Grief

Solitude in nature seems to be a universal coping mechanism for broken hearts and sad souls, she thought to herself as she wandered the rough trail. It was littered with autumn leaves that rustled beneath her feet and called out to their friends that still clung to brittle branches above. The lake to her left, around which the trail wound, was still and dark, reflecting both the grey sky above and the deep, cold emptiness she felt in her chest. The clouds were giants in the sky, so colossal that their movement was hard to detect, despite the constant wind that blew by. She wished they would fall and cover the world.

As she felt the brisk wind, heard the dry scrape of leaves, smelled the sharp air that held the telltale mix of damp autumnal decay and the promise of winter, and took in all the flares of orange and red around her, she felt pang after pang of sorrow. It was difficult to enjoy things when she no longer had someone to share them with. Everything reminded her of what she’d lost. Every time she noticed something, her impulse was to file it away to share at the end of the day when they were reunited, but then reality would strike her hard, snapping her back to the irrevocable fact that she was alone. Alone with her thoughts, alone with her experiences, alone with her feelings. No one would be there to talk to, to process with, to love and be loved by at the end of the day. It was the first time in a long time that she’d been so profoundly lonely.

Unable to stomach her daily life, where she was used to everything being tinted with the rose-colored glasses that had been torn from her face, she’d gone off on her own into the woods, the only place where the loneliness could at least be her choice. A physical loneliness to match a solitary heart that was so used to being loved. Her family owned a small house by the lake a few hours from her mother’s home, where she’d moved back to a few months ago, and since no one had used the little abode for a few years, no one objected to her living there.

It had only taken her a day to move her things from one place to another. She’d left most of what she owned at her old home, since most of the items were too heavy with memories to pick up and take with her. She brought her clothes, her books, and her plants. The house was furnished, though everything was covered with such a thick layer of dust that it had taken her the better part of a day to get it clean. The most time-consuming part was bringing each spider she found outside. She had no desire to squish them and, though she was acutely terrified of them, she carefully trapped each one with a glass, slid a paper under - gently nudging their legs onto either the paper or the side of the glass - and took them a few hundred feet away from the house to let them go. Given how many years had gone by without people inhabiting the house, the spiders had taken it up as their own and were somewhat reluctant to be evicted, but eventually she was the only visible being in the house. There were, of course, creatures of all kinds that lived in the shadows and in the walls, but she decided to make her peace with them. As long as she couldn’t see them, they could stay.

Mechanically, she’d unpacked after cleaning. Suitcases in from the car. Set the plants up first by the windows so they can get sun. Check if they need water. Find the clay bottle we use for watering. It was in the trunk. Check for any plant damage from the trip. Cut off this broken bit. Straighten this one in its soil. Okay.

Take the suitcases to the bedroom. Unpack the clothes. Hang the clothes. Find more hangers in the closet by the front door. Take out four more spiders from said closet. Clothes are hung. Put more clothes in the dresser. There’s a mouse family living in one of the drawers. That’s the mouse drawer now. Mouse friends. Okay.

Clear off the bookshelf in the living area. Two more spiders outside. Put the books away. They used to be so organized. Just put them up. At least they aren’t in a box. This one is a good one. I started this one but never finished it. This one was from...no. No, no, no. Put it away. Back on the shelf. Can’t think about it yet. Books are on the shelves. Okay.

Fold up the boxes. Put them in the closet by the front door. Find blankets in the closet. Go make the bed. Put toiletries in the bathroom next to the bedroom. Crack a window in the bedroom so it cools off before bed. Check all the locks on the doors and windows. Check for air leaks and water damage. Check for monsters under the bed. Okay.

The sun was setting, slowly sinking below the trees and illuminating the lake, when she realized that she needed to eat, despite having no desire to do so. Reluctantly, she trudged out to her car and drove to the town a few miles down the road. It was a small town, really only a few scattered houses, a pharmacy, a little grocery store, two restaurants, a gas station, and a couple shops. She parked at the grocery store and sat staring at her steering wheel, willing herself to scrape together the motivation to get out of the car. After a few moments, she managed to shake herself, temporarily pushing away the heavy weight on her shoulders that so often prevented her from moving, and got out of the car. She had to focus on each step as she made her way to the door and grabbed a basket. There we go, she thought. Get fruit. Fruit is good for you. Easy to eat. Get some bread. Peanut butter. Sure, get the damn goldfish. Why not? Ignore the popcorn. But we used to...no. No, no, no. Oats. Everybody loves oats. Frozen fruit, too. Frozen meals. Easy. Don’t want to cook. We used to cook together. Stop, good god, please stop. Vegetables. Get a new multivitamin. Get the gummy ones. You deserve gummy vitamins. Get tylenol. The headaches came back. You’ll need more. Toilet paper. Paper towels. Okay.

She was back to the car with her groceries with a faint memory of checking out and giving a small smile and a “hello” to a falsely cheerful cashier, when she noticed the bookshop next to the store. She recalled the book series she’d been reading before...no. No, no, no. Better not.

But... she missed reading. She missed losing herself in a fantasy world where the burdens and worries of her real life were far away enough that she didn’t feel them pressing up against her skull and crushing her chest. She longed for a world of dragons, a world where magic was possible and the greatest demons one would face were ones that could be dealt with by sword and dagger. The physical challenges of an imaginary world were greatly preferable to the emotional toils of a mortal coil. This, perhaps, was one thing she could enjoy again. So, she placed the groceries in the unused passenger side seat and walked over to the storefront, hoping the small light emitting from a table lamp inside meant the establishment was still open. One can never be quite sure with small town shops.

The shopkeeper gave her a smile as she walked in, so she gave a small wave before heading into the stacks. Having practically lived in bookstores once upon a time, she found the section she was looking for with relative ease. To her surprise, they had the complete series she’d been thinking of. Though her collection of books was vast, put together over the course of a couple decades, she’d been reading the series when money was a bit tight and had borrowed the books from a nearby library. She’d never had the privilege of owning them. She lifted a hand and gently picked up the first one, thumbing through the pages and taking time to appreciate the comfortable, familiar weight of a book in her hands. She smiled a bit despite herself. It was the first genuine smile she’d let slip in months. She swept up the complete collection and marched to the checkout, excited to go back to the cabin and escape into a different world for a while.

She’d read nearly through the night after she made herself a small dinner, dozing off around sunrise with the book still in her hand. And now, she walked the path by the lake, knowing that fresh air and exercise were still important, though she really just wanted to read the days away.

Physically, she had moved in every sense of the word. Not too far away from family, but far enough from the memories. All of her things that were still hers were here. She’d unpacked. Her plants seemed to be enjoying the fresh air. She was enjoying reading again, even if she was using it as a form of escapism. But, despite the autumn air that she knew she loved, despite the books waiting for her back at the house, despite the beauty of the world around her that her eyes still recognized, her chest was empty, as if she’d forgotten to pack her heart among the other scattered pieces of her life, cliche though it may sound. Or perhaps her soul had come unravelled and left bits and pieces of itself in the life she’d left behind. Something just felt so...empty. The books helped her escape for a time, but she had to come back to reality every so often, and all the pain would come rushing back. When one life has to take up enough space to compensate for the echoes of the one that left it behind, it becomes clear just how small a single human can feel.

She felt her mind begin to drift to the places she tried to avoid, the memories that she shoved down into boxes that were pushed to the very back of her head with the intent of opening them one day in the future when they could be looked at fondly, like old photographs. She wanted to wait until their edges were less sharp. But her mind seemed, well, it seemed to have a mind of its own. A self-destructive one that sought out the deep cuts the fresh memories delivered. She felt the tears well up a bit, and sat on the side of the trail closest to the lake, putting her head on her knees and wrapping her hands around the back of her neck as she cried, letting the pain of the memories course through her like a poison that chilled her blood and burned her heart. The longing for a lost love crushed her like ocean waves intent on pulling her down. She gasped for air, she coughed, she gagged, so intense were the sobs.

After a long while, face tight and swollen with tears, she calmed, lifting her head to the breeze with closed eyes, letting it cool her cheeks. After some deep breaths, she looked out at the lake, still calm as ever. A mist was settling slowly around it, and for a long time she watched as it thickened to a fog. Her mind was empty - it seemed that all of her thoughts had been drained along with her tears. A blessing, really. A grieving mind often has far too many thoughts battling for the attention of one who just wants the world to go away for a while. So, she watched the fog as it swirled with the wind, noted the pleasant breeze as it curled around her, and felt the cold ground beneath her and the dried tears under her eyes.

Because a mind at rest is not likely to stay at rest, she began to imagine pictures in the fog. She thought of the fairies from her book - not small pixies as some fairy tales would present, but rather powerful fae that worked with magicks of the earth, wind, and seas. Much like cloud gazers, she picked out misty shapes that could’ve been great battles, intimate love scenes, or enchanted forests where great beasts roamed.

Other images started to take shape in the fog. People, places, things she had seen in the past. Idly, she wondered if her mind was trying to bring her back to who she was, trying to pull her away from the imagination that had always protected her from addressing the now.

There, that was the tree from the house she grew up in. And that breeze made that wisp of fog dance like her mother when she cooked. And there, that mass was the school where she used to love to teach, before...no. She shook her head and got to her feet. That was enough of the fog-gazing for now.

That night, as she sat reading the next book in the series, she happened to look out of the window next to the cushy chair in which she was reading. The moon was out, illuminating everything around so clearly that there was little change from the landscape of the cloudy afternoon. She decided to read on the porch, again remembering that fresh air was supposedly good for her. She wasn’t sure of much of anything anymore, so she was grasping for whatever straw of truth she could find. The fresh air had helped clear her head earlier, and she figured there wasn’t much harm in seeing if it could make it quiet once more.

As she settled on the porch, she noted that the fog was rolling over the lake again. This time, whether due to the change in temperature or the slight change in lighting, it seemed thicker. It did not start out as a fine mist. It was seemingly impenetrable. She sat, somewhat mesmerized, as she watched it swirl. A cool breeze blew by again, and she stood and began walking to the water, driven by some intrinsic desire to see the fog more closely.

She sat at the lake’s edge, legs dangling off a small dock, and stared at the shifting white shapes. Her memories started to dance in the mass of shining silver that seemed to be composed of pure starlight, and this time, she did not look away as the more recent ones appeared.

There, that was their dog, running around the living room.

There, that was cooking together in the kitchen.

There, that was the road whipping by as they drove together though the night.

There, that was the bookstore they used to go to together.

There, that was the popcorn they made during scary movie nights.

There, that was his face in the morning as he smiled at her when she woke.

Tears slid down her cheeks, unnoticed as she gazed at the image of a face she ached for with every piece of her broken soul. Those were his eyes, those beautiful, soulful, tired green eyes. That was his smile, the smile that used to quiet her mind and still her heart. Those were his arms, his strong and loving arms that used to embrace her so tightly, that used to make her feel so safe. Those were his hands, the powerful hands that were so gentle when holding hers or touching her face. That was him. That was him, that was him, that was him. If only she could hold him again, maybe he wouldn’t be gone. Maybe he had come back. Maybe she didn’t have to be alone in the dark anymore. Openly sobbing, she leapt into the water, thrashing her way to where she saw that face, that beautiful face that she so painfully missed with all of her heart.

She forgot about her clothes, the clothes that grew so heavy with the water. She forgot about her arms, so weak from neglect. She forgot that she had never been a strong swimmer. The only thing in her mind was the face that used to be her world. The fog seemed to be getting lower and seemed to be sinking into the water. His face, that beautiful face, was descending into the depths again. He reached out to her, and she lunged for his hands.

The lake was quiet. A book lay abandoned on the ground, pages still, for there was no breeze. The water was calm, giving no hint of her final moments in the icy depths. Had anyone been around moments before, they would have seen a woman jump into a slowly freezing lake, crying out like a wounded animal. They would have had a clear view of the mossy, decaying arms too long to belong to a human reaching toward her, extending too far from the darkness below. They would have watched as she struggled to swim not away from the creature, as every instinct should drive her to do, but rather toward its ghastly, creeping fingers. But no one was there. No one saw as the creature dragged her down. No one saw the fog retreat too quickly for it to be natural. No one saw as the clouds rolled back in, and no one saw that she didn’t fight.