Mary’s Tears

My ears were ringing in the hollow way they rang when things were simply not right. I could see and respond, but I was gone.

The cottage at the cusp of the woods called to me. The little girl who lived there grew lonely, and I longed to visit her, and she always patiently awaited my arrival. The last time I visited her, we played a long game of hide and seek. She won with her silent steps, small stature, and an utter disregard for the dangers of the forest. She giggled when I scolded her for going too far.

“That was home,” she reminded me. Her home had been by the mouth of the river that ran through the land. It was nestled between the trees and the hills that protected the valley where she slept on emerald mosses, played on fallen logs, and counted the endless flowers surrounding her grave. She’d shown me her tombstone once during an increasingly intimate and uncomfortable round of show-and-tell. She’d urged me to show what I was most proud of because, to her, it had to be something.

I let her down. I was disappointing and underwhelming. I had nothing of note or of worth to show her, and in this place where only she lived and only she knew of me, I cried. Wrong, though it may have been, I confessed to her a life of nothing. Achievements and prizes and trophies I killed for. Acknowledgement and praise I bled for. And yet, I longed to be nowhere else but here in this place where these things were less than the air our lungs released. She didn’t hold my hand nor did she hold my pain. Instead, we walked in near silence to her former home.

She led the way, and I followed. I grew increasingly angry as I tripped over roots in the underbrush. My face was flush with frustration, and hot, acidic tears streamed down my face as I once again realized I could not scream in agony. Something rolled my ankle, and a nearby tree caught me and held me. I opened my mouth to call for her, to tell her to wait for me, but the scream I’d been holding forced its way out in lieu of words.

She continued on, mindlessly walking a path only she knew. I was stuck in the unwavering embrace, and without thought to her or home, I stayed. The fight I’d once had, once clung to to keep going was gone. Though I heard it echoing back to me as my screams turned to cries and pleas for help I no longer needed. My voice broke, and with it was my will. A familiar deterioration of self inevitable, I sobbed into the harsh bark that’d been silent in my outburst.

Images of trophies atop unaccepted invitations flashed through my memory. Medals weighted regret gripped my neck and pulled me down. Visions of A’s, 1st place, awards, certifications, concentrations, participation, acknowledgements, and degrees swarmed me. Eyes shut, I desperately held onto the only constant I knew with a ferocity that left me bleeding and bruised and hurt and damaged, and all it once, it stopped and the sound filling my ears was not the voices of the disappointed or selective pride. It was birdsong. A duet of sorts. Though invisible to me, their song circled overhead. They called to each other, and they answered every call. They’d be so close, and their harmonies rang through the forest as something complete. They’d drift apart with a sweet melody, comforting and lulling one another, and me along with them.

I found my breath in the wind, as these woods forced life into me. The stinging ache from injuries prompted me to loose myself from the tree, but where was the girl, and where was her grave?

Feet firmly planted on the ground, I searched for footprints, but neither of us were capable of leaving any. It seemed as though the ground feasted on our travels. I called to her by no name, hoping she’d also be looking for me. Again, my request for help in this forest was denied, and I was to continue on my own. The sky pulsed with the thickening and thinning of the canopy, but through the leaves, I could’ve sworn I saw the sky change from day to night to something unrecognizable and back to day again, over and over. The forest was illuminated, and with each step I took, I could feel more life here. Its breath matched my own.

My search, unimpeded by fear, turned adventurous. I stopped to drink from the sparkling stream that fed the river a sweetness and a fondness I’d not known before. I washed my face here, and as I looked down, I saw peace return, and with it came my youth. I thought of her again, hoping she was alright without me. I knew she was because here, she always is.

And for a little while, the trees were on hiatus where the grass grew tall. Rolling pillows in the wind, I ran to jump inside, and I was greeted with softness and tenderness where the blades instead kissed my scars. The wind whirled and whipped and as did the grass. It danced for me and I with it. I laid back, letting it swallow me whole, and in its great height, the pointed tips dissolved the few clouds blowing overhead and began to paint the stars on a royal blue canvas. They were gold and pink and white and silver and green, and oh how they sparkled and wiggled free for my wishes.

The wind blew once more prompting another performance by the grass. Its softness rolled into me, and I crouched and let myself be covered, feeling safe in the exposed shelter it provided. The stars fell from the sky and landed in my grass, all turning to gold. The little balls of light bounced and swirled together, shining brighter before me than they once did in the darkening sky. A few zipped past me with an urgency I’d never seen before here. The others began to blink as I followed, and once we’d reached the land with trees again, the familiar golden specs of light vanished as the sun took its rightful place high in the sky.

My steps became unbearably soft in the moss that covered the ground. I feared my shoes would rip it from the ground, so I removed them to be greeted with the tender compassion I'd once searched for. I traced the loops and patterns as far as my eyes could see. I got closer, knowing there was much more to offer, and the moss was folding in on itself. The strings I’d been following covered each other as much as they covered the ground. I lightly laid my cheek here, and with a forgiving graze, I felt as though it wanted me to stay.

A tear fell. And then another. It was her home. My eyes continued to drop my tears to the moss. My heart fluttered, hoping she’d be close. I exhaled, and with my breath, went the last of my impatience. Shutting my eyes, I just was for a little while. The ground breathed with me, occasionally getting so lost, I almost feared it would swallow me.

As I rose, I saw a patch of Mary’s tears, all pink and blue and purple, where I’d cried. I’d not made them myself, but I felt good leaving part of myself there for her to find later.

A light fog began to creep from the riverbank. It might’ve been unnerving had it not been for the brightness above. I walked along the edge of the water wondering what could be waiting for me there. There was no call or pull or welcome there, and the fog prohibited sight to even the surface. My bare feet had hardly noticed the change to damp ground, but the change to wood was jarring. I stopped in my tracks, unaware of the great distance I’d covered. I looked ahead, and the trees seemed bigger. I looked up, and the canopy shimmied in response. To my right, the pull of the cottage. To my left, a bridge to cross the river. Arched and plain, stable yet weathered, I crossed it ignoring the increase in gravity.

Stepping onto solid ground, the fog cleared, revealing the sun shining on a lone willow tree. Its branches lightly blew in the wind, and there, I saw her at its feet. At this, I ran to her. Freedom in my steps, and the rustling leaves carried me the rest of the way. There, we sat at her unmarked grave. She joyfully told me stories of her living life and her afterlife in no discernible order. I sat against the tree and listened to tales as tall as the falling stars, each brighter than the last.

Finally, she asked a question I was prepared to answer. “What are you proud of?”

Smiling, more to myself, I looked down and said, “Of you. Of us, really.”

She sat next to me, our backs against the tree, her head on my shoulder. The tree shielding us from everything else, she said, “I missed you.”

Tears fell from our eyes in unison, and we laughed as little flower buds popped up beneath us. “I’ll come back this time,” I promised.

She looked up at me with hopeful eyes. “Yeah?”

I looked at her, and met her gaze that was even with my own. “I’ll take care of us much better. We won’t hurt so much anymore.”

She buried her face in my shoulder, and I hugged her. With love and a promise, she faded away, and I sat with her memory as long as I could stand it. The flowers were as still as I was, and together we watched the world rotate as this one spot stood still. Day and night and something unrecognizable came and went and came again. I stayed, fearing she’d be lonely without me. I stayed, not knowing a future without her.

Half the birdsong whistled along the path I took here. I hummed along the duet. The little bird answered me, louder this time. I continued to hum its call and song. It came closer and closer, and I sang with it. We sang in harmony as it sat in the tree above me. We sang together throughout the day and the night and the unrecognizable in perfect harmony. I wanted her to hear the song when she came back, but the bird began to fly away. I chased its sound, always answering its melody, and it would answer me.

Faster this time. It flew so quickly overhead, I could only hear the melody in part, but I answered with what I knew. It came back to serenade me, and of course, I sang the duet. I sang and answered until the forest was only behind me. The bird continued to sing, but another answered my half of the song. It was mine? Yet, I’d forgotten how it went. I walked forward, weary from my travels into the cottage where she and I met.

Inside, there were many people, none of whom I’d met before. A redheaded woman joyfully skips to me. In a freckled smile, she pulls me into her arms, and though confused, I relax. I look up at her, my head only reaching her thigh, and smile. The others turn to join in my welcome, and they whisper and exclaim their love for me. They ask me questions, and eagerly await my answers. They beg me to tell tales of my adventures, and I gleefully recount my experiences. They mend my cuts and bruises, comforting me with their own scars.

As we talk, they begin to vanish just as the little girl once did. I panic, not ready to lose them, but the redheaded woman just smiles at me. “You can come back here whenever you need to, and we’ll all be here, I promise. We won’t be going anywhere.”

“Yeah?”

“No question about it, my love.” She placed her hand on my cheek, and I felt a familiar tenderness.

It was only then I noticed how white my bedroom walls were.

It was only then I heard anger and disappointment wrapped in cruelty in front of me.

It was only then I felt the pain I could ignore yesterday.

It was only then my tears fell. I watched them hit my sheets and leave nothing ut dark spots were flowers once grew.