Blackbirch Woods

by Meredith Anne DeVoe

  Susan looked hard at her. “Look, you know I’m not the huggy type. But I think you need some serious huggage, and a long talk with someone who really knows you. I feel bad that I can’t do more for you, and to be honest it’s starting to worry me…”

  “Susan, please don’t worry about me. I mean, there’s nothing really wrong.”

  “That’s just it, Violet. You’re smart, you’re thin, you’re pretty, you have great hair with killer highlights and good ends, I mean, what else is there? Oh, and your parents aren’t divorced. There are at least two guys I know of who like you, and you haven’t even noticed. And there is no good reason, so I think you need more than what I can give you. And it’s killing me, ‘cause I like to fix things.”

  Violet looked at Susan, whose wry, crooked smile was emphasized by her dark lipstick. She heaved a sigh and stood. “Susan, I know you don’t like hugs but you’re getting one anyway.” She grabbed her briefly around the neck.

  Susan made a mock-scream. “Aagh, I’m melting! Okay, gotta go to class. Take care of yourself if I don’t see you before I split, all right? I’m going home for the weekend.”

  “Travel safe.”

  After classes and dinner at the dining hall—which was lightly attended because a lot of the students left campus on Fridays—Violet took a walk along the jogging trail that encircled the campus. It felt good just to stretch her legs after sitting in classes and the library all week. At one end of campus, the trail wound through some woods. The trees were just beginning to turn color here and there; asters and goldenrod colored the verges. It was the ragged end of summer, and many of the wild plants were gone to seed and turning brown around the edges. Birds peeped timidly and hunted seeds in the undergrowth; they scattered at her approach.

  It seemed suitable to her mental state, a feeling that everything was dying away; but peaceably and without conflict or pain. If anyone is in Christ, they are a new creation. Old things have passed away, she quoted in her mind, behold, new things have come. She sighed deeply. Passing away, she mused. But where was the newness? That part seemed somehow to be missing.

  A smaller trail branched off the jogging trail into the woods. It was getting late; the sky was gray and the woods wet from recent rain, but the trail beckoned. She followed it where it ran up and across a hill. In a short time it ran between two small rises and wandered out of sight of campus. Violet did not hesitate.

  There was a murmuring brook flowing from higher hills beyond and the trail joined it. Someone had placed an old plank across two rocks as a little bridge. It was damp and mossy, but she crossed it anyway and sat down on the leaves to contemplate the water. A shred of poetry came to mind—

  Water over stones

  Shifting patterns over ancient drones…

  She considered the centuries of water flowing over the streambed; of trees growing and maturing and falling beside it; even of the streambed writhing and changing with the noisy spring flood of snowmelt and then the summer sleepiness, and frozen sleep of winter. She felt lethargic; drawn to the roots of trees that nursed at the breast of the earth. She could smell the wet duff of last year’s leaves that formed a dun carpet over the network of roots and insect trails and tunnels. Without knowing quite how, she was kneeling on the gray-brown carpet, her fingers knotted in the disintegrating leaves and twigs. She had torn the tender carpet and the rents showed deeper brown, richer, more fragrant. She wanted to merge with the peace of that rich brown, because something she loved was found there. To be one with that stillness and cease the endless labor of breathing. To even think now of speech and work and the labor to live and move was unspeakable.

  From a distance, the sound of a siren intruded on the darkening woods. Violet lifted her head, which seemed a great effort. She realized that it would soon be difficult to find her way back to campus without stumbling in darkness. She stood, momentarily light-headed. As she turned away from the stream, a face caught her eye and she looked—no, it was only a burl on a pine tree. Still, it had made her heart skip, and she started down the path.

  She wondered at the strange paths her heart was taking, and knew vaguely that she should be afraid of where they might lead.

  But Violet returned to the place often. After learning the path, she often stayed after dark. It was only then that the sense of lethargy would leave her; a feeling that she could breathe free under bright stars and bare branches. She would stretch her arms and spin and dance, barefoot on the carpet of fallen leaves. Late in the night she would return to her room and doze on and off, tossing restlessly and dreaming of trees, and of shadows that called inexorably to her.

  WEIRD

  Susan shook Violet awake late in the afternoon, fully dressed and curled on her bed.

  “Violet, you have a class to go to. And so do I. So, get up, or stay here, but I gotta go. Ta ta.”

  “Thanks, Susan,” Violet called, struggling awake. She looked at her clock. Like her mother, she was able to snap awake and get going. “And, thanks for that, Mom,” she thought. She searched for her books from the pile on her desk, tugged her blankets back into order on her bed, and headed to class.

  But it was hard to keep alert during class. Her eyes were so heavy. She pretended to be studying her notes but let her eyes close. She felt like a loser, pretending like that. When class ended, she headed for the door. She needed to go to the business office and sign a paper before supper.

  She dozed in the waiting room chair. After signing the form, she started for the dining hall, but realized she was more tired than hungry. She headed back to her room to lie down.

  She woke up abruptly after dark, alert but disoriented and chilled.

  She sat up and realized she wasn’t in her room. Deep azure at the edge of the sky told her that it was just after

  dark. A few stars shone through black tree branches bending overhead.

  She stood to get off the damp, cold ground. She could barely see, but it was as though her other senses were heightened so that she knew the contours of the ground, the trees and branches, even felt leaves falling around her in the light wind. Stars shone in the indigo overhead, and Violet sang with them. She walked the woods for hours, into the very quiet of the night, before returning to her dorm and letting herself in with her swipe key.

  More and more, Violet found staying awake during the day a trial, but nights were alive to her. She went to the nurse because one of her professors suspected mononucleosis, but the test was negative. Still, the nurse prescribed vitamins for day and hot milk before a reasonable bedtime. She fell behind in e-mail and correspondence. She abandoned her quiet time because it was almost impossible to settle down to it before dawn, and afterwards it was too late. Susan and she were like ships passing in the night, hardly seeing each other when awake. She worked on papers all night sometimes, but it was bitter discipline just keeping her body in the carrel and her mind on her work when her heart was singing under the stars, sharp as the nights were becoming.

  It was near the end of the semester when she was searching one morning for something warm to wear that was not too loose around her hips, which were almost sharp with thinness. Her dance teacher admired her stick-like figure, but dance class left her breathless, almost blue in the lips.

  She caught her reflection in the mirror that hung on the back of the door, thrown into relief by the light in the ceiling. Her ribs were visible up the center of her chest, and her cheekbones drawn. She heard Susan coming down the hall, laughing with a friend, and hurriedly drew on a top and yanked a black wraparound skirt from a hanger in the closet.

  Susan flounced in merrily, still laughing. “She lives! Wow, hey stranger. Long time, and all that. Hey, nice skirt. Mine, isn’t it?”

  Violet smiled as she began to brush out her long brown hair. Then she turned, still brushing, to Susan, who was standing in her bathrobe, choosing her own clothes. “Susan, be honest.”

  “With you? Always.”

  “Am I weird?”

  Susan turne
d to look at her to gauge what spirit the question was asked in. She saw Violet’s earnestness. “Violet, I consider myself the queen of weird, so I know whereof I speak. But since you asked, let’s see. You never sleep, except in class. You’re perfectly nice, but you don’t make hardly any friends. You never hang out. And the anorexic look is getting almost scary. People are wondering where you spend the nights and why there are leaves stuck to your sweaters and hair.

  “So yes, Violet, you are weird.” Susan turned back to her dresser to push the drawers closed. “Welcome to the club.” A few minutes passed in silence while Violet braided her hair and Susan put on makeup. Then she continued, “All of that is all right, really; but I did notice dust on your Bible yesterday, and that is definitely not you. And the blue lip gloss. That’s not even Goth, that’s just wrong.”

  “I don’t have any blue lip gloss!” protested Violet. She looked in the mirror and saw that the pallor of her face had a discernable bluish tinge. Whatever is wrong with me, I don’t have time right now. I have classes to go to and papers to finish and maybe on break I can see a doctor. She decided to change the subject, sorry that she had asked. She swiped on dark lipstick that Susan had given her.

  But Susan wasn’t finished. “You know, Bethany is addicted to video games. Felipa is bulimic. Meryl drinks, Meghan and Ashley smoke pot on weekends, Yungjin chats online for like five hours a day with her Korean friends. And me, I’m obsessed with that loser boyfriend who hasn’t even e-mailed in a week. I guess if you’re going to talk weirdness, there are definite shades of it. There’s geek-weird, loser-weird, witchy-weird… some of those are boring beyond belief, others are just sad. I have to say that your personal brand of weirdness is, at least, a little more interesting than some others’. In my humble opinion.”

  Violet was ready to go. She threw an arm over Susan’s shoulder and looked into the mirror with her. “You are a jewel, Susan. I really don’t deserve you.”

  “No, you definitely don’t!” Susan’s repartee followed Violet as she left for class.

  UNCUT

  Violet dozed some toward dawn, and woke up tangled in her sheets and crying again. Susan tossed in her sleep, but her gentle snores told Violet that she was sleeping. Violet slipped out of bed to her knees, weeping whispered prayers into a tissue.

  “O God my Savior, my redeemer and my friend, guide me, Lord. Help me to understand, what are these dreams trying to tell me? What is wrong with me? Guide me, Jesus. Show me the way.”

  Abruptly, Violet’s alarm clock went off. Violet jumped and grabbed the little plastic clock to turn it off. She hadn’t meant to leave it on, she could have slept later on a Friday, but now that she was awake she might as well get up and get a shower while there was still abundant hot water.

  When she returned from the bathroom, Susan was up and getting ready for her own shower. She took one look at Violet and said, “Rough night, eh?”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Not that anyone else will know. Vi, I have something to tell you.” She waited, indicating with her eyes that she wanted Violet to sit down by her on the bed.

  Violet sat down. Susan pulled up the sleeve of her bathrobe. Her arm, white against the black satin, was

  crisscrossed above the elbow, on the inner arm, with pale, thin scars.

  Violet looked at the marks for a moment. Then she realized what she was looking at.

  “I went through a really dark depression last year. A close friend of mine was killed by a drunk driver. My sister got pregnant out of wedlock and moved out, my grandma died of cancer—a bunch of stuff that really sucked all at once. I felt like my life was out of control and like pain was all around me and yet it wasn’t really my pain.

  “But when I cut myself, I felt in control. I felt significant when I saw blood, like I had my life in my hands. And I felt like the pain was manageable, whereas the pain of loss and disappointment was so unmanageable…”

  Violet looked at the crisscrossed, white-on-white marks. They seemed to hold a message. Like letters, W’s. She felt slightly dizzy and drawn to the temptation of blood and pain, drama and relief.

  Then Susan pulled the sleeve down over her white arm.

  “I know what it’s like to hurt. My way of dealing with it was not the best. Kind of sick, actually. Your way may not be as dramatic, but I’m not sure it’s any better. You’re just keeping it all to yourself, and—well, the Bible says we should bear one another’s burdens, so—here I am.”

  Violet pushed lightly against Susan’s arm with her own, and Susan in turn pushed her shoulder against Violet’s.

  “Part of the reason I showed you that too, is that I want to be accountable. I trust you with that. If I get all dark and mopey, promise me you’ll ask me about cutting? Okay? ‘Cause Tristan broke up with me last night. By phone.”

  “By phone? How could he? Susan, I’m really sorry…” Susan sniffed hard, and though her eyes were wet, they didn’t spill over. She looked at Violet.

  “Well, I showed you mine, now you show me yours.”

  Violet looked at her. Despite the wry twist to her lips, Susan was serious. “I shared my pain with you. How about you sharing with me?”

  Violet stood and paced slowly in the little space between the beds and desks. “I’ll do the best I can, Susan. All right, I dream. And there’s someone there, and I want to remember, but, I can’t remember his name… in the dream, he dies, over and over, and there is nothing I can do. Or a strong wind blows him away, or he melts or something.”

  “So there is a guy. A guy whose name you don’t know, and he’s dead.”

  “Right.” She hesitated. “Maybe. You know how when someone you love dies, you feel this black hole where they used to be part of your life? Like a vacuum? It’s like that, but part of what comforts you when you lose someone is the memories you have of the person. I don’t even have that. Just the nothingness.

  “I know how weird that is, trust me, but it gets worse. I, uh… I went all the way with him. For real. Once. This was last summer. I went camping, and he was there, and… I woke up late the next day and I could tell we had done it, but I couldn’t tell you how it happened or anything. I can’t remember how I met him or why in the world I would do something like that.

  “Since then is when I’ve felt so blah. Worse than blah. I feel like something is very wrong, and missing, and I don’t know what it is.”

  Susan reached over and flipped a switch, and her coffeemaker, which she had filled the night before, gurgled to life.

  “Well, maybe he is what’s missing. The guy.”

  Violet stopped.

  “Yes. Yes. It’s him, only, who is he? Why did I do it with him, when I hardly even had a date in high school because I wouldn’t even make out, let alone put out? Why did I save my kiss for that special person, and then let him take it all from me?”

  “Did he drug you?”

  Violet thought hard.

  In her dreams, the face she didn’t see, but felt, was tender and trustworthy, and when they parted she felt loss. But then why could she not recall the face? Or name? What basis was there for trust?

  “I just don’t remember what happened.” She sat back down by Susan and put her face in her hands.

  “In that case… well, draw your own conclusions. Anyway, Violet, you’re not to blame if it isn’t something you consciously consented to. And if he did that to you, I’ll find out who he is myself so I can kill him. Even if he is dead.”

  Violet shook her head. “But I don’t feel that way about him. Whoever he is, he’s… safe. I always trust him.”

  Susan looked thoughtful. “Like Jesus…” she murmured. Violet looked questioningly at her.

  “Y’know, how we say we trust Jesus, we know Jesus, but we don’t really know him. We can’t see him with our eyes or touch him with our hands. But somehow, we know him. ‘Cause of his words, and how he affects our lives…”

  Violet nodded. “’The wind blows wherever it pleases,’ she q
uoted from the Bible. “’You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.’”

  Susan smiled her crooked smile. “I love that, because he’s basically saying we have no way of really getting why he does what he does. We can only stay close, and hopefully get blown along with him.”

  Violet smiled, but looked unconvinced.

  “It’s like that with you, Violet. You don’t know what, or who, is affecting you, but you see the effects on you.”

  Violet bit her lip and nodded thoughtfully. The effects, she thought. Even thinking about it she sensed that draining, dragging feeling. She drew in a long breath but seemed unable to fill her lungs. She saw a buttery glow from the window on her hands that lay loosely on her knees. Then she noticed the time on Susan’s bedside clock.

  “You know, I was praying, asking God for guidance, and you helped answer. And I know you gotta get ready for class, and so do I.” She gave her a soft shove with her shoulder again, and Susan shoved back. They both rose and began preparing for their day, starting with a swallow of coffee.

  “You know what else I thought of,” Violet said as she got ready. “When you lose someone you knew. You want them but you never see them again. It’s the opposite, with Jesus. We’ve never seen him, but we miss him, and we will see him—”

  “—And we will see him face to face. Wow, I never thought of it like that. It’s the opposite of someone dying.”

  Theology 101 was, unexpectedly, one of her favorite classes. She learned things about God not taught regularly from the pulpit, and was encouraged to think outside the box. Violet appreciated the chance to have her thinking challenged. It was not as hard to stay awake during that class period, anyway.

  For her first paper she was reading The Problem of Pain by C.S. Lewis, and she was nearly finished with it. She was tempted at almost every page to stop and reflect, but she had a paper to write, so she was reading faster than she would have liked. She was musing over one statement.