Heading Home

I saw her on the subway. As bitter of a year as always, the gates cramped. Her frame was small, and she hunched over like a crippled bird. Her face reminded me of the long nights in the summer out in the open fields, when a fear of the future hadn’t existed. And she still clung to herself as if she were her only solace. Smelling of grease, the stench of the city hung in the air like a bad joke and reminded me of where I was. I turned my head before she saw me, and quickly jumped out at the first stop, holding tight to the flowers in my hand.

Walking up the stairs into the unforgiving chill, my heart tightened as I thought of how we used to spend our mornings on the docks of Lake Hartwell, drawing warmth from each other. She had always been quiet, mild-mannered, and spent all of her time tending to her garden, her precious plants. She had begged me to give her just a small garden, pleading for a small touch of sunshine. Until that moment, I was so unaware that the emptiness I had left her in each morning had been suffocating her. Moving to the city was the smart move, I had told her. Just a few more years and we would have the money to move back out to the country, back to Georgia.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts as I pressed on through the dark. Though my pace was brisk, there she was again. Huddled over on the third step of an old factory building, her feet pulled up beneath her jacket and the hood loosely pulled down. I couldn’t escape her this time, my gaze frozen as she lifted her head. Her eyes seemed heavy, bloodshot, just the way they were when the sickness had drawn all the life it could from her. I shuddered and looked down as I strode past her, instead watching the grimy water splash across my shoes, soaking into my skin through the holes in my tattered boots.

The crowds had thinned and I now walked alone, beginning to shake from the cold. The jarring breeze scratched my face, the bitter wind yanking my scarf back from my ears, pushing and pulling as if to mock me. The steam from the chimneys rose slowly, and pooled across the sky, obstructing any moonlight from falling on the cobblestones. Darker than most nights, the silence slipped into my mind and sent it careening back towards vicious thoughts I feebly tried to avoid. Sharp droplets had begun to fall from the clouds, pelting down unseen in the dark. Miserable, this cold. The coldest winter in Illinois in decades, they had forewarned last year. Shivering, I sharply turned the corner, the last stretch of road before I was there.

It hadn’t taken long for her body to betray her, a mild cold that quickly turned into more. My lungs, she would gasp to me, they crackle like fire. Her breath became more ragged, her days became shorter as she would lay in bed. She would no longer tend to her small garden, only fiddle with her journal and blankly stare out at the dreary city. I fingered the small tattered black notebook I kept in my pocket, filled with loose thoughts that would come and go from her mind. Maybe if I hadn't lost my job, or had found another in time.. enough to keep the lights on and the hearth warm...it was fruitless to think about what I could have done, because it didn’t happen. I was alone in my grief and thoughts, just as she had been alone in hers.

Lamplight touched me as I slowed to a stop in front of the empty field, the edges disappearing into the heavy hazy fog, the broken fence indistinguishable from the buildings in the distance. My shoes slipped in the mud as I clambered up the uneven steps past the ornate gate and to the back of the graveyard, past the newer and larger headstones adorned with fresh flowers and picked my way through the scrambled and unkempt gravestones near the gnarled trees in the back.

There she was, next to the tree where I had placed my memories of her. She gazed at me with vacant eyes, hair hanging down and collecting the mist in its fine strands. A hollow shadow, she bent her knees to crouch down to touch the small shrine I had slowly compiled in the year without her. Despair seemed easier to come by than happiness these days, and although I wish I could seal my heart up, her pain was worth remembering- after all, it was still a memory of her. Gently, she touched the climbing leaves of the cramped garden and brushed her fingers over the blooming buds. For a moment, a trace of a smile graced her face and just as quick as it came it went. A heartbeat later and she vanished, stepping behind the tree.

I placed the flowers down in front of the garden, and shuffled the soil around so I could place the bulbs in the Earth. As my fingers dug into the dirt, I felt a tough object push back into my hands. An unyielding root? I brushed away the loose muck clinging to the small bag now visible, and wiped my hands hastily on my jacket. Peeking in, my breath caught in my throat. Gingerly, I pulled the cash out of the sack to find more than I anticipated. At least 3 rolls, bunched into this cramped burlap sack. I flipped through the money, now slightly damp, to find twenty thousand dollars. I leaned back on my heels, as shock hit me. I panned the field to see if anyone saw me; was it left for me? For her? Or was it here the whole time? Leaning my head back, I closed my eyes, breathing in the fresh air and the earthy aroma the late night brought.

After some time, I stood and collected what few possessions I had. There was nothing left for us anyway. I stuck a few bulbs in my pocket, pushing my wallet aside and brushing my hand across her journal to check that it was there. I bent to pick up the sack and dusted off my pants. It was time to leave, to go home. We can do it now, I thought, we are going back to Georgia. For the first time in a long time, I allowed myself to be hopeful that things would change for the better. If I hurried, I could make it on the first train out of Illinois before daybreak. I strode back onto the neglected path, down to the gate that still hung open and tumbled down the muddy steps for the last time. Closing the gate behind me, I turned back to look at the tree hoping to catch one more glimpse of her, but there was nobody there.