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It was the end of their afternoon. The end of their time. She could not bear to stay there any longer. The sun pierced her skin with tiny pinpricks of burning light. His tears had stopped. Died off into harsh gasps against her chest. She lifted him with her so they were standing. He was heavy, leaning on her. Curiously, she felt weightless and hollow. Every ounce of will had seeped away leaving her a blank white page. “We need to get you back. It’s not…safe out here.” It’s not safe here with me. I am too hungry for your blood-soaked truth. He let her dress him quickly. Stood motionless as she straightened her own clothes. Before, they had flown here. Now they were walking slowly, faltering back to those two silent dark houses. Those two crumbling effigies of wood and decay, standing wordless side by side. Houses of secrets. Of glass and fog. People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. The path was snaking with branches that twisted in her hair like dark gnarled fingers and scratched at her already blood-streaked arms. She held them back for him. Over the fence and into his backyard. His mother’s rose garden was blooming over, the white petals fallen off the roseheads to the dark earth. They looked like the sharp teeth of a black gaping maw. Dangerous beauty. Eventually it all came back to this. Eventually every person would go back into the ground and be eaten away. Her mother’s body, his father’s bones. Both now under the dirt, rotting in nature’s deathly embrace. The dirt, the earth. The eternal lover. Waiting with infinite patience for another body to feed its hungry flowers, its starving cycle of birth and death. Someday I will return to its arms. As will you. “It’s waiting.” His back was to her. “What?” She ran her hand down the soft, weathered cloth of his sleeve. “Shhhh. It’s alright. I was just thinking aloud. Let’s get you back inside. It’s nearly time anyway.” He grasped her hand. “What is it? You sound strange.” “I’m just…I’m just shaken.” “I’m sorry. I…back there. I lost my head.” “I pushed you too far. I shouldn’t have.” He caressed her palm with his thumb. “I remember so little. Can't this be enough for you?” “It is never enough.” He dropped her hand. “You love the past too much. How far will you go for it?” “To the end. The truth is the only thing that can free me. And you.” He shook his head and choked back a sobbing sigh. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” She laid her head against his back. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of everything.” “What are you talking about?” “I know what I’m doing. I have to go.” She kissed his warm lips. “Think of me while I’m gone.” “I will. Will I…will I see you tomorrow?” “Yes. After the funeral, if she’s not here.” “She won’t be. She has to work.” “Then I will come. Go now before it’s too late.” He ghosted a finger over the bloody scratches he left on her arms. Ran it up her shoulder to her neck. Her cheek and then her mouth. Pushed her lips apart. She tasted the coppery sweetness of her own blood on his finger. Then he turned to make his halting way back into the house of glass. And she made her own way back to the house of fog. It was dark and cool inside. She picked up her purse and the car keys. Once she was inside the Buick, she drove with her eyes on the horizon and her knuckles white over the steering wheel. As the sun flamed high in the sky, something dark rose higher and higher through her. The cemetery gates were white carved bones. A bed of bones. The leaves of the graveyard trees were almost black. She walked through the rows of silvery headstones, the breeze fanning out her skirt. The one she was looking for was plain and small. Just her mother’s name and a quote she did not know. Had Mr. Giles chosen it? Had her mother? If we sing a God,
She fell to her knees and prayed to this silent altar among the trees. Stretched out her arms and draped herself over this grave of a woman who had spoken to her many times but always said nothing. You were always so restless within me. The sun scorched grass was yellowing and scratchy against her cheek and arms. The earth smelled like roses even though there were no flowers. The white rushing in her head a cluster of doves beating their feathery wings, preparing to fly into the molten sun. Preparing to die by the flame. She closed her eyes and saw ivory feathers. Soft as her mother’s hands. Soft as his lips. ************************************************ The sky flew away. Beating…beating…wings…rushing…like feathers…like wings… The sun had turned blood red. Blood oranges. Her mother cut open the orange and it was red inside. Gave them each a half. He was sucking on his and she felt faint when she saw the red juice staining his mouth and chin. Screamed and threw her own half away. It had tasted sweet. Like blood. She later learned it was called a blood orange. She learned to drink down the red juice and laugh with him. Even though it was running down his chin like his fading life. He was fading through. She could see objects through him. They were children. They were only seven. Unlucky seven. She knew even then he would fade from her. ***************************************************** When she opened her eyes again, she was still at the altar. Still between the trees. The sun was sinking. The sky was streaked orange and red. Blood oranges. A flash of black in the corner of her eyes. A flash of black cloth beyond the silvery headstones. Disappearing in between the white birches. “Mother?” She jumped to her feet and ran. When she reached the trees, there was no one there. The wind was suddenly cold against her arms, seeping through her clothes. Grabbing at her legs with its icy twisted fingers. She shivered and ran to the car. Turned on the engine with trembling hands and jerked the wheel, peeling out with a screech of tires and the heavy sickly smell of burned rubber in her nostrils. She drove to the pawn shop at the outskirts of the next town. The highway a black ribbon threaded around the throat. Her life by the throat. The oily man leered at her from behind the stained counter. She fumbled out her wallet and pointed to the grimy display case behind him. “I want that gun.” The man showed her how to insert bullets. It felt heavy and cool in her hand. Smooth as his hand in hers. The man showed her how to click off the safety. She drove with it in her lap. Cradled in her lap like a child. Got out of the car and struggled through the stalks of corn, the leaves lashing at her calves as if to hold her back. Humming to her. Go back, go back. The gun smooth as his hand in hers while she carried it and walked into the cornfield. She tilted her head back to stare at the moon rising overhead, white and full. The sky bruised dark blue. The stars falling seared to ash. Maybe this was the only way to know. The only way to the truth. Maybe the only way was to see it for herself. She lifted the barrel to her temple. And heard over the beating of white feathers in her mind. His words. And then I felt something cold against here. There was a click and I knew. CLICK. You said you would take care of everything. What did you mean? My God, what will you do? Where are you? It’s so dark in here. I feel it rising within me. Can you feel it? Can’t stop what’s coming. It’s been waiting. Can’t scream, can’t even move. It’s on its way. |