We had been planning our wedding when my world came to an end. The truth is it had been the perfect day up until that point. We’d finished moving into a little cottage tucked deep within a few acres of woods and had just hopped into the car to head to our appointment. I could see the cozy little home in front of me as I pulled out of the driveway. It really was a small cottage with only a single bedroom, a kitchen and a living room area with a tiny closet of a den tucked in a corner which would be perfect for my writing. Or for her art. We hadn’t quite put a bow on that debate yet. We of course agreed that someday we’d have to move into a bigger house, probably in a whole different town once we’d had children. We’d want them to live near other kids and to go to good schools, but we weren’t there quite yet. Now was the time for us to focus on us and enjoy our first couple of years together living the way we both wanted to live.
The wedding would be here before we knew it. There were only forty days left on Kelsea’s calendar on the wall until the beautifully stenciled out wedding cake she’d drawn filled up the bottom corner square labeled July 26th. In fact, we were on the way to our wedding cake tasting.
“I’m a chocolate guy for sure,” I’d said, and she immediately shook her head.
“You can’t have chocolate cake at a wedding.” She said with a thin smile. “It’s against the rules.”
“Why’s that?” I’d asked as I glanced over towards her, stared at her cute little dimples as she continued smiling like she practically always had been around that time.
“Lots of reasons,” she said. “For starters, it could stain dresses or men’s suits if they were to drop it on themselves.”
“Oh, come on,” I said. “Seriously? Are all our friends and family members bumbling idiots who can’t eat a slice of cake without dropping it all over themselves?”
She rolled her eyes and chuckled while reaching out to grab my hand. “You have to get white cake for weddings, honey. That’s the norm.”
I nodded as I focused on the winding road ahead. “So why do a cake tasting if we already know what kind of cake we want?”
“It’s tradition,” she said as she reached up and ran her fingers through my hair which she often did and which I always enjoyed.
“Compromise with marble?” I asked as I looked back over towards her. She laughed again and I just stared at her for a moment longer, so amazed at the fact that I was about to spend the rest of my life with the beautiful woman sitting beside me.
I never saw the SUV drifting into our lane just ahead. Kelsea did. I know she did because I heard her scream.
* * *
Nobody should ever have to go from planning a wedding to planning a funeral overnight. But that’s what happened. Our car had spun several times before smacking into a tree. The front passenger side of the car was practically gone. My airbags went off, but I walked away with a sprained shoulder, and without my future wife.
The services were beautiful, so many people came and the love and support was just overwhelming. I thought I was coping so well, that I was going to get through this, that sure, I’d have some tough moments and would always be upset about what happened but that I was going to survive this, grieve, pick up the pieces then move on. I looked at it like a to do checklist for the coming months because it seemed manageable when I considered it that way.
Everything changed the moment I stepped foot into the little cottage for the first time since the accident. Everyone was gone by then, support was a phone call away instead of standing just beside me, and that’s when it got real. The nauseating depression washed over me like a typhoon, my stomach heaved as I found it harder to breathe. I took a step into the place then fell back and leaned into the wall. I felt warm, flushed, dizzy even as I managed to recall the last words she’d ever spoken in our home. She’d turned the music off with a holler as we walked out not knowing that she’d never walk back in.
Kelsea was gone. Kelsea was gone forever, and I was alone. Alone in the home we’d just only begun building together. I glanced around at all the little unfinished pieces of our story, so many first chapters just sitting around waiting for a second chapter to follow, a story wanting to be told that instead would never be written. There was her art easel in the corner, a half-completed painting of a beach at sunset staring back at me. Boxes were stacked just behind it, still waiting to be unpacked, each of our piles still separately labeled with one of our names sharpied across the top. They were meant to be opened, brought together and organized into cabinets and drawers and spread across counters and dressers, blending our lives together forever. Instead, they were cardboard boxes gathering dust and now that’s all they’d ever be.
I had to get out of there so that’s what I did. Just left. Suddenly I was walking into the woods next to the house just because I didn’t know where else to go. I had no idea where I was supposed to be or what I was supposed to be doing. People had told me not to come back here, that it might be too hard, that it was ok to just sell the place and move back home for a bit and heal. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Kelsea being gone would’ve been real then, too real too soon. I needed time here to grieve but now that I was actually physically here I feared it was too much. My chest was tight; some impossible weight sat on my shoulders. My face was frozen. I couldn’t smile. I couldn’t fucking smile. I tried to force myself to, just physically, attempted to move the muscles in my face but I couldn’t.
I realized I had plopped down onto the forest floor at some point after pacing through the trees. I glanced up at the tree before me, felt the hair stand up on my arms as a chill ran through me. I must’ve subconsciously planted myself down right in front of the tree we’d claimed as our own, marked up with a heart and arrow and our two names using a hunting knife my uncle had given me. The now rusty knife still lay there on the ground in fact. We’d laughed at the time, admitted that it was silly and cheesy but still fun just the same. It was comforting to look upon the tree, to see that our artwork, much like our love, would still live on despite what had happened.
The sun crossed past a branch at some point then shone too brightly down upon me, blinding me. I had to look away and it annoyed the hell out of me. I felt the sun should know better, shouldn’t even be there in fact. Nor should the birds be chirping or wind blowing through the trees around me. All of it should know better. It should be cloudy, rainy. There should be no sign of life nor any happy sounds at all. At least give me that, I thought. If I have to suffer through this terrible time, then turn off all the lights and just let me suffer.
I stood up angry then, though I couldn’t tell you why if I wanted to. Nor could I tell you why I thought it was a good idea to grab the knife off the ground and bring it up with me but that’s what I did. I stabbed at the tree, got the knife stuck in there good as I screamed. I tried to wrestle it out, had a hard time doing it and then sliced my finger once I finally did finally pull it free. I jabbed at the tree again, then again and again, over and over, screaming and swearing and yelling out things I don’t recall now. I’m not sure how long that went on but at some point I fell back onto the ground and wailed for a while. I yelled at God, swore at him too. I slapped myself in the face a few times. After all, I’d been the driver.
At some point, everything seemed quiet finally, even me, though I sniffled a few more times and wiped my nose with the back of my arm. There were ants crawling across leaves there before me. Birds still chirped, leaves still danced with the breeze, and I still breathed. I could feel my chest still heaving, my lungs filling with oxygen.
The knife was on the ground before me again. I grabbed it, stood up slowly then reached towards the tree. I began carving into it just below our names. It took me a minute or so to get it chiseled out correctly but then I stepped back and tightened my chest, not wanting to cry anymore, as I took a good look at what I’d carved there. I miss you. I whispered it out loud a few times. “I miss you, I miss you, I miss you.”
I stood up and took a deep, full breath before saying, “I miss you, Kelsea.”
I slowly worked my way back into the house and this time didn’t even look around. I closed any drapes that had still been drawn open, including the ones in the bedroom before turning on Kelsea’s little nightstand lamp then crawling into bed then over to my side. I wrapped myself in blankets even though I wasn’t cold then I laid there for what felt like forever, just lay there staring out at nothing.
There was a slight hum and a flickering of light coming from somewhere in the room all the sudden, so I sat up and glanced around. The bulb from Kelsea’s lamp was flickering on and off, humming as it did so. I stared at it, wondering why this was happening. And it just kept flickering. I eventually went over to it and tried screwing the bulb in better, tried playing with the switch, but nothing worked. The light just kept flickering. I finally unscrewed the bulb completely and set it on the dresser.
Then I was sitting in a dark room by myself. And a chill ran up my spine.
* * *
I didn’t sleep well, if at all. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to sleep in the bedroom. I figured that would be hard. Kelsea and I had slept in the same bed together for years by that point. Lying there without her made me feel hollow, empty. Left me dwelling on memories of how it felt to have her snuggle up against me all those years, jealous of my past self, of the warmth, the safety, the happiness that smiled across my face for those years.
I kept the hallway bathroom light on as I rolled around on the couch all night, sometimes getting up to get a glass of water or to run to the bathroom or stare out the front windows, gazing out into the darkness. The moon was a sliver of itself on the night sky horizon, and so was I. I felt like a ghost wandering around my own home. Nothing felt the same anymore, and I wondered if anything ever would again.
At one point, I’d stepped into the corner den and gazed out the little porthole window there, thought I saw a shadow moving through the woods over near the tree we’d carved our names into. But after rubbing my eyes and staring out that way again, I decided it had simply been my mind playing tricks on me.
Despite my lack of sleep, I dare say I felt just a little bit better the next day. My emotional outburst in the woods the day before (God I hope nobody saw that) seemed to have done something to help me at least begin this grieving process. I’m not saying it was suddenly easy to get up and get moving but I was able to do it. My legs no longer felt like I was trudging through a swamp as they had the days prior, so I took advantage of that. I began cleaning the place up, organizing what I could, and that too got me to feeling a bit better. It was too quiet though. It was just way too quiet in there, so I turned some music on using my echo dot and tried to hum or sing a little, forcing myself to feel something other than the devastation I’d been swimming in. That helped too.
I’d barely been eating, on top of everything else, but I did manage to choke down a few saltine crackers around eleven that morning, even half a slice of cheese as well before drinking some more water. Everything helped, just a little bit, and though I still felt like crap, still hated the world for taking her away, still wanted to curl up in a ball on the floor and cry my life away, I instead felt the slightest bit of life flowing through my veins again. I felt that at least I could move right now, at least I could breathe.
I took the garbage out shortly after my lunch, if you could call it a lunch, and decided to keep on walking after I’d tossed the bag into the can. If standing out by the tree had helped me face some of these emotions I’d have to face, maybe it’d be good therapy to spend a little time out by it each day.
My feet trampled over dead leaves sprinkled with pine needles. They crunched beneath me as I rounded the tree and stared down at what we’d carved there, what I’d added the day before. I froze. Stopped breathing even. And I just stared in awe. There was the heart and arrow there, our names of course, and what I’d added the day before, “I miss you.” Now there was something written beneath that. I stared in disbelief, unable to look away. I miss you too was carved beneath my message.
I wasn’t sure what to make of this, so I just stared for a moment, not sure how these new words had been carved into the tree and so not sure how to feel about it. I finally switched my focus down upon the knife still lying on the ground there, reached down and picked it up then glanced all around me, wondering now if some random person had happened across the tree, seen the carvings and the knife laying there and decided to add to it. That at least made sense.
I shook my head, scoffed for no apparent reason before gazing back down at the new words carved into the tree. I miss you too.
After staring for a moment longer, I walked past the tree slowly and headed back into the house. I shut the door behind me, set the knife on the counter then just stood there in the kitchen thinking. Would someone do something like that? Just add to the carvings in the tree? If so, that was kinda shitty, right? Or was it nice? I finally laughed to myself as the entire situation suddenly seemed so silly. Who cares, right?
Right?
I took a deep breath as I looked around trying to decide what to do next. It seemed like a good idea to keep busy, to keep moving, keep breathing. I realized then that it was so quiet in the cottage again. I walked over to my echo dot in the living room and stared down at it, wondering why the music had stopped playing because I hadn’t turned it off.
I put the music back on then got back to work, deciding it best to avoid trying to make sense of some of the strange things that had just happened. That quickly became hard to do, however, because while cleaning the place up I came across Kelsea’s shoes by the front door, and I didn’t think I’d seen them that morning or the day before. There was just a bit of dirt sprinkled around them. But what really confused me was the fact that I swore she’d been wearing those shoes when we’d left to go to our cake tasting. Hadn’t she? I obsessed over the question for a while, wishing there was video footage of our life to provide an answer because I just couldn’t be sure either way. I mean, they were the shoes she wore most often, but she had other shoes, sandals as well. I finally picked them up and brought them to our bedroom closet because I was starting to have a hard time again. Trying to remember what shoes she’d been wearing had me thinking about the accident again and that was the last thing I needed. I kept closing my eyes and shuddering then because I couldn’t stop thinking about her face and the way it changed as I’d stared at her in the car. She’d been so beautiful, so perfect, so happy just moments prior but then her face was changing, contorting in slow motion as she reached up and pointed ahead. The permanent recording of her scream that I knew I’d keep with me forever played in my head over and over.
I got dizzy, squeezed the side of my head, shook it back and forth as I screamed, begging the memory to go away. I collected myself after a few moments because I just didn’t have the energy. It was too soon for another emotional outburst like the one I’d had the day before, so I just got back to work then, finding ways to keep myself busy.
That got me to the afternoon at which point I laid down on the couch and made some calls. People had been texting me, checking on me, asking me how I’d been holding up and it seemed appropriate to get back to them and let them know I was doing as good as could be expected, all things considered, because that’s what you’re supposed to say, right?
I ate some more crackers for dinner, skipped the cheese this time but did take down half a Gatorade I’d found in the fridge. After that, I stared past the tv screen for a few hours as I streamed some National Geographic. After a while, I realized I’d been staring at the knife over on the counter. I sat up, walked on over towards it and just continued staring at it for a bit. I knew it was silly, but I figured I might as well go ahead and get it over with. I mean, I was obviously going to carve something else into the tree, just to, ya know, see what happened, see if there was a response.
I shook my head and laughed at the thought. But still, I grabbed the knife and headed back out to the tree, got down onto my knees and began carving. I’d been contemplating what to write, and to be honest, most of what came to mind was like full blown sentences and paragraphs. I mean, I’d have written her a letter right there on the tree but of course that wasn’t realistic. I stood when I was done and looked down at what I’d written, thought it was the right decision as I read it again. I wish you were here.
I nodded, tried to smile but couldn’t. After a few minutes passed, I headed back inside, sure to bring the knife back in with me this time because then I’d know that no random stranger was playing tricks on me.
I didn’t bother trying to lie down in the bedroom at all this time as I’d accepted my fate for the time being. The couch felt right. The bed carried too much emotional baggage, too many memories, and I clearly wasn’t ready for that. So, I rolled around on the couch again, attempting to get some sleep but knowing there was probably no way. On top of all the emotions, I realized I was slowly becoming obsessed wondering if there was by chance a response out on the tree? I mean, if it really was Kelsea communicating then her response should already be there.
I finally acknowledged the fact that there was no way I was sleeping until I at least went out there and checked. So that’s what I did, found a flashlight in one of our kitchen drawers then headed out into the night.
It was very dark. I mean, you expect it to be dark at night, but it must have been cloudy too because the moon was nowhere in sight and there were no streetlamps right up by our house. It was so dark that it would’ve been unsafe to walk around out there without a flashlight as you’d probably walk right into a tree at some point.
Luckily, I had a flashlight. And I’d reached the tree, so I pointed the light down upon it and collapsed onto the ground, felt the pine needles stab me but didn’t care as I read my carving and then the new one beneath it.
I wish you were here. I’d carved.
I am.
* * *
I was a mess now, contrasting thoughts and emotions torpedoing out in all kinds of directions, stretching me thin, making me nauseous. I mean, for context, I was laughing for the first time in weeks, but I was also trying to stay close to the bathroom because I was sure it was only a matter of time before I threw up.
Yeah, I came back inside almost right away because on top of everything else, it creeped me out obviously. I was manic now though, pacing around, constantly heading towards windows and shining my flashlight out into the darkness but also trying not to stay too far away from the bathroom for too long.
I was exhausted too. It was really starting to hit me around that time as I felt dizzy and my legs were growing weak, actually gave out on me a few times.
I ate a cracker, and my stomach slowly began feeling better so I brought a pillow into the corner den where I could sit and put my head down but also be close to the window that faced out towards the tree. I would lay my head down for a bit but every once in a while I’d turn the flashlight back on and point it out towards the tree to see if anybody or anything was out there. I even pushed the window open just a bit so I could hear if anyone was walking around nearby.
I never caught sight of anything, yet I could feel the scratchy redness that no doubt veined across my eyes. I must’ve finally passed out at some point.
I heard whispers in my dreams, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying.
* * *
A sound woke me up, and I had no idea what it was. It sounded like something fell in the room behind me and it abruptly brought me back up to my feet.
I stood there for a moment, wondering if the sound would repeat itself, declare its location, or if a knock on the door might present an explanation. There was nothing though, nothing but the much too quiet silence that had plagued my house the past two days.
I slowly walked into the living room, hated that the floor squeaked beneath my steps. I remember having this fear the whole time that I’d find the front door wide open and that would lead to my imagination running wild and my anxiety spiraling. It was shut though and everything seemed normal. Everything except for the fact that the knife was on the ground now and that I was quite sure that wasn’t where I had left it, though I couldn’t say for sure.
I walked over and picked it up then immediately heard something else fall onto the ground. I turned back towards the little den I’d just been sleeping in then headed over that way as the sound clearly came from back there. I found the flashlight on the ground beside my pillow and thought little of it to be honest since flashlights were basically designed to roll off of things. I heard a sound out in the woods just then, heard someone crunching through leaves and so immediately looked out the window.
There was someone there. Someone out by the tree. They were on the far side of the tree and facing my direction but the tree blocked my view so I couldn’t make out who it was. I ran out of the den, then out the front door racing towards the tree.
I could see the person then as I had a different angle. It was a girl, probably a teenager. She had dark skin and short curly hair, and she must’ve seen or heard me by then as she stepped to the side and stared down at the knife in my hand.
“Wait,” I yelled. “Who are you? What are you doing?”
She’d kept her eyes on the knife I was holding then finally turned and took off running back the other way. The girl was fast and though she didn’t get too far from me I couldn’t quite catch up to her. We eventually came to a clearing in which another little cabin sat cozily in the woods. She hurried through the front door, and I slowed to a jog then came to a stop as I leaned onto my knees to catch my breath.
When I looked back up, I saw her staring at me through a window, and I could see her mother or someone pacing around behind her. Then I glanced down at the knife in my hands, shook my head as I hadn’t even meant to bring it with me. I took another deep, full breath, looked up at the girl as I raised my arms up as if I were being arrested because I thought that would show that I meant no harm.
I’m not sure what she took the gesture as and I didn’t wait around to find out. It didn’t matter anyways. Her presence alone told me all I needed to know.
There was no ghost, no Kelsea trying to speak with me. There was just some teenage girl who lived down the street doing teenager shit in the woods. Kelsea was dead. And I was alone.
* * *
I got right back to work going through boxes as soon as I got back home. I was angry now, and honestly, it felt good to be angry. At least I wasn’t confused anymore. At least I knew exactly what I was feeling and why. It kept me motivated, kept me moving, and even made me feel better. I mean at one point I came across a hammer in a box, and I just picked it up and walked towards one of the kitchen chairs and beat the shit out of it. Stupid, I know. But it felt good. And once the chair was in a few different pieces scattered around the kitchen, I whistled as I walked over towards a drawer and placed the hammer inside. Then I got back to work.
I caught sight of the calendar on the wall shortly after that, the one with the wedding cake stenciled over our wedding date and I just casually walked over to it, yanked it off the wall and listened as the nail that had been holding it up rolled across the floorboards. I tossed the calendar into the garbage without a second thought. I felt wild, driven, motivated. I didn’t think anything could stop me until something did. A knock at the door.
I froze then. Just stood there unable to move as my gaze found its way upon the front door. Through the window beside it, I could see the teenage girl standing on my porch. I had books in my hand from the box I was going through, so I set them on the kitchen table on my way towards the door, collecting myself as I walked.
I mean, I wasn’t gonna be mad at some kid, right? What had she done? Well, first of all I didn’t know. Second, who cares? Whatever she did was harmless except that I’m living through a crisis, right?
Right?
I took a deep breath then released it as I opened the door.
“I need to explain something to you,” she immediately said. “And we don’t know each other so I’m just going to get right to the point.”
I nodded, not sure what to say to that. And was curious as to what this confession might reveal.
“I did carve into the tree,” her eyes welled up as she spoke. “But it wasn’t for no reason. Your wife.” She brought her hands up to her face, took a deep breath, clearly trying to collect herself. “Your fiancé, I mean. She’s been talking to me cause she knows I can hear her.”
I stood there, rigid, in body, in mind, in spirit. So broken and torn apart, so confused as I felt myself again unsure as to what was going on, what I thought, what I felt, what this girl was even saying.
“She asked me to carve into the tree.” The girl glanced around, seeming to be concerned as to whether or not anybody might hear as she began whispering after that. “She came to me and asked me to respond to you.”
I laughed then, and I’m not sure why. I shook my head. I just couldn’t handle anymore, and I found myself saying, “go home kid” as I shut the door because I felt like I might explode otherwise.
I turned to get back to work but heard the girl hollering from outside then. “She told me other things, said you can use the corner den to do your writing as long as you keep a piece of her art in there.”
I turned back towards the door, just staring as I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard.
“She said you could pick the cake now.”
I walked back over and flung the door open wide, feeling a comforting numbness wash over me.
The girl stared up at me for a moment then looked down at her feet. “She said she loves you too and that she misses you. She wanted me to tell you that you’re not alone.”
I laughed out a sort of cry then, not even meaning to. But my chest which had remained so tight just came undone and I couldn’t hold it together. I believed this girl, and some of those confusing things made sense now. I mean, how could she have known those details if she wasn’t telling the truth?
I bent down and looked up at her, took her lightly by the arms and looked into her eyes. “Did she say anything else?” I whispered.
I saw the girl swallow a knot in her throat and glance around. I stood and stepped back then not wanting to make her uncomfortable.
The girl looked up at me, glanced inside my home for a moment and over towards my couch it seemed. “She said she sleeps in your bed at night. She said she misses you being there.”
I nodded I think, though I can’t say for sure, and the girl didn’t have much else to say after that. Things calmed down and we small-talked for a moment. She mentioned she was staying with her aunt for the summer but would be leaving soon.
I asked her her name before she left. “Tiana,” she’d said. “Though my friends just call me T.”
I nodded and smiled at her. “Thanks, T,” I’d said. “Thank you so, so much.”
She was a sweet kid, even gave me a quick hug and wished me luck before heading out.
I sat just thinking for a while after that, lying on the couch and gazing up at the ceiling and it was starting to get dark by the time I stood back up. I walked over to the garbage can, took the calendar out and placed it on the kitchen counter before heading back towards the bedroom. I’d decided to try giving the bed another shot.
I went to switch the light on as I walked into the room, but Kelsea’s bed stand lamp didn’t turn on. I stared down at the bulb sitting beside it there and snorted a laugh before walking over and screwing it back into the lamp.
The light came to life and shone brightly for a moment. Then it got back to flickering, constantly flickering, humming too.
I lay down in the bed there, surrounded my body with pillows and hugged as many as I could. “I’m sorry,” I whispered then swallowed a sharp lump in my throat. “I’m so, so sorry and I miss you.”
In the morning, I’d move my writing box into the den. I’d take her half-finished painting of the beach and position it in the corner just below the porthole window.
I felt tears well up in my eyes then, but I also felt the muscles in my face start to work again, and though I couldn’t say for sure, I think I fell sound asleep with a smile on my face.
* * *
Two weeks earlier:
Tiana meandered her way through the woods near her aunt’s house, continuing her exploration of the area around where she’d be spending the summer. It was a beautiful area and a beautiful day with the sun shining brightly and the birds chirping loud and so much potential to make the most of it all with it still being so early in the morning.
She’d happened past a neighbor’s little cottage just then, heard a conversation through the window just in passing.
“It’s a perfect room for a writer,” the guy had said. “I’m just saying.”
“It’s better laid out for an artist,” the woman said. “But I don’t have to win the argument today. It’s ok if I win it tomorrow.”
He’d laughed then asked, “hey, how much time I got to get ready for the cake tasting?” “An hour.”
Tiana didn’t think much about it all, truth be told. It was too beautiful of a day and the smile on her face had her all caught up in it. She felt the warmth of the sun upon her, the breeze blowing through her hair and she wished everyone in the world could feel as good as she felt in that moment. Cause they deserved it.
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