Fiction

By Kelsey MacEachern



Editor's Note: The writer is a student from Ontario, Canada.

A CRISP wind blew against Emma's face, biting like frost attacking a green leaf that emerged too early in the spring. Probably the wind wasn't all that cold, but given the circumstances, everything felt cold and lifeless.

Emma wanted to cry, but the cold stung her eyes, temporarily forcing the sadness to stay within. Her hair blew against her face. Reaching up to push it back into place, she felt a single tear finally slide down her cheek.

No! She couldn't, wouldn't cry, not again. Lately she had cried too much -- until her eyes turned swollen, almost out of tears.

The world felt tight, as if lacking space for her. Surroundings pressed against her, squeezing. She needed to move, to get away and try to regain control of her emotions.

As Emma stood, she felt her limbs stretch and joints snap as if she rarely used them. How long had she been sitting on that rock? She didn't care. Actually, she no longer cared about much.

Slowly she walked to the cliff's edge. Looking down, she thought about how the whole world appeared to be spread out before her, yet looked so small.

As tears returned, she felt dizzy and wobbly. Never before had she felt dizzy here. Usually she had imagined herself on top of the world, like she could handle anything, like they could handle anything. Then again, that was when Brian's arms had circled her, holding her tight. Now she stood alone.

An unexpected idea pushed into Emma's mind.  She could jump. One easy step, not even a jump, would end everything. She could walk off the edge. Then the dull ache inside her, the constant feeling of being utterly alone, would vanish and she'd be with Brian. They could reunite. She imagined the touch of his hand on her cheek.

Still peering over the edge, Emma felt numb, as if ready to black out. Unsure which way to move, she felt a wave of fear. No, she didn't want to plunge off the cliff. Perhaps that made her a coward.

Staggering back, Emma grasped a limply hanging tree branch. Limp like me, she thought. She'd always prided herself on being strong, but now felt so weak.

Needing to get away, she whirled and started to run. Still dizzy, she tripped, scratching her palms on the ground while scrambling to get up and keep moving. Maybe she could outrun this feeling.

Memories flooded her mind – about walking here with Brian, the talks they had. Her exhausted legs and breaking heart couldn't take any more so she flopped down on the road and let herself weep.

Emma lost track of time. Minutes dragged by, gradually the sun set and darkness descended. She almost wished that a car would run over her, but, again, a small part of her clung to life.

Closing her eyes, Emma hoped for at least the 100th time that everything was a bad dream. When a flash of headlights appeared, she imagined and hoped it really was over. Momentarily, a sense of peace crept over her.

The moving lights stopped. A car door opened. “What in the world are you doing?” The voice belonged to Emma's mother.

Emma squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't want to cry in front of her mother.

“My God! Emma, are you crying?” Disgust oozed from the question. “He's been dead for three weeks. Get over him, and get over yourself.”

Had it really been so long?  Each day lagged as lifeless and dark as the one before.

For a moment, Emma opened her eyes. The glare of headlights sent her back to the night of Brian's death. Images flashed through her brain like a silent movie. Us driving home from this very spot, him stopping, leaning over to kiss me tenderly. Gates coming down, a warning bell, being trapped on the train tracks, wanting to scream, but no words coming from my mouth. Him looking at me, softly murmuring “I love you.” He knew it was the end. Crunching noises as the train barreled into us, hitting Brian's side first, him shielding me.

Emma screamed and curled in on herself as more pain gripped her. Unwillingly, she squinted when her mother's hand gripped her chin, forcing her back to reality. “Hop in the car, Emma.”

“Brian” (Emma’s mother rarely spoke his name) “is dead. You need to move on and stop wasting your life waiting for him to come back. He can't do that.”

As Emma neared the car, a fresh wall of pain slammed into her. So she bolted. What else could she do, feeling frightened and confused?

She knew the road well. The noise of her feet slapping the dirt sounded almost therapeutic.

Emma's mother acted as if the relationship with Brian was only teen love. But Emma was 20 years old. Brian would have been 23. They had dated for three years.

That last night Brian had asked her to marry him. He spoke of their life together, his love for her and how he wanted to spend the rest of his days with her. She had been surprised, but so happy. All she remembered saying was “yes” again and again. Then Brian stopped the car and leaned over to kiss her. She had never told anyone what happened moments before Brian's death and probably never would.

Emma kept running, thinking of Brian. She might not stop until grief consumed her.

Thump. Her feet hit the train tracks, the train tracks. There, she stopped. Something had changed.

A noise floated through the darkness. The gates lowered, as if trapping a prisoner.

For a moment Emma wanted to stay rooted in place to die too. But her courage failed at the last moment, and she dove under the rail.

Smack! Her body hit the road, and the train roared past. Again, she cursed herself for being weak.

The train rattled along the tracks. When the bars finally lifted, Emma’s mom drove up in her car. Again, she ordered Emma to get inside.

Slowly, Emma rose, but neglected to dust herself off. Why care anymore? She slid into the car -- not the passenger seat, but the back seat – to avoid being too close to her mother. They would return to the house, but not home. Emma planned always to think of home as being in Brian's arms.

Once they entered the house, Emma stayed silent. Slowly, as if in an unfamiliar place, she climbed the stairs, entered her bedroom and locked the door. Deftly she crossed the room and dropped onto the bed, ready to cry again.

***

Slowly Emma awoke, finding herself curled in a corner. In the night, she had moved off the bed. She disliked being comfortable while Brian occupied a coffin underground.

Light streamed through the window, but she didn't like that either. Pulling a sheet from her unmade bed, she placed it over the window, plunging the room into murky darkness.

Retreating back into the corner, Emma considered the room. Not a bit of it reflected her, who she was or had been. It was all about how her mom had wanted it to look.

Emma heard her mother downstairs rummaging and yelling for her daughter to get up. Unable to think of a better option, Emma settled on sleep as the only escape. If she left the house, her mother would know. Who wanted her mom always knowing and pretending to care? So Emma closed her eyes and crept deeper into the corner.

***

Sleep refused to come. Each time Emma closed her eyes, she saw Brian's face and felt warm, happy. She saw Brian asking her to marry him, his face leaning close, her lips meeting his.  But then light flashed and she heard that sickening crunch. Each time the slideshow ended, Brian again slipped through her fingers.

Finally, she couldn't take it anymore.  Her ear-piercing scream echoed through the house.

Emma heard her mother climbing the stairs, yelling the whole way. Then something happened that Emma couldn't explain. A feeling overtook her of being a caged animal with a turning hamster-wheel for a life and an “owner” coming to reach into the cage and squeeze the life out of her.

Ripping the sheet off her window, Emma hurled it toward the door. She flung open the window, braced her hands on the sill and leaped. After landing on her back a few feet below, she slid down the adjacent garage-roof. Slipping off the edge, she dropped to the grass below. The fall hurt much less than her broken heart did.

Tilting her head, Emma saw her shocked-looking mom lean out the window. Not looking back again, she stood and ran barefooted along the street. Slap. Slap. Slap. The sun-drenched pavement felt warm, but even the heat underfoot didn't thaw the cool inside her.

Breathless and weary, Emma arrived at her friend Diana's house.

“I need you to drive me up to the old trail,” Emma panted. She lacked her own vehicle or the energy to walk there.

Diana opened her mouth to ask a question. Then the phone rang. Diana's mother moved to a hall table to answer it.

“Hurry” Emma urged. The urgency in her voice scared Diana, who grabbed her keys and went to her truck. Emma followed.

They drove away as Diana's mother’s voice sounded from the half-open house door: “Diana, Emma's mother wants to speak to you.”

***

They drove in silence -- not a calm, peaceful silence, but a busy, loud one. Diana felt afraid of her friend’s behavior. Emma wasn't the same person anymore. In these tragic few weeks, she had changed so much. She used to smile, laugh and love life, but now seemed distant, almost as if part of her had died with Brian. No longer willing to smile or laugh, she looked to be slipping away.

Emma felt scared too – mostly of what she had become. When the train had slammed into Brian, her world had crashed too. Now she painfully tried to trudge through the shattered pieces. After the past three weeks, she doubted if she could handle the years ahead, not on her own.

The truck halted. Here, Emma couldn't rely on her friend. Leaving the vehicle, she walked to the cliff. Avoiding the edge, she stood just far enough back to feel safe. She ran her hands across the boulder where they used to sit, where now she often sat alone.

At first, Diana lingered behind. Then approaching, she gently rested her hands on Emma's shoulders before hugging her and whispering, “Don't....”

Tears dripped down Emma's cheeks. How far had she gone if her friend thought that was her intention? Too far past the symbolic edge, she wondered if she could climb back and how long it would take. “I wouldn't....”

Emma turned. She and Diana hugged for a long time, each afraid to let go, afraid to lose each other.

Slowly Emma eased out of Diana's embrace. Walking away, she turned every few feet to wave and smile encouragingly. Then she entered the forest, alone again.

Moving from tree to tree, Emma ran her hands over the bark, checking each one. She looked for a special tree, an old friend. She hadn't been to the tree since Brian's death, but knew she'd find it.

She did recognize it -- the feel of its bark, the smell of its wood and its appearance, standing in the middle of a clearing, tall and majestic, strong and firm. On the tree's north side, the moss had been scratched away. There, Emma ran her fingers across carved letters inside a heart shape: “Brian and Emma Forever”.

Tugging Brian's old pocketknife from a jeans pocket, Emma popped out the blade. Worn from years of use, its cold metal felt oddly light. Slowly, surely, she pried and chipped at the bark until satisfied.

Lovingly, she ran her hands over the finished writing. Brian's letters looked strong, bold and sure, just like him. Her new carving, to repeat the word “Forever”, looked thin and a little wobbly.

Yet Emma felt pleased and sure – sure that she loved Brian and that, as her life continued, he formed a permanent part of her, right there at the back of her mind and, more importantly, in her heart.

“Brian and Emma Forever”

“Forever”

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