Newlydeads

Wiping her hands on the weathered wood, she replaced the original red in splotchy streaks.

What have I done?

Lips puckered, cheeks pinched and silk nightgown stolen from mama’s clothesline donned, Twyla rehearsed her greeting.

“Hi, Silas” Too simple.

“I was really surprised you told me to meet you here tonight. I wasn’t even sure you liked me. Honestly, you’ve always seemed more partial to Marj, but I guess since I’m here and she’s not....” Not simple enough.

“Funny seeing you here,” Maybe. There was a lot of truth in those words.

Glancing at the grandfather clock in their hallway as she’d done every two minutes for the past hour, Twyla finally releases the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. 10 til 12. He told her to meet him on the dot at the barn marking the border where her family’s land met his. It stood there long before either family moved in — the rafters serving as a storage space for both, and the bottom a place for celebration — birthday parties, holidays, even a wedding. Feet barely grazing the floor, she slips out and begins her barefoot trek to the barn.

With her eyes still adjusting to the dark, the flickering silhouettes on the wall cast by the moonlight faded into memories of her and Silas. The same Silas that tugged her pigtails taunting Tiny Twyla when they were kids. The one who brought over a red-ribboned runt from his dog’s litter Christmas morning. They crawled, walked, scraped their knees and stood back up again together. Somehow this was the same Silas that pulled her aside at the Sadie Hawkins dance, asking for her to meet him tonight.

“Me? uh- I, um. Yes!” He had a way of making her forget her words.

Snapping her back from the shadows into reality, a voice echoed off the walls.

“Hi, Twy.”

Two syllables, yet from his lips, it sounded far from simple.

It came from the loft, where, amongst Christmas decor and old baby clothes, lay Silas -- propped up on one hand atop a quilt, illuminated by a lantern left from the original owner, looking as heart-stopping as ever in the flame.

“Well, what do you think?”

“It’s just. I don’t even know what to say. It’s just about the best thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life”

“Really? Gosh. I’m so glad. I’ve been planning this for weeks. I’ve just been so nervous”

“You have?” Her heart was beating in her ears so loud she could barely hear him. She’d practiced this a hundred times in her head, half a dozen on her hand and even once in the mirror, but now that the moment was right in front of her, she was second-guessing which way to turn her head. When to close her eyes. How much to open her mouth. Mustering all her courage, she leans in right as he turns around to scan his handiwork again. She sat back up in the split second before all-encompassing embarrassment would have overtaken her. Her cheeks needed no pinching with this natural rouge.

“Well, yeah. I just needed an honest opinion. So, you think Marj will like it?”

Still flustered from the almost kiss, she raves, “How could anyone not. I mean it’s just so wow and- wait, Marj. Why would it matter if Marj liked it?”

“Well, I was going to ask her to go steady with me tomorrow.”

Only cicadas and confusion.

“Wait, Twy. Did you-. Oh no! I’m so sorry, Twy. I didn’t mean to. Why, Twy, you’re like a little sister to me. I just figured since y’all are so close and all, you’d know. Gosh. I really am so sorry.”

With that, the red somehow managed to deepen, and she couldn’t tell if the heat on her cheeks was from the flame or fury. Her face shifted between sadness and anger with the flickering light.

She stood silently. Her words far from indicative of her thoughts.

Marjorie, Marjorie, Marjorie. Marjorie always got whatever she wanted. Marjorie was student council president and highest in her class. She was auburn haired and beautiful. Dainty, demure and everything Twyla was not. She always got new clothes and mama’s jewelry. She could not have Silas too. It just wasn’t fair.

“Life ain't fair,” Papa would retort.

But Papa wasn’t here anymore.

However, his friend, Jack, with whom he had been too closely acquainted with up until his passing, still sat waiting in his coat pocket.

She stormed back to the house.

“You think Marj would like it,” she spat. Of course she would. How could she not.

Ugh, how could she be so stupid.

Slipping back in the door, her feet treaded the path she had just walked with such glee, past the grandfather clock, to the coat closet.

Such a stupid little kid.

Little sister!

Ha.

A single flick sends the bottle’s top to the floor, as if practiced. She was her papa’s daughter alright. Tears sting her eyes, and spirits her throat.

She sat, door closed, downing the bottle, before figuring she’d best go back and give him a piece of her mind. His hand on her back and the whisper of his words at the Sadie Hawkins dance didn’t say little sister. And besides, even if he wasn’t still there, a pity party was as good of a celebration as any. It’s only right it’d be thrown in the barn.

Jack held her hand on the walk there, and this time the shadows lurched sporadically at each other.

The lantern hung from the doors. Seems Silas has left.

Figures. No one wants to kiss a coward anyway.

She grabs at it a couple times before wrapping her fingers around the handle. Luckily, she’d walked every inch of this barn but the ceiling since she could stand, and could do so drunk and blind if need be. Need did be.

Staggering up the steps to the loft where her dreams were freshly stomped, she pleaded her eyes deceived her. Atop a quilt, one arm draped around her, lay Marjorie. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Did she say that out loud or in her head? She couldn’t distinguish the two at the moment. It didn’t matter. Silas woke first.

“Twy?” “What-what are you doing here?” “Are you ok?”

His question received no reply.

He had a way of making her forget her words.

Instead, the silence was punctuated with the twack of the lantern onto his head.

Marjorie opened her big green eyes. How could she look so beautiful straight from bed?

The bottle spilled. Flames engulfed the couple. Her face shifted between sadness and anger with the flickering light.

Twyla turned to see shadows dancing on the wall, but heard only red.

Stumbling down the steps, she noticed for the first time that the place looked different. Fresh paint and photos dressed the walls -- photos seemingly from the future. Falling out of the front door, and staggering upright, she looked down at her hands to notice that, blood aside, they seemed to belong to someone who was not her. These were not the hands of a 17 year old girl. They’d seen a lot more life, and taken some too. Feeling nothing, she wiped them hard on the barn until splinters filled her palms.

She saw her hands, the stars, then nothing.

Twyla Tompson, recovered unconscious in a nearby field, has been arrested for the double homicide of newlyweds, Silas and Marjorie Johnson. Just after 2 am, firefighters arrived on the scene, and while both were recovered from the fire, they bore fatal head wounds.

“Things like this just don’t happen here,” police chief Dan Cole said. “Especially among families. Such good-hearted folk. Their wedding was the talk of the town. It’s hard to believe they’re gone.”

When she came to, memories of the last six years flooded her -- graduating, Mama going to be with Papa, AA meetings. Memories of Silas too -- her crying herself to sleep the night that was supposed to be theirs, him and Marjorie rebuilding the barn, them getting married, the last look in his eyes. She recalled that though through these years everything around her changed, he remained the same. The same Silas that tugged her pigtails taunting Tiny Twyla when they were kids. The one who brought over a red-ribboned runt from his dog’s litter Christmas morning. They cried, laughed, fell to their knees and stood back up again together. He had been the big brother she never had. Somehow this was the same Silas she’d bludgeoned to death.

With this realization, she confessed everything. How the night of their wedding she’d felt so alone. Marjorie had gotten more years with Ma and Pa than she, and now she got the rest of her life with Silas. How she went to the coat closet, pulling out a bottle she’d tucked away despite her promise to stop. She was her papa’s daughter. How she relapsed, reuniting with her old friend Jack, and made the walk to the barn before using the old lantern they’d kept from the original owner to bash their faces in. She didn’t intend to kill them. Just give him a piece of her mind. Something she should have done so long ago. But when she saw them there, atop a quilt, illuminated by the lantern, years of regret clouded her thoughts. She should have just told him she loved him. No one wants to kiss a coward.