Now You’re Gone

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Now You’re Gone

For some bizarre reason, I found myself writing about an Iranian woman called Aylar Lie (don’t ask), and during my research of this woman, I realised that she was the same woman who appeared in a number of Basshunter music videos. (She’s also a woman who was apparently banned from entering Iran because of a porn career, but we’ll just leave that where it is because I can’t believe women are still so heavily restricted.) 

Instantly, my mind was drawn back to a time when Now You’re Gone was playing everywhere. It was on the radio, on my iPod, everywhere. It was one of those songs that reminds me of a big chunk of time of my life, primarily with Bestie, but Basshunter songs, as a whole, bring back some wonderful and occasionally sad memories for me.

And now I shall talk about them.

Now You’re Gone reminds me specifically of a time that Bestie and I once had a car crash. It wasn’t his fault, the other driver travelling far too fast along country roads. The other driver had also almost driven my mother and her fella off the road right in front of us, so how the dozy bitch tried to say it was our fault (or rather, Bestie’s fault), I don’t know.

We were on our way to some charity run. Bestie’s grandmother had very recently passed away after a very long battle with cancer, and I figured going for a nice little run and earning some money for charity was a worthwhile way of spending my weekend. It was on our way to the run that it happened. The car crash. And, fuck me, it was terrifying.

The car crash itself seemed to happen in slow motion, *that* song playing in the background. I could see her heading right for the front of our car, in her car, and I knew the crunch was going to happen. It felt like it took a lifetime to arrive, but when it did, it hit with some force. The entire rear end of our car was flung high up in the air, shunted forward by the impact, and the front of the car was so fucked when we returned to earth with an almighty bump, I couldn’t open my door at all. It panicked me. I had a panic attack. A nice man from a driving learning school helped me through the window, calming me down, telling me how to breathe, talking me through the process as he managed to open the door amidst an earth-shattering sound of crunched-up metal.

Bestie had legged it out the car, his door opening just fine. I had a water bottle in my hand, and when the cold water splashed right across his face as we impacted the other car, he assumed it was my blood and freaked out. His first reaction was to run, which I don’t think either of us ever forgot about. That was a weird moment for both of us. He was always my protector, so to see him freaked out to the point where he felt his only option was to leg it … well, that didn’t sit well. He just ran. He opened the car door and he ran. I can’t remember where, or what really happened, but I knew I was left in that car by myself and that was the worst thing of all.

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Right before we got to that T-junction, I took my seatbelt off. I had fairy wings on and some stupid bobble headband thing. They were pissing me off. I couldn’t sit back comfortably in the seat, so I took my seatbelt off to remove my fairy costume. It was only about 5 seconds after I’d clicked my seatbelt into place again that we had the crash, and that took a bit of calming down from. Months, in fact.

Imagine if I hadn’t put my seatbelt back on right at that very moment?

I would have been flung from that car and I doubt I would have survived. The car was a write-off. The entire front half of it was crumpled up, almost like an accordion, to the point where my door was crumpled too. She hit Bestie’s side of the car (he was driving, obviously), yet my door was the one that wouldn’t open. Go figure.

I came out of it the worst-off too, although I do appreciate that things could have been a shit ton worse. The seatbelt had tugged against me so hard, I had a nasty friction burn – an outline of the damn seatbelt across my chest and stomach. My knee hit the dashboard, leaving it throbbing with pain, and all sorts of weird and wonderful colours. I decided not to go to the hospital. I felt like I had to do that run. I had to finish it. I’d raised money for charity after all, and Bestie’s grandmother had just died, like, a few months before. I had her face emblazoned all over the back of my t-shirt … It would have felt like I’d let her down if I didn’t run the race. We didn’t always see eye to eye, but I had all the respect in the world for that woman. I loved her like she was my own grandmother. She took me in like I was her granddaughter too.

I popped to the scummy portaloo before starting the race, and I realised I had started bleeding “down there”. I brushed it to one side, requesting a tampon from my mother and carrying on with the race. I did the whole thing; I finished it, and I even collected a few extra sponsors at the end too. Some spectators had realised I was the girl in the car crash and offered to donate extra money because of my bravery, and because I’d carried on running after they’d seen the “horrific” state that the car had been left in.

The bruises faded away, of course, and the throbbing in my knee went down. The bleeding “down there” didn’t exactly stop though. A few weeks after the crash, I found myself in Deutschland again, back with the Hubby that I kept making-up and breaking-up from. I was bleeding heavily, and I was also in a lot of pain. He was at work, but I had no choice but to call him home. We’d had a fight before he left that evening, and he’d been a bit hands-on with me. But, it was ‘out of hours’ and the doctor’s surgery would be shut, but the pain and bleeding were getting worse, much worse. Not going away. I’d changed tampons and, in the process, passed some pretty horrific looking clots. It didn’t look like a normal period. It was starting to become more than what I could pass off as just some irregular spotting. Hubby came home from work, took me to the hospital, and I waited while Deutsch medical professionals said things around me that I didn’t understand, probing me with instruments that I’d never seen before. I had internals, scans, was poked, prodded, had blood taken, you name it, I had it. They sent me away with some pills after a few hours, directions how to take them, and a letter for my doctor.

It was only after I’d been to see my doctor, a few days later, that I learned I’d had a miscarriage. The little brown tablet they had given me (and I’d already taken one of) was to encourage natural spasms of my uterus and cervix, designed to “flush out” anything that was left in there. The other tablets were painkillers, only designed to numb the physical pain, not the emotional one.

I was numb for a while. I wasn’t aware that I was pregnant in the first place, so to find out from my doctor, a couple of days after I’d apparently miscarried (the only available appointment to translate my notes and follow-up), was pretty fucking horrifying. It was a blessing in disguise, something I knew at the time and I definitely know now, but it was still fucking horrifying. The Hubby mourned while I failed to come up with any emotions at all. I didn’t cry. Once I’d gotten over how scary the hospital was, with the language barrier and all the stuff I didn’t understand, I kinda just went back to being okay again. I wasn’t upset about losing a baby, because I wasn’t even aware there was a baby to start with. Plus, I was at that time in my life where I was so sure I didn’t want a baby so I think my first reaction would have been to have a termination anyway. The Hubby and I were hardly in a place where we could bring up a small person together. We could barely survive five minutes in the same room as each other at times.

I don’t know if the car crash and the miscarriage have anything to do with each other. It was a few weeks between them, with on/off bleeding. I just know that when I hear Now You’re Gone, it reminds me so much of that time that my eyes start prickling with tears. Just like when I wrote about that girl who starred in the video.

Now you’re gone

I realised my love for you was strong

And I miss you here now you’re gone

The lyrics of that shitty pop song mean more to me than they ever did. Because I miss him — Bestie. Now it makes me cry just that little bit harder.

It’s funny how one song can just grab you like that, huh? 

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