A Symphony of Cicadas

Eighteen



John came home after a grueling day of work in the summer heat. He kicked off his shoes at the door to keep from tracking dirt any farther than the entry way of the apartment, shedding clothes piece by piece as he walked up the stairs to his room. At the top of the stairs, he tried to ignore the view of Sam’s room from the corner of his eye, though it was getting harder and harder to do in the emptiness of the house. His son’s room was added to his list of ghosts that haunted him, sitting as it did beside the ghosts that lay within the door of Joey’s room.

It had been just over a year and a half since my death, and a year since Sam had moved out. At times, John felt like time was passing at a rapid pace. Other times it stood too still. He was glad he would soon be free from the clutches of the apartment, fleeing the memories and starting fresh when he moved to the finished house in San Anselmo. The whole apartment was packed up, save for the few belongings he still needed in his day-to-day life – as well as the contents behind the door of Joey’s room.

This forbidden area of the apartment had become something like a shrine since my departure, unseen by human eyes since Sam had moved out. While John refused to view the contents of the room, Sam had often gone in there when he lived in the room next door, rifling through Joey’s video games and belongings in secret, just in case there was anything of interest to him.

I also visited the room. Often I would find a hollow sense of solace among the clothes on the floor, the unmade bed, Joey’s things strewn below boxes of my things. His smell still existed in the walls and the bedding, and I would sit for hours, days, weeks, just pretending I still held a connection with my son. I had given up on finding him in this divide, knowing that when it was time, if it would ever be time, he would find me instead.

As John showered, his mind drifted to Joey’s room. He knew he needed to do something with the room, but wasn’t sure if he could bring himself to open the door and face all the things he’d packed in there to keep my memory at bay. While it hadn’t worked – I haunted him even when I stopped trying to do so – he found comfort in knowing the solid proof of my existence was hidden behind a closed door.

But he couldn’t move from the house until he had packed up everything. And that included Joey’s room. He needed to decide what to give up forever, and if anything within that room would make it to the new house. He knew this was a task he couldn’t do on his own.

John finished his shower and dried off with hurried movements. I knew who he was going to call before he even picked his cell phone up off his bed.

“Can you come over? I need your help with her things,” he said without even saying hello.

“Of course,” Sara replied.

He’d only seen Sara a handful of times since he came home from the hospital eight months earlier. She had helped him to settle in to the apartment, but he made it clear that he was okay to take care of himself. Sam had stayed with him for a while back then to help monitor him until he could get back on his feet. And because of Sam’s involvement, his ex-wife, Wendy, had lost the iciness she’d developed in the beginning stages of their divorce, and made herself available to him should he need any help.

Still, Sara called every now and then just to check in on him. He had let her calls go straight to voicemail each time. Then he listened to them as soon as his phone signaled a message, hearing my voice within hers as she let him know she was thinking of him and hoped everything was going okay.

The intent wasn’t lost on Sara, either. She knew he was avoiding her. She tried to respect the distance he was keeping, but she couldn’t help but feel disappointed in the wall between them. Kevin had since moved out, and she was forced to be away from her girls every weekend as a result of the custody arrangement. She tried to immerse herself in work to keep from going crazy in the empty house on the days they were gone. But the evenings felt unbearable as she ran out of things to pick up, dirty dishes to clean, unmade beds to make, and a bathtub void of bubbles and giggling girls.

It was on those nights she called John, even just to hear his voice in his message on the phone, giving her a sense that she wasn’t alone.

The doorbell rang thirty minutes later, and John let Sara in. He gave her a quick hug, turning his face far away from hers in their embrace.

“Thank you for coming over,” he said.

“Anytime!” she exclaimed. Both of them moved around each other with caution, acting as if this were more of a first date instead of a friend helping a friend. “So what’s going on?” she asked.

“Well, you know how I’m moving?” he asked, and she nodded

“You want me to lift heavy furniture, don’t you?” she joked. “I knew these muscles would curse me one day.” He chuckled with her, grateful for the break in the tension.

“Not exactly. But I do need you to move some things with me, specifically Rachel and Joey’s things,” he said in an apologetic tone. Sara smiled in reassurance and nodded. He led her up to Joey’s room and took a deep breath at the closed door. With great force, he turned the knob and pushed the door open, the boxes behind it shifting so that a few things fell over in the process. “Oops,” he said, wincing.

Sara moved past him and looked around. Step by step she maneuvered through the crowded room, taking in every single thing that had ever been mine. John, on the other hand, kept a safe distance on the outside of the door.

“Wow,” she said after she drank it all in. “This is everything, isn’t it?” John nodded, running his hands through his hair in embarrassment. “Have you even been in here since Rachel died?” she asked.

“Just to put stuff in here as I found it. Other than that, no. I couldn’t bring myself to give anything of hers away. But I couldn’t look at it anymore, either,” he admitted.

Sara moved a few of my belongings around in a box, seeing glimpses of me in things she recognized, running her curious hands over the things she didn’t, and feeling overwhelmed by the task as a whole. She was beginning to regret even answering her phone when John called. But she could also tell that if the physical task of this job seemed daunting to her, the mental portion of it might be impossible for John.

“Did you want to do this together? Do you think you can handle deciding what goes and what stays?” she asked him. He nodded, though the look in his eyes lacked conviction.

“I, uh… I was thinking we should just get rid of it all. I can’t keep any of it. It’s too painful. But I figured that if there was anything in here that you wanted… You know, since they were your family and all.”

Sara started to protest at this, sure that there was something in here that he wanted to hold on to. But when she looked at John’s face she could tell he’d been haunted enough. Keeping anything around would only serve as an anchor for that ghost that wouldn’t allow him to move on.

It would keep me from allowing him to move on.

I watched as they rifled through my belongings. At first they moved in silence, going from one box to the next as they divided things to give away and things that Sara would take home. Sara made faster work of the task than John, many of the possessions I’d once owned holding no meaning for her as she held them for the first time. Others brought back a flash from a past event, and she’d stop to remember what we had been doing, how I had smiled that day, the sound of my laugh. Many of those things found their way into her pile.

John was cautious in the task, afraid to touch anything should it tear at him with another memory. But as he watched Sara move through the boxes, he realized he needed to pick up the pace. He tried to ward off the thoughts that came with each piece, knowing that I had touched each one of these things he now held in his hand. He stopped looking at my things, seeing through them as he grabbed and dropped items into a box close to him. Sara retrieved a few of the items, explaining to John the memories they brought back to her. And John was happy for the distraction from his own thoughts of me. But as his memories became less painful in the act of going through my things, he began to understand the therapy in this simple process. Soon he was allowing visions of me to come at him unharnessed, laughing as he held the sweater I had ripped when we thought sliding down the banister might be a good idea, and shedding a tear over the blanket I wrapped myself up in every night on the couch. He tucked the blanket away in his own “keep” pile, one that held only a few items.

“I think Sam might want all of Joey’s games and gaming equipment,” John said. “And I suppose if there’s anything else in here that a teenage boy might want, we should save it for him.” Sara nodded, pulling out another box and placing a few of Joey’s things inside.

“What about the dress?” Sara asked. It still hung from the frame of the closet, the ivory material glowing in bright contrast against the darkness of the room. Sara got up from the boxes that surrounded her, running her hand over the fabric. She paused at the part that was cut away, glancing over at John to give him a curious look. She looked away when she saw the pained look on his face. “I suppose we can decide later…” she mumbled, but John shook his head with determination.

“No, it all needs to be done now. I can’t let this go any longer,” he insisted.

“Did you want to keep the dress,” Sara asked. “You don’t need to keep it out, but maybe store it until you are able to part with it?” She had already figured out that the missing square was his doing.

“I can’t keep it,” John winced. “Do you want it? Can you take it?” Sara didn’t want it either. She had no idea where she might put it, or what she could do with it. Her natural impulse was to donate it. Even with the missing material, someone would be able to use it as a discounted gown for their own wedding should they be lucky enough to find it in a thrift store. But she could tell that even the suggestion of giving it to someone who didn’t know Rachel would tear John apart. So she just nodded, bringing the dress down from where it hung and laying it with care over the top of one of her boxes.

Hours later they were done. It was almost midnight when John glanced at his watch, and he sucked in a quick breath.

“Shit, Sara. I’m sorry. It’s really late. Are the girls with a sitter right now?”

“No, they’re with Kevin tonight. And it’s okay. I think we both needed this for closure. But I guess I should get going.” She didn’t want to go, dreading the emptiness of the dark house across town. So when John offered to make up the couch for her, she didn’t argue.

“I can let you use one of my t-shirts,” he suggested. “Or… I guess Rachel’s stuff would probably be better.” She nodded. There had been a few items of mine that she’d tucked into her box, including a couple of her own clothes that had somehow made their way into my closet. She pulled one of my night shirts out of a box.

“This should be fine,” she told him. He gave her an extra toothbrush and then made her bed up while she got dressed in the bathroom.

“Goodnight,” he said to her when she emerged, giving her a hug. He caught a whiff of my smell mingling in with her perfume, a new aroma that both caught him off guard, intriguing him.

“Goodnight,” she murmured. She looked up at him with curiosity when he paused without letting her go. There was no mistaking the look in his eyes. It had been so long since anyone had looked at her that way, she missed the part where he saw me, and she only saw the part where he found her desirable. Without thinking, she closed her eyes and leaned in, feeling the way his hands gripped her shoulder and moved to comb through her hair before lining her cheek with his finger and tracing the outline of her lips.

John knew he was making a mistake. He knew it was Sara in front of him, trembling in a shirt I used to wear often. But he looked past her blonde hair and saw me in the similarities of her features. He hadn’t been this close to a woman since the last time we’d been interrupted during our love making, a moment that felt centuries old. And beyond wishing I were the one in front of him, he felt the natural pull of needing to be near the softness of a woman. When he looked at Sara, he knew it was her. But the familiarity she presented in her appearance and fragrance overwhelmed him into losing the ability to think. He leaned forward and caught her waiting lips with his own, crushing against them in a dance of tongues and passion.

I crouched in the corner, frozen by the scene unfolding in front of me. I was afraid to stay, but more afraid to leave. I could feel everything – the way it felt to be touched after countless nights alone, the elation of being in each other’s arms, the confusion that went alongside it, and the sadness that each of them stuffed down as they pretended in the moment that this was something it wasn’t. I wanted to tear myself away. My biggest fear was unfolding in front of me in a way I knew would haunt me for eternity. But something new was emerging from this nightmare. I found peace in their relief and growing passion, feeling more human than ever as their emotions transferred over to me. The irony didn’t escape me. All this time I had affected John through my presence. Now he was affecting me.

They made their way to the couch, their mouths and hands never leaving each other. John knew he couldn’t bring her up to the bedroom, feeling it would be like stepping on holy ground. But the made-up couch served as a middle ground for the crime he was about to commit. Her hands tore at his shirt, and he slipped it over his head. She ran her hands across his chest, pulling her fingers through the hair that covered it and tugging to send a shivering shock through his body. John unbuckled his belt and stepped out of his pants, then pulled Sara’s shirt over the top of her head. She stood naked in front of him, her pale skin trembling in the shadows of the room. John pulled back the covers and she laid down within them, drawing her breath in as his skin made contact with hers within the warmth of the blankets.

Sara’s hands traveled the whole of John’s body, running them along the pulsing muscles of his back down to the curve of his hip as he hovered over her, afraid to let his whole weight press against her. Sensing this, she pulled him closer, feeling the release of tension as his body crushed down on hers. She could feel his heart pounding against her own, beating faster as she sent a flurry of kisses across his cheek, his neck, his chest. Unable to get close enough, she arched into him as his hands smoothed over her body, exploring every inch of her skin.

He couldn’t find the raised scar that blemished my back. It was what kept him grounded, knowing that, enveloped by my scent, it was nonetheless Sara he lay against in the darkness of the room, and not me. When he found himself immersed in thoughts of me, he searched for the scar again on Sara’s back, both relieved and disappointed when he couldn’t find it. But Sara felt good to him, the softness of her body differing from the tightness my muscles had possessed in the weeks before my wedding, a result of a quick series of workouts rather than a lifetime of exercise. Sara’s body, while slender, remained soft from afternoons chasing children rather than working out at the gym. It matched the downy texture of her skin, and John ran his hands over every inch of it, pausing when his fingers found the hardness of her nipples. She gasped at his touch, arching her back even more in the process. Leaning down, John took her nipple in his mouth, pressing it between his lips before letting his tongue flick against it. Sara could feel the sensation at the tip of her breasts washing over the top of her head and radiating throughout her body until she was burning with desire. She grasped at him, pleading to come closer with every kiss she peppered across his skin, unable to find her release until he entered her in an explosion of passion. The room was ablaze as they made love to each other, searching for comfort in a world that had swallowed them whole. John buried his face into her hair, breathing in as their bodies moved together in one fluid motion.

“You smell like her,” he whispered, his movements slowing as he voiced his thought. She tightened her hold on him.

“Please, just go with it,” she said. She didn’t elaborate, afraid that too many words would take away from the moment. She knew he missed me, even as his body molded against hers. He needed this to be able to move past me, but also to feel close to me. She needed this for a different reason - just to feel wanted once again. She couldn’t bear the thought of being rejected, and in her mind she begged him to forget me for just a moment and continue making love to her – or to remember me in secret as he found comfort in her body.

John lost himself in the scent of her hair, grasping her skin so tight it reddened in patches that would bruise later. The room evaporated around them as they became one breath together. And in a final moment, they burst into flames within a frenzy of ecstasy, mounting to a final explosion that both gave them life and left them breathless.

No words were spoken as the passion subsided. John stroked Sara’s hair against her back as she lay against him. Sara ran her fingers against the damp hair on his chest as her eyelids grew heavy. I remained a connecting thought between the two of them, feeling the different edges of guilt as they drifted off to sleep. But more than that, they both found comfort in being able to help each other in a pain that no one else could ever understand.