A Symphony of Cicadas

by Crissi Langwell

  But the realization that Rose had given up her freedom in her watch over my sister and me hadn’t escaped me. I turned to her and took her hand in mine.

  “I’m here now,” I told her. “You don’t have to wait anymore. And Sara is fine too. She’s married and has children, and she’s living a wonderful life. You’re free to move on.”

  “You don’t understand,” she responded, her voice faltering. “It’s not that easy.”

  “But I don’t get it, Aunt Rose. You even said time doesn’t exist here. So couldn’t you get to the time when both of us are past our human lives and then move on to wherever it is we’re supposed to move on to?”

  “Don’t you think I’ve tried that?” she emphasized. “I’ve tried everything I could to...” She winced, stopping herself mid-sentence as she wiped her hand across her forehead. “Let’s just say that I have to move past this on my own to be able to free myself. Wishing for anything else only results in tragedy.”

  “Tragedy? Just for wishing we could be with you?” I asked her.

  And that’s when it hit me. Aunt Rose had said the way to be close to someone or a certain time, we were to feel it in every fiber of our being. While Rose had wanted to move on and be free, she was unable to because she loved me too much. I looked at her in alarm, my eyes burning as they searched over her panicked face.

  “I’m so sorry, Rachel. I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she pleaded. “I didn’t know!”

  “You killed me?” I whispered. “You killed me, and you killed my son?”

  “I didn’t know this would happen!” she pleaded. “You were so happy, planning your wedding and about to start a new life. I couldn’t have wished for a better happiness for you.”

  “Then why, Aunt Rose? Why couldn’t you just let me be? Why couldn’t you let me marry John and be happy?”

  “I was jealous!” she burst out, her voice rising in her desperation.

  Clouds began to cover the sky once more, sending a light drizzle that moistened my hair and clothing. But I didn’t even feel the rain on my heated skin, seething from anger and confusion that Rose had taken away everything I had ever loved because of her own selfish needs.

  “I couldn’t be there,” she pressed on. “You were planning this lovely ceremony, marrying a man who was absolutely wonderful to you and to your son. And all I wanted was to be able to be there with you, to hug you and congratulate you on your marriage. I wanted to help you plan all the details and give you advice.” Rose’s expression was bleak. “You are like a daughter to me, and it pained me that I couldn’t be there with you.”

  “You are not my mother!” I shot at her, finding a sense of satisfaction in the anguish on her face. “You had no right, no right at all. I was happy!”

  “Darling, I didn’t know,” she whispered. “It was a moment of weakness I wish I could take back.”

  I sank to my knees, realizing that my entire life had ended on the wish of one spirit. I felt more powerless than ever.

  “How did you do it?” I whispered.

  Rose sat down next to me. She reached for my hand, but I pulled it away from her grasp. Sighing, she placed her hands in her lap.

  “You had just finished getting Joey fitted in his suit for your wedding. I was there with you, laughing along with you over Joey’s awkward moment.” In spite of myself, I couldn’t help but smile at the memory of Joey describing his horrendous measurement experience. “You both were so casual with each other, so open and honest. And I felt this pang of jealousy. I had never experienced that kind of joy, never having had children of my own. I mean, I had you and Sara. And you both became my whole world. But at the end of every visit, you went home with your parents, and I was left alone in my own house. When I died, I stayed by you and Sara, loving you as if you were my own children. But something happens to you in this existence. Feelings are more intense, more powerful than anything you have ever experienced in your human life. I became your protector, almost like your guardian angel. I was limited in my physical involvement in your life, but wherever I could place my guidance over you, I did.”

  She took a deep breath before continuing. I kept quiet, holding down my simmering anger, afraid that if I spoke I wouldn’t find out the whole truth.

  “But the reality is, Rachel, a barrier still existed between you and me. You were living, I was dead. You weren’t my child. I am not God. No matter how I tried to get close to you, you were always just out of my reach.”

  I was reminded of my first glimpse of John right after I died, how I tried to take hold of his hand only to have him draw away, how much it hurt to look at him and have him not see me. Tears sprang to my eyes as I remembered pounding on the bed and the wall in desperation to get his attention only to be shut out.

  “When you and your son were driving home, that feeling of longing intensified itself into something much deeper than I had ever experienced. When it’s happened before, I’ve managed to walk away until it settled into something more tolerable. But this time, I just wanted to see what would happen if I allowed myself to experience it. It grew into something so big, I could no longer control it. The truck driver changed course, heading straight for you, and I tried to stop it from happening. But by then it was too late. The plan was set in motion and I had no power over it.”

  “But Joey,” I whimpered. “He didn’t have to die!” The tears streamed down my cheeks.

  “I didn’t know this would happen!” Rose pleaded with me. “I never wanted you to die. I certainly didn’t want Joey’s life to end so soon. If I could take it back—”

  “But you can’t!” I exclaimed, jumping to my feet. “As a result, my son will never experience human life beyond the age of thirteen. He’ll never know what a first kiss feels like, or deep and true love, or what it’s like to be a father. John is left to pick up all the pieces, to plan a funeral for both me and my son when we should be planning our wedding! You’ve stolen so much from so many people. How could you?!”

  “Darling,” she began, but I interrupted.

  “I am not your darling!”

  The muscles on her face twitched with the deep sorrow she was trying to control. “Rachel, I’m sorry.”

  “That doesn’t make it better!” I shouted at her. “This is all your fault. I’m stuck here in this forest, my broken body in some morgue by now, and I can’t even find my son. Where is he? Where is Joey?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “He’s in his own reality. And he’s safe, I assure you. We all are. But you won’t see him until it’s time.”

  “There’s no such thing as time!” I shouted.

  “It’s complicated darl... Rachel,” she said.

  I was overwhelmed with rage in an instant. I was angrier than I had ever been in my life. But even more than that, I longed to see John again, to be comforted by his presence and to make sure he was okay. The surrounding forest began to fade, the colors turning to muted tones behind Rose as they all began to evaporate.

  “Don’t go,” she begged me, her fear and sadness sending another chill of anger through me. “Stay with me, Rachel!” If she said anything else, I couldn’t hear it. Rose, the forest, the cicadas and the drizzling rain all disappeared into a cloud of emptiness, leaving me suspended in space before tearing me with a lurch into a new reality.

  Six

  “It was a lovely service,” my mother told my father through her tears, her hand resting on his arm. “They would have loved it.”

  I stood near them, hiding behind the doorway of my parents’ kitchen even though they couldn’t see me. My father looked older than his sixty-eight years, his eyes burning holes into the ground while my mother, the eternal hostess, checked in with him before flitting around the house once more to meet everyone’s needs.

  My parent’s home was not known for holding so many at one time. Now it was brimming with dozens of people I had known at one point or another in my life. My son’s teacher sat on the couch, dabbing her eyes every now and then
in between bites of a sandwich made from a croissant. A few of Joey’s classmates stood in the corner, looking out of place and uncomfortable in a room filled with grownups and few other teenagers. One girl sat bawling in a chair, her friend comforting her as best as she could. The boys, however, kept solemn looks on their face. They seemed afraid to do more than just stand there in silent and awkward observation lest they end up like the crying girl. I had a feeling that Joey would have been amused by the whole scene.

  A few of my regular customers from the flower shop chatted among each other, reaching out to my sister from time to time to offer their condolences or a memory they had of me. I listened with amusement as a restaurant owner I had deemed difficult to work with described me to Sara as someone who understood the fine art of customer service and always went above and beyond to meet his needs.

  “I still think you were a pain in the ass to work with,” I said out loud, amused at how my voice carried over the din of conversation and no one could hear me. “And your food sucked, too.”

  Sara stayed silent for the most part, smiling as if on cue when someone would speak to her. But for the most part, she kept a quiet front. Her husband, Kevin, sat near their two daughters on the couch. My eyes welled up as I watched the young girls eating from a shared plate of fruit, both wearing the special dresses Sara had chosen for them to wear to the wedding. Megan, the older of the two at five years old, wore the flower girl dress we had picked out months ago. The only thing setting it apart from that of a wedding dress was the baby blue sash she now had tied around the waist of the white gown. Her two-year-old sister, Lily, wore a dress in the same color blue as Megan’s sash, splayed out over a pair of ruffled underpants. I would never get to hold them again, hear them giggle as they called me ‘Anchel,’ a name that stuck as a family joke when Lily dubbed that much easier to say than ‘Aunt Rachel.’ I wouldn’t be there as an escape from their parents in their teenage years, to offer them advice when they felt no one understood. I wiped away the tears from my eyes, realizing that there were many firsts they would experience, and I was no longer going to be a part of any of them.

  “Oh, Rachel,” Sara whispered. She was now across the room, sitting far away from everyone on a couch in the corner, hiding her head in her hands and trying to make herself invisible. “Why did this have to happen? And why Joey? He was so young. I just don’t get it.”

  I wanted to comfort her, but felt so limited. I tried to put my arms around her, but was unable to get close to her body. An invisible barrier seemed to exist between us that repelled me when I tried to rest against her. So instead I sat as close to her as I could and tried to comfort her through my presence alone.

  “How are you holding up?” I took a sharp breath inward at the sound of John’s voice. I leapt up out of the way as John sat on the couch next to Sara.

  The navy blue suit he wore hung a little loose around the edges, his face appearing thin under several days’ worth of whiskers. The dark circles around his eyes only added to his gaunt appearance.

  “I should ask you the same thing,” Sara said. She gave a swift wipe to her tears, summoning a smile as she patted his knee. “You look terrible.”

  “Thanks,” John replied, offering a wry smile before looking down. He raised his eyes for a moment to nod across the room at Sam who was pretending to sleep on the couch amid all the conversation surrounding him. “It’s Sam I’m worried about. The day the police came and brought the news, he broke down. I’d never seen him so vulnerable. But it’s like he turned off his emotions as soon as he could. Ever since then, he’s been totally stoic, no emotion at all. He moves around like nothing happened.”

  “Give him time,” Sara advised him. “He’s always handled things much more internally than most. He’s probably processing everything in his own way.”

  “I know. I’m trying to be more understanding. But it’s hard. I mean, they’re gone.” He paused for a moment and looked at the ceiling. His eyes filled with tears, mirrored in my own eyes as I watched him struggle for words. “They’re gone, and they’re not coming back. The house feels empty now, void of life. It’s as if everything died with them when they went down in that crash.” John wiped at his eyes, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to cry.”

  “I think everyone would understand,” Sara pointed out. Still, she got a Kleenex out of her purse and handed it to him. “Did you eat anything?” she asked him. He shook his head.

  “No. I’m not hungry.”

  “John, you need to eat something. Starving yourself isn’t going to bring her back. Let me get you a plate of food, at least some of my mom’s quiche or something.” She didn’t wait for his reply, leaving him on the couch while she went to put together a plate of food for him. He wasn’t alone for long.

  “How are you, John?” Edna, my parents’ neighbor, took the liberty of seating herself next to him on the couch. He looked up, and did a double take when he saw her. Her dress looked to be something straight out of the 1970s, with neon pink and orange flowers against a vivid green and yellow background. Judging by the musty smell, it hadn’t seen the light of day since the seventies either. Among the solemn hues and muted colors around her, the elderly woman stood out in her vivid dress. Even her wispy hair screamed for attention; more lilac than gray, it fluffed out like a purple dandelion in a fruitless attempt to conceal its sparse growth.

  “I’m as well as can be expected, I guess,” John replied. He looked uncomfortable, and shifted on the cushion next to her. I saw it was an attempt to restore some of the personal space she had invaded, and noted that she confused his movement with an invitation to move closer to him.

  “I remember Rachel as a little girl,” Edna gushed, waving her hands in the air to add emphasis. “She and her sister were always playing in the backyard, taking turns pushing each other on the swings. Whenever they’d see me in my own backyard tending to my garden, they’d beg me to let them come over and play with my kitties.”

  I snorted a laugh before I could stop myself, covering my mouth as if anyone could hear me. I remembered things a bit different.

  ****

  As children, Sara and I would often play in the yard. Edna, who had never had any visitors for as long as I remembered living there, would often come out when she saw us playing, telling us tales of her little cats she kept in the house. They weren’t allowed outside, so we were intrigued by the stories of these mysterious cats, letting our imaginations paint a picture of their softness and playful nature.

  The first time we were old enough to come over when she invited us in, we followed her through the gate and into her home. On the outside, the house looked like every other house in the neighborhood, with a porch that expanded from the front steps and potted plants framing the entryway. But upon entering the house, the fresh air outside was replaced by an overwhelming stench. The flowery smell of air freshener fell short in its attempt to mask the soiled cat litter. The reek was only enhanced by the steady flow of hot air blowing from the heater vents, despite the warm spring day.

  Older by two years, it was Sara who convinced me to forge on, taking my hand and pulling me forward. We entered a bright pink entryway, the walls a blinding hue of rose surrounding a tile floor covered with fuchsia throw rugs. It led to the rest of the house that shared the same color theme, layers of pink on pink that were so bright they made my head hurt.

  “Muffin! Mr. Tinkles!” Edna cooed down the hall. She clicked her tongue against the top of her mouth, creating a quick sound that echoed around the house. From a back room we could hear a drop to the ground and a low meow.

  Edna had described to us two balls of playful fluff when telling us about her cats. The way she talked about them, we were expecting adorable kittens that would chase string if we dangled it in front of them. What came out of the back room was the exact opposite of this image. Two emaciated cats emerged, hurrying over to Edna for food and affection. One of them had part of its ear missing, one of its eyes closed up tight
, and an obvious limp as it walked. Its dark fur was brushed well, but missing in several patches as if it had been scratched bald. The other, appearing a bit younger than the first, had short black hair all over, except for an orange patch over its eye. Its tail stuck straight up, curved in a crooked hook at the end. While the first cat ignored us altogether, this second cat took turns swirling at our feet. I bent down to pet it and recoiled at the feel of its greasy hair.

  “Look, Muffin likes you,” Edna exclaimed, bringing her hands together in glee. Muffin rolled over on her back, arching up as she rubbed her fur on the carpet. I took this as an invitation to scratch her belly, reaching down to pet the exposed underside of the cat. Muffin didn’t want any part of that, and she reached up in a sudden motion, leaving me with a bright red scratch on my arm. “Oooh, Muffin. Did the wittle girl scare you?” Edna chirped, scooping the cat into her arms. “That’s a bad wittle kitty. Don’t scwatch Wachel, she’s our guest.” Meanwhile, I rubbed at my arm to help the swelling go down, afraid to let on how much it hurt as I bit back the tears. “Sorry, Rachel, she just gets excited when we have company. Would you like a cookie?” I nodded, sure that a cookie would make the sting of the scratch less noticeable.