ the boat daddy!” The little girl grinned.
“I see that Sam,” he said, moving to the boat. She walked over to his wife, wrapping his arms around her waste. “Why don’t we really take the boat out for a spin?”
“Sounds good, ready to go for real Tommy?” She said. The little boy had a shocked look on his face.
“What, no, I can’t drive it, I’ll crash!” He exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. Aj tickled the little boy as he helped him off the seat.
“I’ll drive,” Aj told him. Sam climbed up into his lap as he started off into the water. Aj headed the boat towards the small beach area across the water. It only took five minutes to get there. The kids cheered as the jumped of the boat and ran to play with the other children their age, playing in the sand. Aj sat down on the sand, pulling his wife into his lap.
“I love you Aj, “she murmured, leaning in to kiss him.
“I love you too Melody,” he said, before they kissed.
Aj jerked up from where he had fallen asleep on the floor. He shook his head, trying to figure out what the dream meant. He knew he loved Melody, but he also knew she was dying, and he would never be able to marry her, or have a family with her. The phone ran a second later, he grabbed it off the dresser by his bed.
“Aj?”
“Yeah,” he grumbled into the phone.
“This is Kevin, I have some bad news,” he ssaid.
“What happened?” Aj asked, sitting up straight, alarmed.
“Management pushed up the Germany tour, we have to leave for Germany this afternoon,” kevin said slowly, not sure how Aj would take it.
“I’m not going,” Aj said steadily.
“That’s not a choice Aj, you have to go.”
“No.”
“Aj, don’t be stupid! I realize you love Melody, and don’t want to leave her, but think about it man. Melody is not going to always be there, this is your life, your career, your future, she isn’t. Don’t throw away everything you have worked for, for just one day. It isn’t worth it.”
Aj sat in silence. It was worth it, Melody meant everything. He did have to think about the four other guys. His actions would effect them as well. He couldn’t be selfish. As much as he hated it, he knew had had to go.
“Fine, I’ll pack my stuff. I’ll take it down to the hospital and go see Mel, you guys can pick me up from there,” he said reluctantly.
“Okay Aj, I’m sorry buddy, I really am.”
“It’s not your fault, I’ll talk to you later.” Aj hung up the phone with out waiting for a goodbye. He had to pack as quickly as possible. The faster he packed, the more time he had to spend with Melody. It took him an hour to get everything together. Soon he was headed towards the hospital, towards the girl he loved. The dream kept playing over and over in his mind, he had no clue what it meant. It was such a pleasant, wonderful dream, but now that he was back in reality, it was killing him. It was something he knew he could never have, that he wanted so badly. He wanted Melody in his life forever, and that wasn’t an option. It also killed him inside that he was about to say goodbye to Melody forever. He pulled into the first parking space that he found at the hospital. He walked to the gift shop in and bought Melody some flowers before heading to the front desk.
“What room is Melody Hartford in?” Aj asked the plump, wild gray haired women seated behind the high counter. She checked some papers in front of her.
“Room 115, down the hall, first right, on the left,” she said, not even bothering to look up at him.
“Thanks,” he said, being nice despite her rudeness. Aj walked up to room 115. There was a small sign that said Melody Hartford on the door. He took a deep breath, trying to pull himself together. Saying goodbye would be the hardest thing he would ever have to do.
