A Glimpse of Autumn
Short story
I’m sitting here on a big grey rock in a tiny town called Emerald. I am about half of a mile from cold springs. The sweet anticipation: to feel my soft hands dip into the cool, cool water and watch the waves leap off the baby cliffs. Rickety wooden signs are placed here and there along the well-worn path. They are subtle time-faded signs to the campground, cold springs, museum. Solemn arrows direct explorers to choose their own adventure. The wind is singing gently and browned leaves are resting on the ground. I hear small children crunching a pile of sunburned leaves. A young man with a scraggly beard and moon glint in his eyes materializes. He’s a ghoulish figure just emerged from the trees.
“Are you from Needlewood?” he asks.
“Yep,” I reply.
Clank, clank. He walks on, saying, “Have a nice day.”
“You too,” I say a little too politely. There is a huge metal chain attached to the neck of his albino dog. It loosely trails the ground behind them. Clank, clank, and they are gone.
Moments after he has left, my mother returns. “Did a man with a dog just come by?” she inquires.
“Yes.” I am slightly smiling.
“I was a little worried.” She is always a soldier at attention when I am near — the same as when I was two or five or ten, but I’m twenty now, wondering when she will release her grip, but also hoping she won’t.
“It’s okay,” I try to reassure her.
“Well, I’m going to stay here with you,” she says, and she does.
The air briefly glides over our skin and through our hair, and then it flutters and sails through trees, diving back down to caress our shoulders. I decide to jump in the water but am interrupted by my mother’s voice, a tormented howl tinged with a rare joy. On the edge of the water, she is practically screaming the song a lunatic opera performer. I think I can almost see invisible tears slowly consume her face.
I wait, desperately hoping that she will stop, and when she does not, I dip my fingers into the water, letting the current sweep between my fingers and over the surface of my hands. I take my shoes off and let my bare feet glide in. My mother begins to mimic me. Her feet touch the water and her scream song intensifies as she feels the cold wetness. Her song is overwhelming me and I tell her to stop. She shrieks again and again.
Coldly, not knowing why, I say, “I hope you don’t get murdered.”
She dismissed my comment. “Why would I?”
Indignantly, I reply, “I’m leaving.” Upset, I start to walk away.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” She says it with masterful calm.
Tensely, I say, “I’m not.”
I walk on, yelling back that she is insane, resentful that she has gotten under my skin. It is driving me crazy that she has remained calm. The tingle like tiny spiders under the surface of my flesh makes my body hair stand on end. She begins to sing again. I walk briskly until I see a cedar bridge, and I take a seat. The too-hot sun is stealing water from the creek. My mother’s voice is slicing the wind, a sharpening water-wale, no longer there, and returning with stabs of life, floating on the wind. The sun begins to take a nap.
Evening has already arrived. Dusk surrounds me. I am still on the bridge, and mother has not found me here. I worry that I have angered my guardian. I worry that my soldier will no longer stand at attention for me. I wonder if the seemingly peaceful brook tried to consume her, suck her right through to the river’s bottom. Had the river stolen my mother and casually laid her down with other misunderstood prizes? My heart begins to sink. I know I must go back.
I look into the crystalline water and see a tiny speck of red. My jaw drops. An autumn leaf sails away. I walk out onto the large rocks that form a crooked bridge for walking across the stream. As my stare deepens, I can see through the glassy water to the murky brown spring bed below. I hear her voice again. It seems to dance with life, leap out of the water and into wind song. Her song surrounds me, invades me, and fills the belly of the forest. Quickly, I turn my head to the left and then to the right, searching for her, but her voice permeates through every last nook in the forest.
My shoulders tense and I have a small hunch I should turn around. As I turn my body back towards the water, I see her. There is my mother. She has stripped down to her bra and panties and dived into the freezing water. Her lips shine a bright blue. I am relieved to have found her. We both raise our heads skyward, and finally note that the dark shadows of trees are reflecting in the water while the soft glimmer of moonlight shines on the stream. It is time to go back. We must go home.
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