The Ghost of The Other Way

The Ghost of The Other Way

 

The way she lived her life left no room for the blade, or the charm. But, she sung to herself, someone must learn how to love in these places. Beyond the city swelling there were rumors of ghosts of citizens that had yet to be born; haunting the past they will be forced to inherit, and recognize.

 

On the subway between the Madison & York exits there was a ghost with dark hair and dark eyes. He wouldn’t be alive for another 37 years, and he would grow up in this very city, three blocks east and up two flights of stairs.

 

When they made eye contact he remembered her. For someone who memories are nothing but the flashes of what some day will come, remembering, was a new season that rang quickly through his island. They made eye contact, piece by piece, building from the dream upward.

 

He says, “One day I think you will be someone I had known. I remember forgetting you, but nothing else.”

 

She opened her hand and there was the tiny beginnings of a garden; a layer of soil and small blades of grass canopied by half a dozen blue flowers with white centers.

 

“Forget-me-nots.” she said.

 

They got off at the next stop, she held his hands and the garden that grew from her palm was pressed between the pages of their fingers; reading and telling the future history of the other.

 

She says, “I trust you.”

 

“I’ll let you.” he responds.

 

What they  began was a perfect good. Time was the space between them; as she aged, slowly leaving this world behind, his shape was becoming more and more clear, the edges began to form as the date of his birth approached.

 

“I can’t wait to sparkle with you.” she said.

 

He was the wind in her hair and he showed her how.

 

She was the light in his mouth and she let him.

 

They were unable to have children so instead she gave birth to clouds. Small, pale and brand new, he would deliver them and wrap them soft and safe in blankets dipped in warm water, she would hold them to her breast and smile when they began to rain.

 

Life was full even when life was quiet. They painted on clocks and mirrors and told stories to the clouds, now the size of common pillows and circling above their heads. Her hair turned silver and bright and he almost looked real. They forgot about time in the midst of loving it.

 

They realized she was about to die the morning she couldn’t rise from bed and her hands were decorated with too much blood from too much coughing.

 

Hey eyes filled up with tears as she held up her hand, wet and red. “See, I told you we would sparkle.”

 

When she closed her eyes their clouds grew dark and thunder echoed through the house. He stood up straight in the center of the room and began to weep. The clouds circled around him; concealing their father from the world that was not yet his and yet had already required such a toll for crossing.

 

He opened the window and kissed each cloud goodbye, they floated away slowly, half rain, in mourning.

 

He looked at her with the look only given by those who have truly seen each other.

 

He laid down beside her with the ease and familiarity that only love can teach. He fit well there, in that place between the world that is known and the world that is finding out.

 

His body took shape and was birthed across town and up two flights of stairs, but when his eyes opened it was not a look of panic or fear; his stare searched for empty subway cars that were filling up with gardens, his ears listened to the thunder that resembles her heartbeat when she comes, his hands clenched for a future that can haunt a past, and he remembered.

Reviews

[livicote]

This is lovely. I like your use of forget-me-nots and gardens. I love forget-me-nots so much c:

[mikl paul]

thank you! i won't forget.