Cornflower Blues

It always came at night. That night was no different in that respect. I had heard it lumbering around outside as the sun disappeared from the sky. The sound of scraping metal as it circled the house. I had always fought the urge to look directly at it, instead only catching glimpses of it in the shadows. If I focused, I could shuffle it to the back of my mind like a deck of cards, but those lonely hours - when night approached, and my mind was no longer engaged by work or meaningless check-ins with the few friends I managed to keep - were the hardest.

At first the check-ins came daily, then weekly, then monthly, then whenever they had a free second to pity me via text.

“Hey, girl, you doing okay? Do you need anything?”

I don’t think any of them would have known what to do had I answered yes. I couldn’t blame them though. Life goes on. For some people, at least.  

But anyway, the difference in this particular night was that I had decided to allow my mind to go to that place. No shuffling this time, instead accepting the cards that were dealt. Sometime after my fifth or sixth glass of Pinot Noir, I turned my phone off, placed it on the end table next to a stack of unpaid bills, pushed the dirty clothes to one end of the couch and sank into the other end. Alone.

It had been twelve months to the day since I lost my sweet boy with the cornflower blue eyes. Cornflower Connie as I called him. Parents should never have to bury their children. Todd was completely shattered. He left me this past June. I had dropped to a rail-thin ninety-nine pounds, and he said he couldn’t stand to see me hurt any longer. I tried everything; counseling, group, rehabilitation programs, but everyone grieves differently. 

I guess Todd had to grieve alone.

At some point, I nodded off, waking only to an unsettling silence, quickly realizing the noise was gone. I wiped the drool from my chin, licked my cracked lips and decided to check it out. With my body bladed to the window, I pulled the curtain to the side and saw it standing under the dim porch light. The back of my neck tingled, and my heart thumped in my chest, acting like my body’s panic alarm. I would normally just do a quick look, instead, for the first time, I stayed. I studied it.

Its skin was the color of burnt charcoal, and its back curved like a question mark. It shifted under the light revealing a grinch-like face that scrunched even more as it smiled at me like a mischievous feline. But there, above the unnerving grin, I saw them.

Those familiar eyes. My Cornflower Connie had come home. All I had to do was focus on those eyes.

Don’t you want to be with me again, mommy? Let me in and you can hold me again, just like you used to.  

What was I supposed to do? Of course I wanted to be with him again. It would surely be better than telling myself that the random white blob in the sky actually resembled a heart. “A message from my Connie! I love you too.” Yeah, you can convince yourself of almost anything if you believe it enough.  

And if you’re sad enough. 

Just like the cardinal that occasionally lands on my fence. “Good morning, Connie! Thanks for the visit.”  

I let him in.

His long rubbery fingers took me by the arm, led me upstairs, never breaking his gaze.  

“Where are we going?” I asked, barely a whisper, in what seemed like the first words I had spoken in days.

To my room, mommy. 

The door creaked open, and the lights came on, bringing the room back to life. I have no idea if I flipped the switch or not. It felt like I had floated up the staircase.  

The room was just as he left it.

‘C O N R A D’ colorfully stenciled on the blue wall above his “big boy” twin bed. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle sheets and comforter still ruffled from that night a little over a year ago when he stumbled into our room just before midnight.

“Mommy, my chest feels weird,” he moaned. After a 104.1 fever, we rushed him to the hospital.  

My Cornflower Connie would never come home again.  

His fingers rolled up my sleeve and led me to the bed. I pressed his Michaelangelo stuffed animal to my face, inhaling deeply, hoping it still held Connie’s scent. It didn’t. The tears fell and his grip tightened on my arm, leading me into the bed. He never let go of my arm.

Lay with me, mommy. 

I climbed in, pulled the covers to my stomach and rested my head on Connie’s pillow.

“I miss you so much, baby,” I yelled through tears, pounding my one free fist on the mattress.

I’m here if you keep looking in my eyes.  

Just then, his eyes flickered and it as if I was watching a projection screen. I watched as we took in the afternoon show of the new Spiderman movie last year. Connie’s lap littered with buttery popcorn that missed his mouth. His Icee-stained lips framing his checkered smile.  

A flicker.

A summer afternoon drive around the neighborhood, blasting random 90’s songs. He loved the songs that I grew up on. We would do our absolute worst to sing along.  

Keep looking at my eyes, Mommy. Just a little bit more until you can hold me again.

His grip tightened some more. Another flicker.

A lazy Sunday. Me sprawled out on the couch, my Connie’s little body slowly rising and falling with my breathing as he naps on my chest.

Another second and I’m yours again.

How could I say no? I did what he asked - just a little longer. The avalanche of warmth I felt was euphoric, as if my insides were swaddled in a heated blanket. It was the first semblance of comfort and peace that I hadn’t felt since he was actually here with me. I did what he asked, then I waited.

That was two days ago, and I don’t see my Cornflower Connie anywhere. The comfort I had felt the other day dissipated in an instant. I’ve been patiently waiting, but now I wonder…

Did it lie?  

It's so dark here.