by Rei Fletcher
"Oh. Oh yes!" He tilted his head back exultantly. "Oh, this is magnificent! This is the sound of a young heart."
He stood, pulling her to her feet. "Show me, Marianne."
Every time she came to visit he said she should dance. The lights loved it, but she always refused. Tonight, maybe because it wasn't really dancing, it just felt like venting, she let herself get drunk on the music.
They rampaged, dancing with the lights in the middle of all the cottonwood fluff. She could dance forever, raging against the shitty trailer and Bobby and his indifference that wasn't even bad enough to be bullshit and her stupid hometown and why couldn't she have been a little smarter? Or faster? Why couldn't she get out? She flung herself around until she was dizzy, feverish with it.
Ewan took her hands. She looked up into his steady gaze, shaking her hair out of her eyes.
"This is a song I've heard before. It calls the young men to war. It whispers all the evil of the world and demands righteous blood to flow."
War. A face flickered across her mind. Someone—
He squeezed her hands gently. His smile was wide and sharp. Strangely wide. She flinched. Behind him, the trees seemed to tremble. The horizon, ragged with distant hills, grew thin, and something moved behind it. She shuddered.
"Don't be afraid, Marianne. Everything that you feel is yours. It's as beautiful as your eyes, and your hair, and your song. Give it free rein. It feeds the light in you. Your moment is as short as a heartbeat and as intense as the sun."
He cupped her face in his hands. She felt a tremor of misgiving. His face was so close to hers. Her lungs emptied, and she couldn't draw another breath. Her arms fell by her sides.
Don't
"Share it with me. All of your light, like a shooting star."
No
She sucked in a breath and staggered back. He released her. She thought he might be mad. He only smiled and sent her off to dance again.
She kept looking over her shoulder as she left, until the trees were just trees, again. The feeling of the place filled her, following her into sleep.
"Marianne!"
Her eyes snapped open. Her mom straightened up, concern collapsing into irritation.
"How much did you drink last night?"
"Nothing." She covered her eyes. The morning light was merciless. She was exhausted, and her neck ached like she'd been headbanging.
You were.
"Is it drugs?"
"Nothing. I didn't do anything last night. I just stayed home."
"Bullshit. I heard you come in at three this morning."
She didn't remember coming home. "I wasn't drinking. I wasn't doing drugs."
She waited to see which direction she'd go.
"Well, you don't stink." She heard her retreat into the hall. "It's almost noon. You have work today, don't you?"
The sounds of cooking reached her, followed by bacon smells, and the toaster popped. Her stomach growled. Then she heard the shower come on.
Her mom was at the stove. Smoke curled up from the ashtray. There was a pack of Players beside her mom's usual Du Maurier.
"Who's here?"
"John. You remember? I told you about him awhile ago. The man from the garage near work."
A guy from a garage.
"You went out?"
"I wanted to celebrate. Don't worry! He paid." Her mom's good mood persisted. "I think the interview went great." She smiled, reaching around to pick up the ashtray. "He's a nice man. Please."
She didn't say what she was asking for. Marianne retreated to her room, perching on the edge of her bed. The sound of voices, too low to understand, reached her. Her eyes fell on the family portrait on her dresser. They were wearing their Sunday best in it, of course, but her dad always wore a suit to work.
She got ready, packing up her bag. There was mud on the bottom of it. She pulled out her CD player. When she hit play the disc started to spin.
"Marianne, come eat."
She shoved the player back into her bag.
Her mom's new boyfriend was sitting in Marianne's usual chair. An empty plate sat awkwardly where the mail and flyers were normally stacked, under the phone. He was older, bald, with a tidy beard to make up for it. A crisp plaid shirt was buttoned up over a T-shirt. As soon as she appeared he stood up with a friendly smile.
"Hey. I'm John. You must be Marianne. Your mom told me all about you."
Her mom's eyes were hopeful. Pleading.
"Nice to meet you." They shook hands, and she thought he felt about as awkward as she did, judging from his little smile.
"I made breakfast," her mom chirped. "There's enough for all of us."
"I have to get to work."
"It's really good. Are you sure you can't stay?" John sat again. "It would be great to talk to you."
"Yeah. Sorry. I can't lose this job."
"Sweetie? Are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine."
"You just look really pale."
She took a breath. Her mom sounded so much like she remembered from when she was little.
"You know me. Fish-belly white."
"Okay. Maybe you could come home right after work tonight? We'll watch a movie or something."
She looked out the window, towards the driveway and the trees, full of longing. A flash of memory came to her, and her good feeling wavered. It was just a smile. Why didn't she want to smile in return?
"Yeah. Maybe that'd be cool."
"I got a great movie collection," John said. "I could bring something over."
"Sure. Sounds great."
Her mom looked so happy.
She didn't look at the trees when she walked past. It was just a smile.
She was feeling decidedly lightheaded by the time she got to work. Long shifts alone pretty much sucked, but one advantage was that no boss was hanging over her. She made herself a burger, piling on the pickles, wolfing it down before a customer came in.
The sun dropped down behind the hills. Heat vanished with it, and the cold dampness crawled in. She shivered when she ran the garbage out to the dumpsters. Behind the parking lot, the details of the hills melted away into toothy silhouettes, chewing away at the deep blue sky. She watched the trees sway, wishing—
Something had been behind those trees. Like something had been behind his smile.
The bell rang above the door, announcing a customer. She slammed the dumpster lid down and jogged back inside.
"Sorry! Garbage run. Just let me wash my hands and I'll be right with you."
The dark-haired woman at the door nodded. Marianne stopped short, frowning.
"What is it?"
"You look familiar."
"Do I?" She leaned forward slightly, dark eyes wide and intent. Her voice teased at the back of Marianne's mind. She couldn't grasp it, though, and the whatever-it-was, the not-quite-memory, vanished completely. She blinked. The woman's eyes were totally normal. She was normal.
"Sorry. I might be going crazy."
"Do I look like a good familiar person?"
She had an accent. It sounded exotic. Marianne scrubbed the smell of garbage off her hands.
"Nicest face I've seen all day."
"I bet you say that to all the customers."
Marianne snorted. "Okay, no, not to the people who come in here. What can I get you?"
"Coffee, please."
"Anything to eat?"
"Not just now."
Pale, with full red lips. Her hair looked as soft and shiny as a shampoo commercial. Maybe she knew her from TV? She had a leather jacket with her and wore jeans that clung to her hips and a plain white tank top. She wasn't dressed the way Marianne imagined a rich person did. She shook her head, turning her attention to the coffee. "You're not a local."
"Nope. Travelling back through. I was heading up to Alaska, but it is damned cold."
"Alaska…"
"Bit of America just to the right of Siberia."
"Right. Forgot. Well, if it's too col
d for you now, it's a good thing you're turning around."
The woman nursed her coffee, filling the empty hours with idle chatter. What was irritating in old ladies and truckers now ended up making the time fly. She told amazing stories. How old was she? In her twenties, maybe, but she had a hundred years of stories, it seemed like. Marianne leaned against the counter, folding and refolding her rag, trying not to ask too many questions. Like a rube.
"You travel a lot."
"I do."
"I've never even been to the next province over. I was hoping for a school back east."
She leaned forward. Marianne watched her fingers fold together on the counter. The tank top was only a little paler than she was, and the shadows at her collarbones tinted almost blue. "What would you study?"
"Um. I wanted to study lit or history or something, but probably something practical. Maybe in forestry or computers. Something where I could get a job right after graduating."
"I like history, myself."
"European?"
"I spent some time there, exploring it all."
"It must be cool to be surrounded by old things."
"Old things, new things. You can find interesting things anywhere."
"Not here."
"Don't sell yourself short."
"Me?"
"Sure."
Marianne laughed awkwardly, tracing a pattern between the gold-toned speckles of the laminate. Like stars.
"Well, I want to leave, too. Then it will be shit out of luck. Pardon my French." She made up a batch of fries and offered a plate on the house.
"You rebel."
"They owe me for all the bathroom breaks I don't get." She looked at the clock. "Eat fast, though."
"Closing up?"
"My shift's nearly over," she said apologetically.
"Pity."
She thought of her mom waiting at home with John. Or there was the forest and the lights.
Just a smile.
"Are you all right?"
"Yeah. Yeah, sure." She laughed. "Going crazy, remember?"
The woman set the plate halfway between the two of them, offering to share. They made quick work of it. Marianne asked if she'd ever been to Italy. The woman treated her to a story about exploring the catacombs of Rome that lasted until the sound of a familiar pickup announced Todd's arrival.
"Your relief?"
"The night guy."
"Hm. Well, since the company is leaving, I'll take myself off to my own little nest."
"I bet you have some miles to go tomorrow."
"I think I might stay a few days. I hear you can see the northern lights."
"Not in the summer!"
"A few months then," she laughed. "It's an interesting place."
Chapter 4
She fell asleep on the sofa before Groundhog Day was over. Her mother had to prod her gently to get her to move.
"Time for bed, kiddo. Sorry to wake you."
"Bit too big to carry in," John said, then looked embarrassed. "Sorry. Did that sound weird? Sorry."
"No. Doing it, maybe. That would be weird."
He laughed. Her mom's whole face lit up. She looked like that a lot when he was around, which had been every night lately. He hadn't been kidding when he said he had a good movie collection. It was pretty easy to give in to her mom's little nags to hang out. Nothing but popcorn and movies. And excuses not to go back to the meadow.
She stumbled to the bathroom to brush her teeth, Ewan's smile lingering in the back of her mind. The mark on her neck was completely gone. Flawless. Was that fast? She paused, mouth foamed with toothpaste, and ran her fingers over it. Did she believe Bobby when he said he didn't do it? He could have even driven her home and ended up back out there. She wished she could remember, but whatever happened between pulling on her jeans and waking up at home was gone.
She flopped into bed, falling asleep quickly. It was one of those strange sleeps, though, full of weird dreams that she remembered, or at least remembered experiencing while she was in them. This time crying followed her from one to the next, mournful, endless, and comfortless, and it echoed in her ears when she woke.
She'd forgotten to close her blinds again. Moonlight plated the room in silver, making everything slightly different than itself. Slightly better. Threadbare, worn, old, discoloured: all of it was hidden beneath a soft sheen.
The feeling of not-quite-real followed her through her silent dressing and sneaking out to pull on her boots. John's snores rattled down the narrow hall, paused, then started up again. She closed the door and shivered her way to the drive, then pushed into the trees.
The light was there, only it was faint, pulsing sluggishly, almost dying out entirely at times. Branches snagged and grasped at her hair and clothes. Before long she started to pant, sweating with the effort, while the light dipped and dulled away to a fitful smudge. She moaned, frustrated, slapping at a branch that dragged across her face. There was no way to even tell if she was still going in the right direction.
Idiot.
She stopped on the edge of a shallow dip. It felt like she'd come too far. It should be easier by now. The other lights should be here. The warm wind should be blowing.
"Please. Where are you? I'm trying." Nothing moved. She couldn't see the light anymore.
"Please. I'm lost. Please."
She wiped the sweat out of her eyes, turning around, then again. Nothing was familiar. Panic made it hard to breathe.
"Please. I'm lost. Please help me."
Her eyes burned, and she swiped at them, refusing to cry. She didn't cry. Not over something stupid like this.
It isn't stupid. It's...magic. Like books. It's important and you fucked it up. You have one chance to have something special and you fuck it up like you did the scholarships.
She told the vicious little voice to shut up like always. Eventually, it fell silent, and the hysterical wave subsided.
The light crept toward her in timid fits and starts. Suddenly she could breathe again.
"It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm sorry. I want to go back."
She reached out. It flitted behind a tree. It was so dim that it might as well have been steam off a kettle. It drifted toward her again, and it felt like steam, too, when her fingers brushed through it. She felt an impact, knocking the air out of her. The light flared bright, and when it calmed again it looked more like itself. It swirled around her, and a warm wind followed with it.
It was easier to move forward, then. Not like it had been other times, but better. The light stayed by her side like a puppy, or a little kid, eager to show off. The way began to clear until at last, she came to the cottonwood tree.
It wasn't a green place anymore. Dried seed pods caught in the grass, rattling to free themselves from fragile traps. The tree glowed with the turning of the season. Though the wind felt warmer, it was full of the smell of berries left to ripen too long on the branch, and the mouldering smell of fungus on decaying logs. It felt like September. Her boots crushed leaves into the mud. When the yellow grass clutched at her it left wet trails against her clothes.
Ewan slumped at the base of the tree, cradled by old roots that had erupted from the dirt. He was so motionless that she thought he might be dead. His face was turned away, toward the bubbling creek. The light hovered at his feet, twitching worriedly. Marianne hesitated, then forced herself to walk to him.
"Ewan?"
The light flared. She wiped her hand on her jeans and touched his arm.
His head moved, turning to face her. His bright eyes were sunken. His skin looked waxy.
"Marianne." It was barely a whisper. She shivered. "I thought you'd gone away."
"I'm sorry. I just...I was busy."
"Ah, the world outside is so cold."
She looked around the clearing. "What happened? Are you sick?"
"I'm part of this place. I live and die as it does."
"Die? You're dying?"
He smiled faintly. "So it s
eems."
"But you said you were...I thought you were old. Like...magic." She felt like an idiot saying it out loud.
"Nothing can live alone, and we've been alone so long." He touched her hand, just resting it there. It was warm and pleasant. She looked for the other lights, not quite pulling her hand away, and his hand remained.
"They've gone?"
"They're here, just very weak. We were waiting for you. They were so excited." She felt a stab of guilt. "You can help them if you want."
"How?"
"The way you helped the first one." He nodded at the light dancing about his feet. "She'll guide you to them."
The lights had only ever been nice to her, and happy. Joyous, she thought. It was a word she'd read in English class but never really seen in person before.
"Okay. Okay, I'll help. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She got to her feet. The light shivered and flickered ahead, leading her down to the creek. It was clogged with red leaves from the bushes that crowded its shore upstream. One of the lights hovered like a mist over it. She looked over her shoulder, and while she couldn't see Ewan, it felt like he could see her.
She stretched out her hand. The first light swooped out, herding the second mist to the bank, where Marianne waited.
It touched her and she felt that kick again, strong enough to make her stagger. Her foot landed in the creek, icy water flooding into her boot. She scrambled back, swearing, but before she had time to dwell on it the two lights were pushing her on to the next one.
By the time she found the last of them, she felt like she hadn't slept in days. They leaped and danced around her as she tripped over the grass on the way back to the cottonwood tree. At first she thought it was a trick of her eyes, but no: green was spreading out into the meadow from where she was. Already the cottony puffs spun in the air, just like it had before. Her legs felt heavy. God, she wanted to sit down.
Ewan appeared so suddenly that it was like magic. Surprise and exhaustion made her stumble back, but he was there to take her arm. He helped her to sit against the tree. His face was flushed and healthy again. She rubbed her eyes.
"You have no idea of the gift you've given us."
"Glad I could help."
He put his arm around her shoulders. She sat stiffly; she was tired, and it would be so nice to lean, but it seemed weird.