Reveal Our Souls

I should dust that ceiling fan. Really. It’s disgusting. I’m lying on the floor in the supine position; I stare at the offending fan as the blades dance aggressively around one another, anything to distract me from the thoughts I have no intention of acknowledging. After a long while, my sense of time simply diminishes. The only marker of the hours I’ve been here is my aching scapula and coccyx, reminders that time cannot simply, go on without me; I have to get up at some point. “Uncover our heads and reveal our souls. We were hung right before we were born.” The echoing line dissolves into a rhythmic drum beat accompanied to its silent destination by the light caress of pan flute easing the song into its somber finale. The silence hangs for an instant before being shattered by the gut-wrenching sobs emanating from my mother’s room down the hall. Shifting onto my left side, I draw my legs up to my abdomen trying to hold myself together. Do not let go. Once you go to that place, you cannot come back. My resistance is useless. Curled up in the fetal position, every shred of composure and sanity I’ve been clinging to for the past 5 hours diffuses rapidly as I quickly descend to a coughing, spluttering, weeping, mess. I stay this way for an innumerable number of hours as the light spilling through my window slowly fades into impermeable darkness. I close my eyes and wait for sleep to alleviate the agony.

            I wake up, aching everywhere. There is a faint glow coming from my window. I stand up and stretch, my knees popping. My back cracks as I pull my hair up into a bun and proceed out the door of my room. Shuffling my feet, I make my way out onto the deck and sit looking at the sun beginning to peek out from behind the horizon. A sparrow flits by, singing softly.

                        “Cooper?”

                        “What is it?”

                        “Why do birds sing in the morning? It’s pretty, but why do they sing?”

            “They sing because you’ve just woken up. They’re happy to see you again. When you go to sleep, they have to be quiet so when you wake up, they’re really excited!”

            “Oh okay. That makes sense. Do they do that for everyone?”

            “Nope. You’re special.”

            The memory brings about a wave of nausea. I wrap my arms around my waist trying to suppress the urge to vomit. I’m special. At six years old, that simple sentence meant everything to me, especially coming from the mouth of my idol. I remember wanting to be just like him; I’d follow his every footstep, trying clumsily to keep up as he sped along with a six year head start. More tears spill from my eyes and I close them tightly trying to prevent the water from streaming down my face. This all seems like a horribly cruel nightmare.

I wake up with a jolt, letting out a slight yelp. I curl up tightly under my covers clutching a little, stuffed, pink elephant tightly to my chest, burying my head beneath the comforter. I hear the door open; footsteps approach my bed and a hand gently pulls the blanket off of my face.

“Hey you. What’s wrong?”

“Cooper, I’m scared. I dreamed that you were gone and mom was gone and I was here all alone and I really don’t want that to happen because I’d miss you and I don’t know how to make macaroni and cheese very well and you’re a lot better at it than me and mom doesn’t let me use the stove because I’m too little and I…”

“Shhh. Slow down. It’s all going to be okay. I promise that I’ll always be here; you don’t have to worry about a thing. Now close your eyes and try to go back to sleep.”

“Love you Cooper.”

“I love you too; I always have and I always will.”

            Why did he have to leave? He said he’d always be here, but he isn’t now; now that I desperately need him. The day we dropped him off at the airport is emblazoned in my mind. He was dressed in his uniform with a massive bag slung over his shoulder. Mom was struggling to keep her composure as he hugged us both goodbye. I stood, arms crossed as my mother tearfully demanded that he write and email us often. She hugged him once more and walked away briskly, not wanting to show her tears. He turned to me then and wrapped me in an enormous hug.

“Stay safe,” I whispered hoarsely.

            “I will. You don’t have to worry about a thing,” He replied.

            “Love you Cooper.”

            “I love you too; I always have and I always will.” He released the hug then and turned to walk away. He looked back after a few paces and waved before continuing on towards his gate. I never imagined that that day, 7 months ago, would be the last time I would see him.

            The sun’s up now; I close my eyes, lean my head back and allow the warmth to caress my tear and mascara soaked face. After sitting idly for a few more minutes, I stand up abruptly and stride purposefully into the kitchen. I take out a pot and put some water on to boil. I turn and grab the familiar blue box from the cupboard. Ripping open the tabs of cardboard, I pour the small noodles into the water. As I wait for them to soften, my eyes dance around the kitchen and den area. They fall upon a colorful triangle sitting on the couch. I walk over, sit down and place the triangle on my lap. The white stars contrast sharply with the blue background and red strips that run about it. I set it beside me waiting for the tears to flow, but none come; I’ve cried them all out. Heading back to the kitchen, I drain the noodles and add cheese powder, milk and butter. I spoon out a portion into a small ceramic bowl and take a fork from the drawer. I make my way down the hallway and slowly open the door to my mother’s room. I see her sitting on top of her bed, hugging a pillow and swaying back and forth. I set the bowl on the nightstand next to her.

            “Mom? I brought you some food.” She does not respond. I take a seat next to her and lean back to rest my head and back on the wall. She does the same. I lay my head on her shoulder. After a few minutes of silence, thoughts that I do not care to address start to creep their way back into my consciousness. I let the lyrics reverberate in my head, keeping the sorrow away. Uncover our heads and reveal our souls. We were hung right before we were born. An indeterminate amount of time passes, but eventually my mother kisses the top of my head and rises to her feet. She walks to the phone, picks it up and begins to make phone calls to our many relatives. Uncover our heads and reveal our souls. We were hung right before we were born. 

Author's Note

The italicized lyrics throughout the text are from the song "Keep the Streets Empty for Me" by Fever Ray.
I would love to hear constructive criticism if anyone has any.

Reviews

[grayscale heart]

I love that song... This was so beautiful. I absolutely loved that it ended so poignantly on that lyric. I love stories with history and familiarity, which is a big part of the book I'm working on, if you also like reading stuff like that.

"Nope, you're special." *cries*

[Renny]

Great and lengthy Write!

[Paige H]

Thanks :)