Chatter Beneath the Cherry Tree

Warning: mentioned character death, implied thoughts of suicide A short look into Kris's grief over her brother's death.

In a large parcel of sweet green grass, not far from tiny old Claretvale’s center, people wandered. Their dark clothes captured the gentle sun, but the softness of the light was lost to them. Death’s frigid weight chilled the too-merry tunes of the birds. Tears slicked cheeks as they glistened in the sunlight, sometimes landing on still, cold stone memorials. There the droplets collected and shone like ice in the sun. 

The girl’s eyes were on the grave, looking at the details. She had memorized every flake of color in the almost soft looking stone. She could describe the way any kind of light reflected off the pastel pink marker. Her mind could vividly recall the way the tombstone looked in any weather, be it snow, rain, hail, or sun. Some would say that she spent too much of her time beneath the pink-blossomed tree, staring at the single grave with a strangeness and too great a longing in her eyes.

“Sorry to do this again. I know I promised I wouldn’t, but I can’t help it.” Her eyes continued to be locked on the stone as she sat down.

The dew-covered grass folded beneath her legs and moistened the dark jeans. Her eyes were on stone, reading over the letters she knew by heart. The first time she learned those letters, she had been so proud of herself. A saddened smile twitched at the edges of her lips as she stretched a hand to brush over the carved letters. M-A-T-H-E-W 

“I could never get it exactly right, could I? Always had one letter backwards.” A choked laugh pushed from her chest. 

Her head dropped, hair cascading around her and hiding her face. Her jaw clenched again as she forced away the sobs that wanted to burst free. Her chest became a cage to trap the cries, just as it had been years past. Brown eyes flicked up to the stone reading the dates: June 25th 1995 - June 24th 2016. She turned her head away, closing her eyes. 

“You were so close. You and him had been talking for weeks about that perfect day.” She raised her arm to her cheek and wiped away the trail of tears there, causing a break in the stream before it turned to a new river. 

Her puffed eyes were closed tight as she leaned onto her one arm planted in the ground. Her whole felt heavy and drained, much like a corpse’s unmoving weight. She pulled her hand away from the cold stone, reaching it blindly into her coat pocket. Quickly, her fingers curled around a sleek object. It was cold against her soft skin, but she did not pay heed to that as her thumb ran over a familiar engraving. Slowly she pulled it out, keeping her fist closed around the item. 

A harrowing, yet strangely quiet, cry lifted into the air as she crumpled forward, curling over her knees. The girl tucked her chin, touching it to her chest as she rested her forehead upon her knees. Her small form began to rock back and forth. 

“They said it’d get easier. Everyone always says time heals. But it’s not! It’s not getting easier. Home just isn’t the same without you. I-I miss you so much.” A loud sniffle broke her speech. Her voice cracked as she continued, “I see you everywhere, and I can’t take it anymore! I needed you then and I need you more now. You were always strong, always there when I needed you, and you said you would be. So, where are you?!” Her hands clenched tighter around her hidden tool. 

Her whole body shook as she sobbed. She gave voice to her grief as she began to cradle herself, rocking on the ground. Her piercing voice carried over the small hills of the cemetery, reaching others who had come to honor their own dead. None wanted to disturb the wail’s maker, for all the townspeople knew who was at the origin. Not a soul could forget little Kristina and her cherry blossom glow, or sweeter-than-sugar laughs, despite their disappearances. Though, they all still cringed when the repeated strident laments reached their ears.

“Where are you?!”

Her knees sank into the ground, closing the gap between herself and the stone, as if sharing a secret. She carefully lifted her closed hand, holding it in front of her like a child would a stolen cookie. She opened it to hold the object flat on her palm, exposing a steel pocketknife. The silvery article glinted harshly in the waving light, reflecting in Kris’s doe-like eyes. She watched the pocketknife intently, almost seeming to think that if she stared at it long enough it would move. 

Her lips parted in a long sigh, thick with the sadness yet to spill from her heart to eyes. Her lashes were heavy with salty tears, so she let her lids rest. A warm feeling greeted her in the darkness, a presence similar to that of an old friend. 

 The air chilled beneath the cherry tree, time seeming to stand still in turn. Kristina’s shoulders drooped as the entirety of her body relaxed, like a rubber band suddenly dropped. but not a care was given to the moisture. Her arms and hands began to shake, quivering like leaves in autumn. 

She felt her pulse speed, pumping blood with a pounding fury. Her chest rose and fell faster, shallower, as her eyes shut tight. Tears rolled down her cheeks wet, glinting in the mocking sun.

She was determined to do this. She had to. 

Her family was broken, lost without its sun to guide it. Her town was dying, drying up due to the loss of its biggest star. Her friends had long since left, migrated onto better companions than herself. Even her longest, oldest, dearest and closest friend was leaving her, needing to run away before he lost himself in the blackness that had consumed her.

The girl’s body flinched away from the gravestone as a cool breeze whipped against her face. She did not want to think about it being Matty, swatting away her knife. It was too late.

“Should’ve shown me you were here earlier. Her eyes remained closed though her features relaxed, . 

The smooth-edged blade caught a stray dapple of sun, reflecting it onto the girls torso, right over her heart. The sun dappled and danced over her, as if attempting to warm the icy flames that had gnawed and burned away the cheery girl she used to be. Her lips curved upwards, 

A shout carried on the wind: “Kris!” 

Warm arms wrapped around her shoulders. A strong hand cradled the back of her head and held it to his chest. Kris leaned into the embrace, letting her cheeks dampen her companion’s shirt without care. She could make no sound as the memories of her loss seeped into her thoughts. The early summer warmth did nothing to thaw the icy pain that clung around Kris. 

She was learning life’s hardest lesson. The price of loving someone is to lose them, to feel a cold, black nothing where they once stood. It is so easy to get lost in that abyss, to get stuck there and never come out. The darkness was not home to Kris. She was lost once, but did not let the frigid pain root her there. Through the pain she continued to care, letting the warmth of her own heart keep her moving on. 

“It’s okay Kris, I’ve got you. I’m not gonna leave you, ever.” A quiet voice cooed in Kris’s ear. 

A louder, less disguised sob cracked in the air. Her body melted into his, exhausted by the pain and weight she had been carrying so long alone. Three years she had been alone, forcing herself away from everyone, and trying to forget the reason for her pain. Kris’s throat shuddered as it released a sound she no longer recognized as her own. She hardly recognized herself; she was not the girl she had been, she could tell that from her lack of friends, lack of family. She pressed her head into Gus’s shoulder harder, squeezing her hands around his t-shirt tighter. 

“Why did Heaven need him? Why did he have to go?” Kris asked as she trembled. 

Her tears tumbled faster and freer than they had in years as Gus allowed his own tears to fall again. His cheeks had stayed dry for one-hundred and seventy-five days. His longest time without tears since the pink stone beneath the cherry tree was planted. He did not want to feed the stone blossom. He had wanted it to dry-up and crack open, revealing Mathew once again whole and happy, and alive. 

A single tear trailed down Gus’s cheek, collecting at his chin. A warm breeze blew, catching the droplet in its gentle grasp, just as he held onto Kristina. Though Gus would never say so to anyone, even on his dying day, the boy could have almost sworn he heard Mathew’s voice on the breeze saying, “Take care of the little cherry blossom, and make sure she’s always blooming.”