Desperate Remedies

Tonight, the stars dance for us, waltzing in and out of the cloud cover, bowing, twirling, singing as I approach our spot. My heart flutters. This is it. 

“Happy anniversary, Babe. Tonight, I’m going to get it just right.”

Though more clouds obscure the lights than I’d prefer, this won’t wreck the occasion. I will not allow it. The universe is on our side tonight.

“Mother Nature is a caretaker; she will provide. We are her children–me and you.”

I chant this script aloud a total of eleven times because that’s our number and part of the big fix. 

Using my best radio jingle voice, I find a rhythm, not unlike blank-faced children swinging a jump rope in a campy B movie. Only I am not trying to exorcize a demon-possessed doll, I’m asking the stars for a cure.

Because you adore my sing-song voice, and I believe whole-heartedly in the powers of The Earth (and unnecessary allusions to bad horror movies), this plan is divine.

“Mother Nature is a caretaker; she will provide. We are her children–me and you.”

Exhaling slowly, practicing purposeful belly breathing, I thank The Moon for illuminating my way. Alone, my feet brave the familiar dust, dirt, gravel, and moss, all spattering the trail we’ve crossed countless times before.

The damp yet crisp smell of the woods introduces a flood of memories: your fuzzy eyebrows bounce up and down, side to side, as you quiz me on indie movie quotes. You pluck a ditch lily from alongside the path, tenderly tucking it behind my ear, then run off to choose the perfect walking stick from nature’s endless arsenal. Your favorite blue Dickies jacket hides your sculpted arms, and I imagine nuzzling myself in the cozy crook of your shoulder, breathing in your musky, leathery fragrance. Your smell cleanses my soul. I’ll be with you again soon.  

When we’re together, problems shrink to electron-level.

***

For six years, heartbeats and deep breaths were all the company we needed at our special clearing. The earth around us was dead, but we were oh-so-alive, savoring aromas of woodsy earth, freshly cut grass, old rain, and powdery flowers.  

Tonight, The Moon cautions me about my obstacles: large tree roots, hunks of rock, dips, gullies, holes, and absences. 

I ease my pace, flashing back: two summers ago, I found myself face-first on a bed of moss, tasting its acidity, my ankle throbbing. You scooped me up, insisting on piggy-back-riding me the rest of the way, and I surrendered, playing the role of injured animal, whimpering the whole way there. 

Your strong fingers massaged my shoulders. From above, the navy blue sky blanketed us. Even now, I can feel those goosebumps, your warm breath tickling my neck, the cold beer bottle playing the role of makeshift ice pack.

Now, approaching the clearing, the freshly mowed grass tickles at my nose hairs, and I know you’ll soon be sneezing–three times, dramatic pause, synchronized laughter, three times again.

 God, I miss those sneezes; I wish I had bottled them up.

***

You will light-up when you spot my outfit–the burgundy floral dress I wore on our first date. (The one that makes me The Joon to your Benny). Though the material is tugging at the buttons these days, it’s the recreation of our energy that matters.

Details are everything; they will heal us. Oh, did I mention I’m wearing my mottled Doc Martens too?

This reunion demanded the perfect playlist, and let me tell you I’ve delivered this evening. The total play time is one hour, forty six minutes, and thirty-two seconds. It begins with Eddie Vedder, and ends with our song.

It won’t be long now, and your Nana’s plaid picnic blanket is snuggled under my arm because tradition is our panacea. The cold beers and sandwiches are in my canvas bag ( yes, I remembered to buy twist-offs).

The air is crisp, but I’m melting with nerves, stomach oozing my innards. Are you feeling the same, waiting for me? 

As the lightning bugs blink overhead, I smile, remembering you as their designated knight, their fortress, stopping me from jarring them up (even though I promised to poke holes in the lid).  

Funny, I thought I needed to capture their magic, set the stage for more romance. You taught me my plan would do just the opposite. Nature is sacred; I know that now.

“Lesson learned, Babe.”

Tonight, their natural glow is part of the plan. Magic is part of the cure.

***

Even the trees seem to part for me. (They’re rooting for us, which I know you know is super punny).

I can see our spot now. The grass is barren, but the moon showcases it in electric blue. 

Spreading the blanket out near the loosened soil, my hands shake. I smooth the wrinkles, stretching my legs out in front of me. 

Reaching into my messenger bag, I pull out two bottles of Yeungling and carefully folded peanut butter and honey sandwiches (no crusts). 

I take a bite of my sandwich and press play on my phone. Lying back, I squeeze my lids closed, holding the taste of the goodness in my mouth, letting it melt away.  

“All five horizons revolved around her soul, as the earth to the sun, yeah…” 

Memories waltz through my mind: your crooked smile and warm eyes wide with excitement, waiting for my answer to your question.  

“Please, Claire, will you be my forever partner in crime?”

The squeal that erupted from my belly when I answered, “Totally!” was an impulsive reaction to the surge of lava in my heart. 

Yes, I would link myself forever with you. You, who taught me the constellations, who showed me how to find Polaris, who made me feel like that North Star was our star.

In that moment, you beamed at me, wrapping a red twisty bread tie around my finger because forever doesn’t need to mean diamonds.  

“Now the air I tasted and breathed..has taken a turn.”  

As if by the magic of lyrics, the air swirls round my neck, moving stray hairs, reminding me of the heartbeeps of your machines. That gray room, only weeks ago–cold, sterile, me holding your hand, rubbing my thumb over your shrinking fingers, papery thin skin.  

I was super careful; I never knocked into the IV or the bruised skin around it, but it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t magic enough.

Sitting next to you in that cold bed, I wish I could rid my nostrils of the rubbery antiseptic smell, color your skin peach again, and put the spark back into your eyes. If only the songs I sang to you about moonbeams and grunge and peanut butter honey cure-alls were enough. 

Your face had become gaunt, but your kind of handsome always shines through.

In my songs, I imagined your arms and chest gaining girth and strength again, filling out your flannels, pulling me in for a tight embrace.

***

Our song is playing. I must have dozed off; the air is now frigid. My skin prickles.

“Where do you go when you’re lonely? Where do you go when you're blue?”

In a whisper, I answer, “I’ll follow you.”

Rising to my feet, I’m drawn toward your marker, almost floating to it. 

On my knees now, my fingertips trace the letters in your etched name. The cold marble is a reminder of your earthly absence. There are no more tears.

Looking up, I spot Polaris. I knew she’d come. Mother Nature provides.

Pulling myself to stand, I begin to dance, my dress swinging like angel wings, feeling your luminous glow from above.  

This dress, these Docs, your leathery smell, that woolen blanket, the honey, peanut butter, beer, lightning bugs, the bread-tie ring–they are all part of our eternal playlist. 

This may be the last dance on terrafirma, but this is our infinite cure. 

This is our forever. 

A shock of cold drizzles from the sky, and I return to our blanket. 

Reaching for the small handkerchief I had folded tightly in my bra, I place it on my lap, unwrap the capsule from within, smooth it between my thumb and forefinger.   

Our song asks again, “Where do you go when you’re lonely? Where do you go when you're blue?”

Placing the medicine on my tongue, I reach for my beer, wash it back, wrap the blanket around myself and swallow. 

“I’ll follow you.”