The air is sticky; the heat is so arid that it dries out your mouth when you speak making you instantly parched and needing water. We walk down the street hand in hand staring in through windows, stepping inside some of the second hand stores along the way, we stop for the walk sign to change, gulping the drinks we picked up, hands drop out of reach, I bend down and tie up my shoelace. The lights change and the beep, beep, beep of the crossing ticks away. You were slightly ahead of me, just a few steps away, but in the crossing. Then it happened. In the fleeting glance of a moment a whole world can change. I stood there frozen unable to speak, shout or yell, like a shadow. Everything happened so fast, the screech of brakes, the thud, your scream, and the wheels squealing as the driver fled. The impact left you bloody and limp and time moved slowly between my leaving the curb and reaching you. I slumped down on the road next to you and yelled at the people coming to help us to call an ambulance. I placed my right hand on yours; I could feel the gravel rash burn; I placed your head in my lap and told you, "You'll be all right, to just hold on to me it will be fine." You looked at me and shook your head.

I heard no sirens. Voices telling me to "Move out of the way" told me they'd arrived; I was somewhere else in my mind, holding you, refusing to believe what I knew as truth. They pried my hands from yours, they placed you on a board and shoved tubes into your left hand, a neck brace was put around your neck and they lifted you onto the gurney. One of them looked at me and said: "You'll have to follow us there", there was no room for me, only you. "Where are you taking her?" they looked at me and kept talking to themselves. "Where the fuck are you taking her?" "RPA." came the reply. I looked around and couldn't comprehend how to get there, I looked at my clothes and I had blood on my pants leg and shirt, no cab was going to pick me up. I followed them as they headed for the ambulance and after they had you inside I pushed and shoved my way inside knowing that regardless of what they said, there was room. There was some banter about not being able to take me and I looked at the youngest of the Ambo's and said "Do you think a cab will pick me up." He looked at his buddy and said to "Leave it be." The doors closed, I looked at you, you were hooked up to drips and tubes; I listened to you breath, so weak, so shallow. The siren churned.

I heard squeaky footsteps behind me and a hand on my right shoulder; "Miss, Miss you can't stay here. Miss" a hand shaking me. "We have to clear the room" I looked at the nurse and nodded, tears streaming down my face. "Where's she going to?" I asked. "The morgue. You can stay with her there. Is there anyone you like me to call for you?" she whispered. "No." I walked out of the room and followed the signs and waited for you. As you entered the room I walked behind, and based on past experience I decided to lie to the staff telling them I was your sister. They escorted me to you and said how sorry they were and then left. The room was cold and empty, just you and me like it had always been. I pulled down the sheet and looked at your face. Coldness entered my body and I was void of emotion it was like I was disconnected from heart and head.

I held your hand and realised you were clean, no blood. My wrist brushed against yours and I felt the coldness of the bracelet I had given you two years previous, gold filigree with a small Libran symbol, it was for our fifth anniversary, how you loved it, I undid it and took it off and placed it in my shirt pocket, along with the ring, necklace and a braided bangle I'd made for you. I knew that your family would be contacted and that I'd be excluded, our relationship was not recognised by your family or by the law. It's 1978 and we count for little more than amusement or annoyance. Maybe one day love will be all that matters and gender will be irrelevant but now I knew that I would lose you as soon as your family flooded in even though they had disowned you, cut you out of their lives when you told them you were a lesbian in 1972. Families can be hypocrites, and I knew they would claim you back as theirs in death and deny my place by your side. I hate this world right now; I want you here with me, whole and alive. I traced my finger down your cheek and placed my head upon your chest and closed my eyes and recounted our day together. I don't want to lose memories I thought to myself as I began filing away those last moments into my mind.

I realised it was raining, the noise of it beating against the roof dragged me back into the here and now, and I left running, tears streaming down my face as I headed for Glebe Point Road. As I turned up past the University ground and crossed Parramatta Road I saw what I needed to see, the chalk outline the police left behind of your frame and I sat silent, as the rain grew heavier. Lighting cracked across the sky and the thunder rolled as I watched the storm turn the chalk into a stream of white flowing down the drain. People walked passed as I wiped the tears away; the city's hum is constant and faceless, it continued to pass me by unaware or unmoved by obvious pain. And when the street was clean and the day's events washed away I remembered what life was like before today. Grief kicks in, needles and pins through the splinters.

I headed home to unlock the grief I was fighting brave to keep at bay.

I turned the key and the door stuck as it always did I had to push my way in the house, it was dark and empty. I left the lights off and found my way to our bed. Standing in the doorway I lost what little resistance I had. I slid down the doorframe and landed on the floor sobbing. A knock at the door brought me to my knees and I crawled to the front door, "Who's there?" I enquired. "Police." fuck was my only thought. "Ok." I pulled myself up and switched on the light blinding me as I turned the door handle two officers stood on the door frame. "We need to talk to you, can we come in?" "Can it wait until morning? The accident down on Glebe Street this afternoon - that was my partner. Now I'd appreciate it if you left." I said as I slammed the door. Knock knock. "I'm sorry for your loss but we'll need to talk you about that." "Not tonight, please go away." Their footsteps vanished and a rage filled me I stomped through the house to the bedroom and tore the covers of the bed, pelted the pillows out the door and knocked a picture you'd drawn from the wall. I wanted you here, I wanted to find the driver and … I just wanted my morning back. The coffee and the lingering breakfast everything to stay the same as it was before we left the house but time never runs backwards even it you are lost in the past and feel like you're stationary it's not true for time doesn't stop for the living. Night fell hard.

In the morning the police came back and I told them what I could remember. They told me that no one had been able to give a description of the vehicle or a number plate and subsequently they held little hope of finding the person responsible. I closed the door behind them.

Automatic is a strange state to be in but that's where I was in the days after your death, all the arrangements, your family, and the surprise of their attempt at a feind sense of concern for me. On the day of your burial I felt numb, the service went on and I had an overwhelming sensation of disconnecting, the words I could hear but I did not process them. I stood there by your side long after everyone else had left, I stayed until the dirt had covered you over. After your funeral it was a relief to see your family go. They said they'd let me keep the house and I didn't bother to tell them it was in my name anyway. I had no more energy to fight and bicker over us now that us was I. My heart grew cold and I retreated into myself, into the wound. After six months I knew that your killer would not be found but my malicious side hoped that guilt drowned their soul and that, like me, they were haunted by that days events. I was lost for at least a year roaming from emotion to emotion until one day I realised it had been a whole month and I hadn't cried. The clock had started ticking and my feet need to walk, to be part of the world I had shut out and to take one step at a time.