The Day the Sky Turned Red

When I woke up that morning, it was there. But it took me nearly an hour to look down and notice it. A red string. It was looped twice around my ankle and the end seemed to be tied in an intricate bow. The other end trailed off and out my bedroom door. I paused a moment before I reached out to untie it. The fibers were soft, but the knot held firm. I tried to use my nails and wiggle it loose. But it just wouldn’t give. Sudden unease pooled in my stomach. I looked up and around my room. Who had done this? When had they done it? But my room looked untouched. The alarm hadn’t gone off, and other than this string nothing looked different.

I pushed off my bed and reached for the loose end. I pulled it up, and more of the string trailed into the room. I pulled some more string, looping it around my hand. There was no end in sight. More and more of the string looped, the end never appearing. Annoyed, I dropped the loops and walked to my door, determined to walk to its end instead. Down the hall, around a corner, and out the front door. The shut door. I pulled experimentally on the string, and felt no resistance. I stood there, contemplating the impossibility of it. My mother would have loved this. She loved the impossible and strange. My stomach sank at her memory and I turned to the kitchen.

Thirty minutes later, I was frustrated and dropped the steak knife loudly on the table. It clattered against the other tools I had used, including scissors, wire cutters, and blades. Nothing I did seemed to affect the string. It wouldn’t even fray. I dropped my head into my hands. I could almost hear my mother’s twittering little laughter at my predicament. I opened my eyes and glanced at the office where her box sat on a desk. Both wishing to wrap myself in her memory again, but also knowing the box contained her collection of oddities. As impossible as the string was, maybe she had an impossible thing to get it off me. 

For how wildly her life had been, it always shook me that she had been able to contain the important things into one box. She had packed it herself when she had heard she was sick. Had told me to let everything else go, but that these were important. I lifted the lid and looked at the collection of letters, and small niknaks. I started to push the objects around when I realized there was a locket. I must have hit the trigger because it opened and I found an unfamiliar face staring at me. 

I pulled the golden chain from the box, and read the lid of the locket that simply had a name. And while the face was not, the name was familiar to me. I looked at the letters, each addressed to my mother but sent by her. I pulled one out and slipped the letter out. As I scanned, I realized that they had been talking about me. Checking the date, I must have been 5 when this letter was received. This woman asked after my health, my happiness, my favorites, and my dislikes. A foul taste hit the back of my throat, but I shook the faint thought away. My mother had been madly in love with my father. There was no doubt about that. A new thought floated through my head, but I had no doubt I was my mother’s daughter. We looked too similar to be anything else. So who was this woman? Why did she care about me?

I spent most of the morning reading through the letters. Any other time, I wouldn’t have made the connection, but this woman kept using words like “tied” and “linked” and “paired”. I turned to the string again and wondered. I wish I could have read my mother’s responses to these letters. I wish I could know what she knew. Blinking away the tears, I put the last letter down and leaned back in my chair. 

After a moment, and feeling like every person in a horror movie, I grabbed my phone and searched the internet. I was surprised when it didn’t take me long to find it. Some Asian cultures believed in the red string, calling it fate. That it linked you with your soulmate. I shook my head even as I kept reading. So many sites said the same thing, but I kept reading because they all said the string should be around my pinkie, not the ankle. I switched to an image search and scrolled and scrolled. Finally, I stopped when I found a picture of a man with a string around his ankle. 

Clicking the link, the website gave me something new. It talked about what a soulmate was. Unlike the other sites, this one talked about how it was just romantic. How it could represent a pivotal person in your life. Someone important and memorable. I turned to the locket. After a moment, I decided. I grabbed the locket, slipped on my shoes, and went out to my car. I started driving.

Almost as though the string knew what I was planning, I saw its vibrant red sitting on the road in the middle of the road. It led me onto a highway and I started driving. The wind whirled within my car and I took a deep breath. Questions bounced around my head, but I focused my mind instead on my mother. I missed her cooking, and her hugs. I remembered when I was young, she would make pancakes in the shape of hearts. She would even add strawberries to give them their pink color. 

Grief welled up in me, and I pulled off the road into a gas station. I parked, closed my eyes, and rested my head on the steering wheel. My mother had always had so many superstitions and beliefs that always seemed a little crazy to me. She would talk about soulmates, and fated ones. She would talk about moon cycles and candle vigils. I wondered if she had known. I looked around at others walking by, and I saw no strings on them. Had my mother known? Or did the woman in the locket know somehow.

Taking a deep breath, I started to drive once more.I wondered who this person I was tied to was like. I had a suspicion on who it was. But I knew nothing about them. How would I approach them? IF I would even approach them at all. Would I just say “Hey you are tied to me.” or should I try the more round-a-bout way. “Hey there, do you know who I am?” As time passed, more and more cliche questions popped into my head. It was late afternoon when I finally turned off the highway and started driving through more residential neighborhoods. 

Not too long later, the string led to a white farmhouse. As I pulled up, I could see that there was someone sitting on the porch. The mid afternoon light was blasting into my eyes and I parked, and I wasn’t able to see them. I shielded and squinted, and was relieved when a tree blocked the sun and I could see her. 

She was older than the locket, but she sat there with a soft smile on her face. Even from here, I could tell she knew who I was. I could even see the red string curling up her porch. Gathering my courage I started up the hill to her house. The sky shifted from pale blue, to orange, then to a vibrant red. I paused and looked up, the white clouds standing out starkly. I let out my breath, that I hadn’t realized I was holding and turned back to her. I got to the porch steps before she moved. She stood, and I could see the string tied around her ankle, same as mine. 

Her smile grew deeper and she lifted both of her hands. Instinctually, I grabbed them in mine. ““Well met fated.” As I stared into her kind eyes, I realized I did know this woman. Deep down. 

“Well met.” I whispered back. The wind kicked up and wrapped warmly around us, and she grinned down at me even as our hair tangled in the breeze, and the string whipped up in the air around us.