Square toed and flat-footed,
You appeared to me as
My guardian angel
Leading me along
The dust tracks
In the road &
Back to the meaning
Of myself
After you left I packed up the car, Martha, and drove 13 miles, back to the place we used to call home. The dusty uneven roads rocked the truck, but she held up as I pulled into the driveway. The palm trees must’ve missed your tender trimming because they’ve grown outwards and wild like roots in the sky. They slapped against my open windows as I parked, and one of the sharp dried leaves scraped my left cheek, causing a line to grow red against my skin as my flesh was slightly exposed to the outside air. I parked Martha under the shade of the newly formed canopy and stepped out into the sticky late summer air, my sandals sliding against the pebbles and dried mud.
*****
On the second night I smoked a cigarette. I hadn’t smoked one since the one we smoked in Tennessee three summers ago. I was afraid I’d forgotten how but as soon as the bud touched my lips and I inhaled the sweet smoke, memories came flooding back and I felt my body relax and soften into a state I hadn’t felt in a long time. I peered up on the orange moon and deep purple sky and allowed the smoke to escape my lips and fly. Within the loops of the smoke I saw ballet dancers and a couple making love under the stars. I closed my eyes and hummed a song I couldn’t remember the name of. Maybe it was something Dad sang, on the nights where he begged for forgiveness. Forgiveness from Mom for hurting her again, forgiveness from us for disappointing us again. Those nights have always clung tight to my memory, along with the thoughts of crying in your arms while we heard him yelling and the sound of the door slamming behind him.
I missed your voice that calmed my nerves. I missed your arms that melted tension like ice cubes on summer's skin. Coming here I hoped to feel you, I hoped your presence would come to me like a ghost. As even though you passed along somewhere else, this was your home. Our home. This was the palace where we shared secrets and harbored our imperfections as one. Your lies were my lies, my truths were your truths. This was the place where we painted each other's toes and washed each other's hair, as Mom’s hands were too bruised to hold up our curls against the facet. This was the place we vowed to never come back to, but adopted once Mom was dragged from the bed she swore she would never leave. This was the place Dad built with her hands and destroyed with his wickedness and thick love. I listened for your voice in the trees that swayed in the wind and I felt your arms around me in the heavy quilt from your bed.
On the third night I saw you. At first, I wasn’t sure if my dreams had clouded my sanity, or if it was truly you. I rose from the cool sheets and reached for the glass of water by my bedside. The now room-temperature water awakened my dry cracked lips and my tongue regained moisture. I stood slowly and took three quiet steps to the open window that looked out onto the water. The curtains in my room waved from the night's baby breath, and there you were. In the glow of the moonlight, floating above the crystal lake in the same white dress I left you in. My angel. My heart panged and I refrained from blinking, fearful you would disappear if I shut my eyes for even a second, and it would all have been a dream. I ran from my room, out the front door not bothering to slip into my sandals, towards your floating spirit. I pulled up my nightgown to my hips and hopped over roots that were peeking out from the underneath soil. My feet snapped against twigs and the callused bits of my heel were sliced from the rugged stones. But I didn’t care nor did I notice, because there you were. Your black skin shone purple and glossy and your dress was as pure as the days when we used to run circles around each other like wild horses in eastern European fields. I darted into the water, millions of bumps instantly covering my skin due to shock of how icy the lake was. The deeper I got, the more of a struggle it was to continue on as my dress was absorbing water and slowing me down. Without thinking my hands met my back and fumbled with the buttons on my gown and swiftly I released myself from the hold of the dress. Slipping out of it and allowing my legs to kick freely like a frog as I swam deeper to where you’re remained floating above the water. Completely naked, the cool water touched parts of my body I had neglected due to despair. Once I was nearly below you, you looked down and peered into my eyes. I looked at you stunned, but not fearful, not even as you came down closer to me till the point where our noses were nearly touching but still you floated inches above the water. You released a chilling breath that poured from your mouth into my nostrils and warmed parts deeper within me, parts that had felt cold for days. Our eyes were locked like pinkies and in that very moment I tasted hope.
On the fourth night, I made a peach pie. I picked the peaches from the sweet peach trees that grew outside your room. As I plucked the fruit I peered into your window, I had left your pale blue shutters open because at night, doves always flew in and slept in your empty sheets. Their company was charming and their chirps brought life to the house. I swore I saw you again, glazing over the books on your shelves, stopping at one beaten red leather copy of Parable of the Sower, the one you bought in Charlotte. I smiled at you softly before you disappeared again and I continued to pick the fruit.
*****
Inside, I rinsed the sliced peaches with Dad’s knife, then placed them in a cast iron skillet along with lemon juice, brown and white sugar, nutmeg, cinnamon and butter. I watched the butter melt and mix with the sugar and spices, the sauce browned and the peaches caramelized turning a deep orange color. A warm nutty aroma infiltrated the air, and outside the wind sung. I stirred the pan then turned the heat down and left it to simmer as I rolled out the pie crust made from cold butter, flour, ice water, and salt. You never liked pie with a bottom crust so once I was done rolling the dough, I poured the peach mixture directly into a ceramic pan and placed the crust on top of it. Carefully cutting 7 slits across the top of the pie and sprinkling it with coarse sugar before placing it in the oven for thirty minutes till the top turned golden brown.
I ate it with sweet vanilla ice cream, churned from the pale yellow ice cream maker that sits under the kitchen sink. She sat in the window sill all morning and through the afternoon while I sat by the river. My feet in the water and my core exposed to the mud and natural sunlight. I pulled my dress up to my waist and took off my straw hat, propping my shoulder on my knee and leaning to the right, letting my feet dig deeper into the moist soil and fanning my face with my hat. Underneath the willow tree I sat for two hours, just allowing the rocking water to caress my toes as I played with the hairs on the back of my neck. I twisted and untwisted tight coils around my index finger.
*****
Across the lake, I watched little girls play in frilly sunday dresses their mothers dressed them in. With bows in their hair and white socks, they chased each other back and forth across the grassy fields. They reminded me of the little girls we once were. Of the secrets we once told each other under the sheets when we were supposed to be asleep, of the promises we made over candlelight. Of the time we took the train to Maine just so you could see the east coast beaches. I remembered how beautiful you were as you ran up the sandy shore, the breeze blowing against your face causing your pressed hair to flap like doves in the wind. The cold sun gleaming down on your brown skin causing you to shimmer like the waves in the distance. You wore a green sundress and mine was blue. You turned your back on the direction you were running to face me,
“You’ll never catch me!” you screamed, then continued running as I desperately chased behind you.
Across the lake there was laughter and innocence, like the kind we brewed together. Under that willow tree I thought of you, as I know I will for the rest of my life.
*****
At the house, I spent 5 days in solitude and reflection. I thought of your laugh and how it warmed my soul, like tanning backs against the sun, or exposed shoulders in the summer. I thought of your body so cold, in your queen sized bed, your eyes shut softly, a book beside you and your hands placed gently on top of your belly. I thought back to the ear shattering scream I released into the atmosphere as I ran to your bedside. Grabbing your fermented hands and holding them against my cheek.
“My sister” I sobbed “My angel, my sister.” My body shook violently and the light around me seemed to be closing in, but my eyes remained locked with yours, even though I could not see them.
“My angel, my sister.” I repeated,
“My angel, my sister.” I said for the third time, then the fourth, then the sixth, then the twenty first, until my mouth was only moving and no sound was coming out. I rocked back and forth on my knees, tears frozen in my eyes but they never fell. I sunk into a state of shock and stayed there for 3 days. Rocking on the hardwood floors, holding your limp hand, and never blinking. I was only woken from this shock when Rudy came home, and I greeted his confused face with a scream as loud as a train's air horn. I screamed for two more days, and they pulled me from you after the first.
On the fifth day I packed up Martha once again, from within the car I took another look at our old home. At the red bench we wrote our names under and stone towers we built when we didn’t feel like being inside. And at you, as you stood there under the willow tree. Staring at me with your glistening amber eyes, your smile lines flexed and the skin at the corner of your eyes wrinkled as you beamed. You twisted and spun around yourself twice, throwing your hands in the air and giggling. Your giggles were consuming and contagious as they shook your body and traveled to mine, causing me to chuckle slightly as I watched you dance. Always to no music.
“Go!” you said, waving me away with the tips of your fingers “I’ll be fine.”
And I left you there, under the willow tree, in your white dress, dancing and spinning, then disappearing from my sight.
Square toed and flat-footed,
You appeared to me as
My guardian angel
Leading me along
The dust tracks
In the road &
Back to the meaning
Of myself
