by Sara Mack
We pinky swear like we did in elementary school, and after a moment, she grimaces. “I guess I should find Matt and sort that out too.”
“I don’t envy you. Do you need me to go with?”
She shakes her head. “No. I’m a big girl. It’s my mess.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” She stands and heads for her car. “Wish me luck?”
I give her a sympathetic look. “Good luck.”
After Shel pulls out of the driveway, I head upstairs to clean up. I feel entirely gross physically, but mentally relieved she accepted my apology.
While changing clothes, I try to decide what to do with my time tonight. When nothing immediately jumps to mind, my thoughts turn to Shel. I hope Matt isn’t too hard on her. Hopefully it won’t be that bad; maybe what happened isn’t a big deal to him or maybe he was too drunk to remember much. Or maybe he will be upset. I know if it were me I would be upset. I can’t imagine being intimate with someone so casually. I guess that’s a result of being with the same guy – the only guy I’ve ever been with in my life – for four years.
That’s when the thought pops into my mind. I know what I’m going to do tonight. I’m going to visit James.
I pull into Whispering Oaks cautiously. I can’t believe I’m doing this; but it feels like something I should do. I told him I would come back.
I feel nervous. As I pull to a stop and turn off the engine, I glance around at what I can see of the cemetery. I know it’s a public place, but I would prefer to be here alone. Since I don’t see anyone, I reach over and pick up the potted orchid from the seat beside me. I thought I could leave this here for him; it would have more meaning here than in my bathroom.
I start the slow walk along the dirt drive clutching the orchid. I guess I could have driven around to the back but the walk will give me time to calm my racing heart. Why am I so nervous? It’s only logical that I would come here. Maybe it’s because I decided to do this on my own, without anyone making me. I concentrate on the sounds around me. It’s only my second time here; is it always this serene?
Well, duh, I think to myself. Of course there’s not much activity going on. This place is pretty dead, if you know what I mean.
Badabum tsch! Lame joke drums sound in my brain.
I make it to the rear of the cemetery and remember where to turn left. Unfortunately, I see a few new mounds of dirt ahead of me, or at least I didn’t see them the last time I was here. I hope they haven’t removed the flowers that were there; James’ headstone wasn’t in place yet and without the flowers I may not find the right spot. I decide on which location would most likely be his and walk there first. As I get closer, I’m relieved. I recognize the flowers; I see the blue “Son” bow. But something is different.
He has a headstone now.
My breath catches at the sight. It seals my reality, and I have a hard time filling my lungs.
Despite this, I make it to James and force myself to take in his gravesite’s new addition. It’s a square stone, polished black with white specks, which stands on a rectangular base of the same rock. It’s very masculine, but looks so smooth and soft. I’m drawn to it, and I take a step forward to kneel beside the headstone. I touch the black rock; it is as smooth as it looks. I trace the gray engraving with my finger:
James Henderson Davis
Beloved Son
June 11, 1990 – April 12, 2012
“They forgot to add “Soul Mate” after “Beloved Son,” I whisper. I can’t resist the smoothness of the rock, and I lean forward to place my cheek against the top of the stone, closing my eyes. It feels cool against my skin. Again, I listen to the wind and the birds as I kneel there. My heart is no longer racing.
After a few moments, I open my eyes and present the orchid.
“I brought you this,” I say aloud, and place it in front of the headstone. “I thought you might like it.” I position it, so it sits straight on the uneven ground. I notice the contrast between the black stone and the fuchsia petals. “It looks much better here.”
I sit on the ground and hug my knees to my chest. Absentmindedly, I look down and see my hand print is still visible in the dirt, but it’s now partially marred by someone’s boot print. They must have stepped on it when they set the stone. I set to work recreating it; pressing my palm into the ground and taking my time creating the dirt swirls. I decide one print isn’t enough and create another with my other hand, swirling the soil with my finger.
“I hear your voice sometimes,” I tell him and smile. “I like it. Could you talk to me more often please?”
Silence.
“I’m waiting.”
The James voice does not come. I frown. “And you always said I was the stubborn one.”
I finish my swirls then wrap my arms around my knees again. I look up at the towering trees and the blue sky. “It’s hard without you here.” I pause. “Shel’s staying with me. She’s been trying to help, but I’m sure you’ve seen that.” I take a deep breath. “I hope you’ve seen that.”
I sit in silence a while longer. My legs start to fall asleep in the position I have them in, so I adjust and sit cross-legged on the ground. “We went to Matt’s house last night, but you probably know that too. I bet you think what happened between Shel and Matt is pretty funny. She feels terrible about it though.”
I don’t know exactly how long I sit there dividing my stares between the sky, his headstone, my handprints, and the ground. The sun drops low in the sky and I guess, for now, there’s nothing more to say. I reach out and run my fingers across the smooth stone again.
“I love you so much.”
I stand and brush dirt from my shorts. “Take care of my flower. It was sent by some unknown admirer. Was it you?” I shake my head because that could never be true. I kiss my fingers and press them to the top of the stone. “It’s getting late. I’ll be back to visit you soon.”
My legs are stiff from sitting on the hard ground, making the walk back to my car a slow one. I concentrate on my toes as I shuffle along, pondering the idea of bringing a camping chair with me the next time I visit. I wonder if anyone has done that before. Some gravesites have permanent benches. Would a lawn chair be much different?
As I approach the spot where I parked, I pull my keys from my pocket and look up. All of my muscles instantly lock; my heart stops beating.
There, leaning casually against the side of my car, is James.
Chapter 12
I blink. Once, twice, three times. When he doesn’t disappear, I slam my eyes shut.
He’s not real. He’s not real. He’s not real. He’s not real.
My heart must have started again because it’s pounding blood through my ears.
He’s not really here.
Now I’m having visions?
Why am I having visions?
I’m having a psychotic breakdown.
Yes, that’s why. That’s why I’m seeing my dead boyfriend leaning against my car.
What if I can’t open my eyes?
What if I can’t get home?
Why didn’t I tell anyone I was coming here?
“Breathe, Emma.”
My frozen body jerks at the sound of his voice. It’s like he's standing directly in front of me now. I smash my eyes together tighter and cringe.
“Emma, please breathe.”
You’re not real!
“Em, you’re scaring me. Please breathe,” he pleads.
I’m scaring you?
“If you pass out I’m not going to be able to help you!” he begs.
I’m pretty sure I’m beyond help now.
“Emma! Damn it! Open your eyes and breathe!”
Make me.
And then my legs do give out. My body meets the gravel and I am lost.
I open my eyes to darkness. I blink a couple of times to make sure my eyes are actually open. I can see the faint shadow of my car several feet ahead of me, but it’s sideways. My cheek feels rough, a
nd I realize I’m lying on the ground. I spring to a sitting position and my head immediately begins to spin. I hold my head in my hands until my equilibrium returns. How long have I been laying here?
The realization hits that I have been passed out on a dark cemetery drive and I am instantly fearful. I stand as quickly as I dare and stumble my way to the car. I wrench the door open and fall inside, locking the doors. I feel safer inside the vehicle. I sit for a few moments, resting my head on the steering wheel, collecting myself.
That’s it, I tell myself as I turn the ignition. I cannot come here alone again.
I concentrate exceptionally hard on driving as I make my way home. I feel completely exhausted, but it isn’t even ten o’clock. I reflect on what happened at the cemetery. What was that? Obviously all the emotions from today have taken their toll.
“Where have you been?” Shel demands as I enter the kitchen. She’s sitting at the island, clutching her cell phone. “I’ve been blowing up your phone for over an hour!”
I toss my purse on the counter and take out my phone. Yep, fourteen missed calls and five voice mail messages. “I’m sorry,” I mumble to her sleepily.
She stands and comes around to stand in front of me. “Are you all right?” she asks, concern etched on her face.
What do I tell her? I struggle for a minute and then decide on a half-truth. “I went to visit James.”
She looks at me warily. “And?”
“Believe it or not, I fell asleep.”
Her mouth falls open in awe. “In the cemetery?”
I shake my head. “Trust me; I’m just as shocked as you and completely creeped out.”
For more reasons than one.
I wrap my arms around myself and change topics. “How was your um…visit…with Matt?”
She looks troubled and bites her lower lip. “It went okay.”
“Just okay?”
“I think he’s a little upset with me.”
“Really? What did he say?”
“He said everything is okay between us, but he still seemed a little peeved about the whole thing. He wouldn’t make eye contact with me. I got the feeling he just wanted me to go away.”
“I bet he’s more embarrassed than anything,” I encourage her. “Give it some time. He’ll come around.”
“I really hope so. I feel so guilty. I would hate for this to ruin our friendship.”
I scowl at her. “Why is it all your fault? As I recall, it takes two to tango.”
She lets out a small laugh. “This is true.”
I yawn. “Are you heading up?”
“Right behind you.”
We make our way upstairs. Outside Mike’s room, Shel stops. “I’m impressed that you went to the cemetery alone.”
I give her a small smile. “Thanks.” Little does she know that won’t be happening again anytime soon.
“Good night,” she says as she disappears through the door.
“’Night.”
When I get to my room, I close the door and lean against it in the darkness. I feel drained; physically and mentally.
“Don’t be scared.”
All my muscles tense. The James voice has returned. Moving just my eyes, I look around the room frantically.
“Please don’t be afraid,” it says softly.
I can’t tell where the voice is coming from. Is it only in my head again? Scared to move, I fumble for the light switch.
“Don’t turn on the light,” the voice says. “Talk to me first.”
Talk to you? About what?
“Please Emma. This is so hard. Say something.”
I swallow. What do I say? If I cooperate with my psychosis will it leave me alone?
My voice catches in my throat and comes out in a raspy whisper. “Wh–what do you want?”
I hear a sigh of relief. “To be near you, always.”
I hesitate. Now what?
“C’mon Em. I know you have to have more questions than that.”
I go for the obvious. “Um…are you in my head?”
The voice pauses to consider. “Sometimes.”
“What about now?”
“No, I’m not in your head now.”
Panicked, I start to look around the room again. “If you’re not in my head, where are you?”
“Across from you. By the window.”
My eyes immediately zero in on that spot but I see nothing but darkness.
“I can hear your heart pounding,” the voice says. “I’m not going to hurt you; you know I would never hurt you.”
Uncertain, I whisper nervously, “I–I know.”
“This is…it’s…there are no words to describe this. But I am here. I want to stay with you.”
This can’t be happening. “How is that possible?” I ask the darkness.
“I will do everything I can to make it so,” the voice sounds determined, almost aggressive. Then it softens. “I’ve missed you so much.”
My fear lessens a little with those five words. “I’ve missed you too.”
“I’m sorry…for everything,” it whispers, broken. “I will never forgive myself for what I’ve put you through. To see you in pain…it…it devastates me.”
My heart breaks and my arms ache to hold James. The voice sounds so real, as if he really is here in my room with me. My chest constricts in that all-too-familiar way. “Hearing you helps me,” I say. “I wish I could hear you more often.”
“I’m working on that,” the voice sighs tiredly. “There is so much I have to learn. It’s frustrating; I’m not very good at being patient.”
I shake my head, confused. “I don’t understand.”
The James voice chuckles softly. “No, you wouldn’t understand.” It pauses and sighs again. “I have so much to tell you.”
My heart has slowed to its regular rhythm. I am no longer afraid. Still searching the darkness, I say, “I want you to tell me.”
“Slowly. I need to take things slowly. I was in such a hurry earlier…” The voice chastises itself. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“From falling? No, I’m fine.”
“That was so stupid of me! I tried to wake you, but I couldn’t…I couldn’t touch you. I kept trying….I felt so helpless with you lying there. But I stayed with you,” the voice hastily adds. “I stayed with you until you woke up; I was with you the whole way home.”
“Of course you were,” I placate the voice, not wanting it to be upset. “You are always in my head, in my heart.”
“No, no. I was literally there.”
“How?” I ask, my doubt evident. “How is that possible?”
“I want to show you but I don’t know if it’s wise. Maybe later, after you’re used to speaking with me more…”
Suddenly, the urge to know overwhelms me. What if this isn’t psychosis? Honestly, I’m not this creative.
“I want to know,” I blurt out. “I need to know.”
The voice hesitates, doubtful. “I don’t know. What if you’re not ready? I can’t bear to hurt you again.”
Confidence surges through me unexpectedly. “I’m ready.”
“If anything happened…”
I know it’s wrong, but I say it anyway. “I think you owe it to me.”
The voice sighs, resigned. “I owe you so much more.”
After a few moments of silence, just when I think I’ve lost the battle, I hear, “Turn on the light.”
I turn to the right and feel along the wall for the switch. I flip it on and turn slowly to face the room. What I see makes my chest want to explode with happiness.
James is here. Literally here. Standing across the room by the window, dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. He looks a little pale, but otherwise he looks like my James. My heart threatens to burst and I swallow a sob.
“You’re here,” I whisper in disbelief.
“Like I said.” His blue eyes light up and he gives me a crooked smile.
Oh, that smile! I want to run to him and
wrap myself around him and never let go. I take a tentative step forward. “Can I…?” I ask permission.
“Absolutely.”
I want to launch myself at him but I force myself to walk slowly, around the bed, until I’m standing in front of him. Looking up into his face, overwhelmed and in awe, all I can manage is “Hi.”
“Hello,” he grins down at me. “Are you feeling faint?”
I shake my head. “Not this time.”
“Good,” he says.
“I…I…” I can’t seem to form a sentence anymore.
“What?”
“Can I touch you?”
His face falls.
“What’s wrong?”
“That is what I have to show you,” he frowns. “You’re still sure?”
I nod quickly.
He closes his eyes and opens them slowly. “Hold out your hand,” he says.
I raise my hand and hold it out to him, palm up.
Slowly, he raises his hand, and moves to set it on top of mine, as if to grasp it. When his hand touches my skin, I feel a chill run through me. His hand closes around my fingers.
It passes right through, as if I weren’t even there.
Chapter 13
I gasp and pull away quickly, clutching my hands together and holding them to my stomach. I try not to appear frightened but when I look up at him, I know I failed.
He closes his eyes and his face falls. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
Words escape me. “I…no…I’m okay,” I stutter. When he doesn’t open his eyes, I start to panic. What if he thinks it’s too much for me to handle and he leaves? “Please look at me,” I plead. “I’m not afraid. I’m not.”
He opens his eyes and they reflect his worry. “Are you sure?”
“I’m not sure exactly what I feel,” I say. “But I know it’s not fear.”
James gives me a tiny smile and appears to relax a little.
I want to touch him so badly. I start to reach out toward him slowly. I can see him tense up. “What are you doing?” he asks.
I freeze mid-reach. “Can’t I touch you? Now that I know?”
He looks surprised. “I...I didn’t think you would want to.”
I smile at him, to reassure him, and continue my reach. I lay my hand against his face, and he closes his eyes, pressing his cheek against my hand. I feel nothing against my palm, but a chill runs through my arm, like a cool breeze.
