Nike passes on and I drive home immediately to find an empty house with her things still scattered about. I open the doors wondering if I'll find her body lying there. I hear the silence as if it were contained. I had told myself, driving, I wouldn't cry until I got home. Now, every object of hers and every empty space that was hers pulls tears from me.
Silence meets the sniffles and as I sit at the piano I find her song in G major and A major. I play to harmonize the silence. The chords ascending and descending pitched evenly brings more tears to my eyes and I imagine her so steady. Despite everything, whether in her or in me, she pitched her eyes so steadily.
When my mother came home she was strong. Slightly jovial, no recent tears, she's been busy running errands for others. I let go the piano to face her.
"Have you been crying?" she asks.
"Yeah, I broke own a little when I got here." It's hard for me to speak. "So umm, so what happened?"
She explained.
Before we left to see her body I sat outside in the brisk January bleak, under sun radiated smog. Silently, I listened to the hum of the highway and the wind passing through the skeletons of trees. The sun bore down on my low head, my body crisscrossed in the shadow of those bare sticks. My mind projected her image where the green of grass reflected between her brown iris and every blade of our yard shown in the pupil of her eye. I, with a fear of being friendless, wept. "I need her, I needed her!" Then, I wept gratefully.
The vet brought her body in on a cart covered by a green blanket and pulled it back over her head. She lay almost alive, fur soft as ever, practically, asleep. My mother cried and couldn't let the blanket fall back over her. She just kept scratching her ears and talking about memories as if she could hear. I lay my hand on her head and said a prayer:
"Oh, Nike, you are part of so many memories. Travel to wherever you are going. I'll see you there. Enjoy chasing the birds and the bees and running through the rain without me. I'll find you sitting, golden in the sun. Look over to where you'd find me, and when you see me sitting there, I will embrace you."
Silence meets the sniffles and as I sit at the piano I find her song in G major and A major. I play to harmonize the silence. The chords ascending and descending pitched evenly brings more tears to my eyes and I imagine her so steady. Despite everything, whether in her or in me, she pitched her eyes so steadily.
When my mother came home she was strong. Slightly jovial, no recent tears, she's been busy running errands for others. I let go the piano to face her.
"Have you been crying?" she asks.
"Yeah, I broke own a little when I got here." It's hard for me to speak. "So umm, so what happened?"
She explained.
Before we left to see her body I sat outside in the brisk January bleak, under sun radiated smog. Silently, I listened to the hum of the highway and the wind passing through the skeletons of trees. The sun bore down on my low head, my body crisscrossed in the shadow of those bare sticks. My mind projected her image where the green of grass reflected between her brown iris and every blade of our yard shown in the pupil of her eye. I, with a fear of being friendless, wept. "I need her, I needed her!" Then, I wept gratefully.
The vet brought her body in on a cart covered by a green blanket and pulled it back over her head. She lay almost alive, fur soft as ever, practically, asleep. My mother cried and couldn't let the blanket fall back over her. She just kept scratching her ears and talking about memories as if she could hear. I lay my hand on her head and said a prayer:
"Oh, Nike, you are part of so many memories. Travel to wherever you are going. I'll see you there. Enjoy chasing the birds and the bees and running through the rain without me. I'll find you sitting, golden in the sun. Look over to where you'd find me, and when you see me sitting there, I will embrace you."