My eyes burn, but I can’t look away, can’t let myself blink. What if I miss her? I block out as much of this world as I can, staring at the empty spot where the door always appears. Her door.
Three hundred and sixty-four days, twenty-three hours, and fourteen minutes since she’d said goodbye.
Ambling through the orchard to the rear of my estate, I found an old friend. The worn handle of my cane firm in my grip, I whispered my questions. They floated away on the gentle breeze caressing me.
But the mighty maple did not answer. I shivered and tightened Mom’s favorite shawl around my shoulders.
She points to my scarred neck. “You’re one of them?”
I turn up my collar and bury my nose in my book. The woman sitting across from me leans forward, waiting for a response.
I don’t look up. Get another seat, lady.
She takes the hint and rifles through her carry-on bag.
“Shush, Abigail! I’m just getting to the good part!”
I sigh and lean back in my ancient rocker. To my right, blasts of heat from the open fireplace roll over me like the flames of Hades. Toasty, Jack calls it.
I feel like I’ve been here before.
Across the room, my brother Jack leans forward in his chair, propping his elbows against the massive oak slab we call a dining table.
“Nina,” whispered Greg. “We shouldn’t be out here at night.”
“Go home, Greg. I never asked you to come.” She walked on, the water continuously lapping around her ankles.
“If Mum finds out, we’ll be in huge trouble.”
“Well, it’s a good thing she won’t find out, isn’t it?” She spun around and glared at her little brother.
I can’t escape the song. It winds through the air in snatches, filling my head with memories. The melody cuts the half-healed wounds on my heart open again, but I deserve the pain.
I chase the elusive notes through the busy city streets, narrowly avoiding collisions with ladies carrying parasols, children wearing tiny sailor suits…
The night air smells like cinnamon and fryer oil from the cart vendors down below. Swing jazz floats on the breeze from the club three shops down. I tap my fingers moodily on the rusty edge of the fire escape. It’s Independence Day, but I don’t feel much like celebrating.
Tomorrow, my brother leaves for war.
Fireworks exploded over Elysium Fields Senior Living and Nate almost dropped the bag of empanadas as he blundered out of his car. He squelched his apprehension. He had to reach Abuela before she lost herself in memory.
On recent visits, Abuela had been lucid, and he’d told Alexis about their picnic traditions. Abuela would demolish them in Rummy.
Time has fallen into silence.
I can still remember when it happened that early spring day; the way the light went out and my soul trembled. When life snatched away my bride and children. The day I lost my world. I trudged through the dark forest; the last rays of sunlight spilling in through the canopy of trees
Women in colorful, gay dresses. Men in Panama hats and suits. The sweet aroma of cigars. The heady odor of dirt and fresh white paint. The sights and sounds and scents of the Kentucky Derby assault my nostrils. Make my head spin. I tremble.
Jason pats my side, stroking his fingers through my mane.
Warmth does not come to the peaks as quickly as it does the valley. For though the mountains here remain frozen in winter’s grasp, the basin below my tomb has thawed, and in the valley, flowers bloom. From the summit I watch as thick snow melts and flows into rising streams that feed the invaders’ crops and cattle and greed.
Read it now
You wouldn’t forget the date of your dad’s death any more than you’d forget your own.
January 3, 1962. The worst day of my life. And only two months later, we’re going to Disneyland.
“Swell way to mourn,” I muttered.
Mom flinched like I’d punched her in the gut, but it was my kid sister Susie…
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