Lay Me Down in a Field of Flowers

Who was the man that she never saw? Where did he go while she lived in that room? Did she love him, or did she grow to love him?

I kept looking out the window, every day. Just to hope and see if he would come. I wait-ed at least a week like that, lying on my bed in the four corners of a room that served as my home when he came back to our house. It was a plain space, with just the basics of furniture and a fireplace, but I suppose that wasn’t true when you took in the lace decoration and murals on the walls. He said I could have whatever I desired, if I were to just ask.

So I asked for a doll, a china doll, like the one I always wanted. The next day, it was sit-ting on the table by the window before I woke.

I asked for a warmer blanket, and when I awoke my body was envelope by a cozy down comforter.

I did not push for anything extravagant, however, like gold jewelry or fine food, even though I knew I had that power. But I did ask for the simple luxuries �" more wood in the fire, a mirror and hair brush, and every once in a while, a toy. The man gave me little trinkets and things to balm my burning need to learn and be creative, and so I was satisfied.

He never showed himself to me, only talked through the door. But his voice was sweet and soothing, and I felt safe. Sometimes he went away and left me in the room for a couple of hours, sometimes for days. During that time, I was allowed to roam the house as freely as I wished. And when he came back, I would always ask him where he had been and what he had done, and he would tell me of wonderful adventures.

Whether they were real or not, I never knew.

He’s gone again today. Not a speck of him to be seen. Out of hunger and boredom, I go to the kitchen and look in the fridge for something to eat. Once I have my fill, I go back to the room, shut the door, and play with my doll.

I must have fallen asleep, because now I can hear his voice and the only light is the simmering embers in my fireplace. It’s called throughout the house, ringing, “hello? Anyone there?”

“Is that you, sir?” My body cracks to life as I shoot up in bed.

“Ah, darling! Is that you?” his voice is full of delight.

“Yes! I’m in my room.”

“Good girl. Stay there �" I’m coming up.” I hear the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs and through the corridor to my door. “How have you been, my little tot?” his voice is kind and friendly.

“I’ve been fine, sir. What did you do when you were away?”

“Ha, I had a feeling you’d ask that…” and he goes on to tell me a tale of a faraway land that took two days to get to, and a wonderful city that was home to a royal family, much adored by its people. As he spins those honey-sweet words, I begin to daze off because it is late into the night and neither of us pay the time a cent. My eyelids droop. Halfway between sleep and consciousness I hear his voice drop, the door open, and a careful figure pulls the blanket over me so I can sleep warm. “Goodnight, darling.”

He hasn’t seemed much like himself lately. When he talks, it’s like hearing an echo from an empty shell, or a shell that’s badly cracked. He still takes good care of me, but something seems wrong with him. Maybe it’s just a cold.

I’ve heard a lot of coughing coming from places in the house. It’s scary. The hacking is some-times wet and other times like nails. I’ve tried to question what is wrong with him, but he al-ways just says, “don’t worry, my little tot, I’ll be fine.”

He opened the door today. I thought I was going to faint seeing the tall man with long hair and a longer wool coat, but before the fear settled in he wrapped his hands on my shoulders and that voice soothed my quickening breaths. He wore a scarf on his face, and the only features I could see were his eyes and brows. He told me to come with him. So I followed. We went down the corridor, down the stairs, and out the front door. How long had it been? The air is…warm. It’s still a cloudy day hours later.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Somewhere,” he said plainly.

“Where is somewhere?”

“You’ll see when we get there.”

We walked for quite some time before coming to the edge of the forest. I stopped and looked uncertainly into the woods. When he noticed that I wasn’t following anymore, he paused and turned on his heel, looking at me with those cold but burning eyes. “Are you afraid?”

I nodded.

His eyes softened and he held out his hand. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m right here, and I won’t let anything happen to you �" just like always.” So reluctantly, I took his hand for the first time in so long. It was warm?

We walked through the trees until eventually coming to a clearing in the middle of the forest. A space filled with flowers of all types. For a moment we didn’t move further, just gazed out at the beautiful picturesque before us. Then he squeezed my hand and we walked again.

When we came to the middle of the clearing he sat down one the vibrant grass, looking so pale and fragile against the (Autumn? Spring?) backdrop, and then…

He buried his face in his hands and moaned.

“By God, what’s wrong?” I demanded, shaking him. I never demanded anything of him. After a sob and a moment of agony in which my heart thudded louder than it had in my life, he took my hand and stood. It looked very hard for him to do, as though his legs were made of jel-ly. The man sighed, looked away, and said in the softest voice I had ever hear him say, “I want to be buried here.”

Shatter. “What?” my jaw slackened.

“Bury me here when I’m dead.”

A scream. “But you’re not dying!” I cried in denial.

“Yes, I am.” He looked so pained it almost made mine seem like nothing. “I’m about to leave this world, and I know I have no right �" but I ask you to do me one last act of kindness and bury me, in this exact spot where we are.”

“But�" “

“Please!” he begged suddenly, looking at me so…human. I could see the tears running down from his eyes. A façade of an innocent game. Gone. “Please,” he said more softly, heart-wrenchingly soft. Who am I?

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Okay.”

He sighed. “Good.” Then he laid down on the earth, bringing me with him, and our hands were clasped together. Me and this man, laying in a field of flowers at the end. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“I forgive you,” I breathed.

The man sighed one last time �" a sigh that meant if didn’t know if it was Heaven or Hell, but knew there was something waiting. I think I was his only comfort, me and my forgiveness. “I love you.” That voice said he made peace.

Then…

He was gone.