30 Days 30 Stories Installment 20, Red Ribbons

I was six when I started seeing the red ribbons. Blooming knots of the most beautiful scarlet ribbons on people. Their chests, sometimes decorating their heads, once I even saw a young girl with two ribbons tied artlessly around her wrists. I used to point and look, and even talked to my parents about it. They would just assume they couldn't see what my childish eyes had seen, or that I had imagined it.
It wasn't until later that I realized what they were.
I remember the exact moment. I was eleven. Until then, I really hadn't worried about it much. But one day our older next door neighbor came out to leer at us as we were playing at the toys outside our apartment building. I didn't like this much, nor did the other kids, but what I noticed today was that he had a large and burgeoning knot of particularly scarlet ribbons gathered on his chest, and I wondered at that, because it seemed specifically odd. He was, to put it nicely, a slob. I had realized by now not to mention the red ribbons, that they were just for me, but I hadn't worried about it much.
But I saw him and later that afternoon, an ambulance had come to our door. It came out through the apartment gossip that he had died in his apartment of a massive coronary. Ah. It came with a sickening and very certain thud in my stomach. And then I knew what they meant.
I tried not to let it worry me. I dropped hints to some of my friends that their parents should see a doctor sometimes, when I started seeing little red ribbons floating somewhere. But it usually didn't work. I was really sad when I realized that the little red bow in my grandmother's hair was a brain tumor. But we had a little time to say goodbye, at least. She was very old, at the very least.
But when I was dating a guy - seriously - in university, and saw the red ribbons, I was absolutely floored. And devastated. I went to a psychologist, not feeling there was anything better to do. Predictably, it was little help. My boyfriend had red ribbons over his chest, his stomach, his arm. I thought it would be a shooting. I warned him not to go anywhere without me. I wouldn't let him out of my sight. The red ribbons continued to flow and sway in the wind like they always did, like seaweed under water. I hated them. At night, I saw them and I would begin to cry. He would hold me, not knowing what to do. I tried to break it to him. I had a feeling of dread, I said. I wanted him with me always, I said. Please don't leave me, I even said. It was a testament to his love that he didn't actually run out - because I sounded rather deranged. But finally, I broke down and just told him. He did leave then. For a little. But he came back, and asked me if I had seen a psychologist, and I broke down into tears again. There was really nothing I could do.
I stuck with him, though. I really did follow him everywhere. I had my cellphone on all the time. The red ribbons were looking angry the following morning. I thought "this is it." I wondered for a split second if we should call his family to say goodbye. That was crazy. But this all was crazy!
I went to class that morning with a sinking feeling.
He went to class that morning whistling. I lingered with his hand in mine outside his classroom. Then I went to mine. I had a midterm that day. I hurried through it, I remember that, then I sprinted back to his classroom and waited outside. It was a big lecture class. I decided to slip in. It was dark at the upper doors, and few people would notice. I said a whispered apology to the professor. There was my boyfriend, with the red ribbons. And many, many others I saw. All with angry ribbons flaring from them. This couldn't be about to happen. It couldn't.
Crazy? Or dead? Or...? What the hell was I going to do?
I sauntered down the stairs to the large area where the professor was lecturing (quite expertly) on biophysics. I went to the professor. He had stopped, midspeech, his mouth hanging open. I approached him, quietly, and went to his ear. I told him I had reason to believe someone had a gun. He didn't react well. But I wasn't joking. He started dialing his phone for security. The break in the lecture had upset everyone - things were not going according to plan. Who could it be? I followed my eyes to all of those without the angry ribbons. There were quite a few (thank god) but too many to know who the culprit could be. And he could very well want to commit suicide after.
At that moment, the shooter got up and started shooting.
I had never heard so much noise in my life. And then I realized, as a red ribbon bloomed on me, I would never get to hear it again. I looked at the red on my stomach. The ribbon looked exactly like my blood. Everything was very fuzzy. At that moment, there was shouting from outside and the doors burst open, well-armored cops came rushing in. I passed out.
I woke up in the hospital. It was full of college students - at least near me. I closed my eyes. I certainly had changed things. Perhaps this sense wasn't so certain. Maybe it was just a risk. Red ribbons still floated on some. Others looked to be ok. I couldn't see my boyfriend, which was really what I wanted.
But I did understand something, with a start. I was alive. My stomach was bandaged, my clothes somewhere else. I was on oxygen and an IV. I realized, perhaps, that things might be better than I imagined.
It was a few hours later, as I drifted in and out of conscious thought, that I found out how my boyfriend was doing. He was alive; but just. He was in a coma. I had changed the course of events. But for the better? I didn't know.
They said that the phone call saved lives. I'm glad if it did. But I still blame myself for my boyfriend's coma, his eventual waking, his slow and painful recovery. He is still here, but he is not the same. The person I loved did die that day, of gunshot wounds. The red ribbons were right about that.