my name means gold in hebrew

Stepping out onto the porch to light your third cigarette of the night, you notice the sky is the same color of their eyes the day they died. Your hands tremble cupping the lighter found in the car and your lip does that thing again.

One.

Two.

Smoke blows out into the cold wind. You were really supposed to quit since your lungs never fully recovered from last year. Now you buy a pack on the way home.

So you think: What now? Will I be able to buy cigarettes one day without weeping? How are we supposed to continue? How does anyone? I don’t know…I don't know…you just do. Oh, wow, thank you! I did this to myself, but in the end, I wouldn’t have changed a thing.

I still would’ve asked you to sing for me.

I know, they say, but they aren’t here.

Look, the ocean looks so beautiful right now.

You inhale again and watch it come alive.

-

You've always enjoyed transitional months, March being your favorite. There was something about winter meeting spring in a clever kiss, everything becoming reborn. When it rains the world is in baptism. Sunlight now hits the newly made leaves in the tree you're under and it all lusters. The air is nearly sweet and pink.

Are you good?

Yeah, I'm alright.

Okay, I'm heading out.

Okay.

Your chin rests on your shoulder. You’re not a child; you don’t need to get checked on every hour (fine maybe it’s not that much, but it feels like it.) It’s been two months since the disaster—that's like a lot of much time to heal (you think.) You keep reassuring people, but they won’t listen. You have a glass bowl over your head and they watch your mouth move except the words are disjointed. We were getting somewhere. Now it's as if you're twelve years old all over again. Your dad’s favorite record has just ended. Why are you crying?

When you close your eyes, you feel the wind sweep past your neck and realize you need a haircut. It never got cut while you were in that place (there were probably other things they were focusing on.) Maybe you could cut it yourself. It shouldn’t be that hard. You have a hunch you might become addicted to the feeling of letting go and everyone would come home to find all your hair gone and then determine you were having an episode and things would go all messy again. Hm.

Your hair whips past your forehead again. The sound of the wind blends in with the rustle of the leaves and it’s all so harmonious until a strange quietness makes you pause; you can almost feel it on your skin. You open your eyes to discover a creature standing some ways in front of you. 

You think you might’ve just known them in a past life although you’re not sure.

-

You didn’t know this but apparently the first thing they noticed about you was the way your feet tapped against the ground while you sat. It was beating to a rhythm. What was it? You tucked yourself in neat, like you knew how to be small. Why did you do that? They didn’t expect you to actually be the height you were when you finally stood. You didn’t know this until later.

-

Excuse me! is this yours by any chance?

The figure makes its way closer to you and you watch as the distance closes. They have a rather slender frame when they finally stop some odd feet away. The smell of jasmine hits you strongly and you realize that the wind has started blowing petals past you. It reminds you of snow with how gentle it flows.

I’m sorry, what?

This cat. They pause. Is it yours?

You finally take notice of the furry bundle in their arms, a long black tail curling back and forth on their forearm. You lean forward from the tree trunk to get a better look. They had wrapped it in a pale-yellow baby blanket of some sort. Like a child.

Oh, um, no.

Hm.

That thing looks pretty ugly, actually.

That’s mean.

You shrug.

So…this isn’t your cat?

You struggle to recognize who this person is. You haven’t seen them around before (which says something because you’ve had a lot of free time these past two months.) So, maybe they moved here while you were away? And you simply haven’t paid enough attention to see them? You find that hard to believe, though. There’s a certain presence to them which is hard to overlook. The white petals finally settle down in calm waves. Your watch beeps.

No, it’s not my cat. Sorry, but I actually have to go.

You stand to walk away but not before almost tripping over a wrecked hidden root in the ground. Your face flushes (???) and you glance over at the figure still holding the weird looking cat. You cough awkwardly before turning and walking down trail leading into the woodland. The air smelt sweet but now it smells wet, as if it’s going to rain soon. You remember you left your umbrella by the door frame back home.

Oh, where’re you going?

The voice follows. You put your hands in your pockets and shrug.

Dunno.

You don’t know.

No. I just start walking most of the times.

Why?

Because my psychiatrist recommended going outside and “walking more.”

(You don’t understand why you’re telling a total stranger about your personal life, but you realize you sort of enjoy the anonymity.)

Interesting. They chirp. Why do you see a psychiatrist?

The two of you have made it into the dense gathering of trees, leaving behind the hill you were on before. The jasmine and the leaves where the sun had hit just right. You hold your breath, release it, and answer without thinking of much else.

Sort of drowned and was legally dead for like three minutes.

Oh, wow.

Yeah.

What was it like being dead?

You consider how no one has asked you that yet. It’s an indelicate question, but you like how blunt they are about the situation. You think this person might be someone who can hear you through the fishbowl. Would they listen to your fathers’ old records and cry, too?

Cold, probably. I don’t really remember. So, what’s with the cat again?

Oh! I found him by the post office. I got him this blanket so I could carry it, but he’s got a collar, you see, so I know he belongs to somebody. I’ve been going around and asking people if he’s theirs. I don’t actually know if it’s a boy… I just assumed. His name is Dot, so.

You watch as they pull back some of the blanket to reveal its collar—a thin piece of brown with a bow on it. Name, but no number. Odd.

Maybe he wandered over from a different town, You add. And is sightseeing.

They laugh. It’s an easy sound, like fluttering.

Yeah, maybe.

The pathway underneath your feet brings you to a stop as you reach the creek you’ve subconsciously arrived to. You could walk for hours and somehow always arrive back like a hopeless lover. There’s only one flat rock suitable for sitting in the area so you routinely sit down, and your companion (???) after a quick hesitation follows. Comfortable silence settles between you two and it’s actually quite nice. You watch as the creek glistens in the light like a thousand drops of sugar.

A thoughtful hum pipes up next to you.

You looked so at peace back there. By the tree, I mean.

Did I? I find that hard to believe.

Do you?

You look over at them and find their sight staring far away. The waif of their hair touches their eyelashes as they continue to hold the cat. The cat… You glance down at it, his eyes peeking from the blanket. He probably has no idea what’s going on (or maybe he does, you don’t know.) You contemplate how rare it is for a cat to be held for this long. To be honest, you still have your small fear of cats that never went away and so would normally object to being near one if possible. This thing is quite content, though, so you let it slide.

You open your mouth until you hear it for the first time:

By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes, where the sun shines bright on loch lomon’…Where me and my true love will never meet again, on the bonnie, bonnie banks of o’loch lomon’

It takes you a second to fathom the singing, a gentle high sound that vanishes in the air before you even know it. You think you’ve imagined the poem until you meet their eyes. You’ve never seen such a cloudy, rainy pair before. Actually, you can’t remember the last time you’ve had a conversation this long with someone outside the house now that you really think about it. When was the last time you took notice of a person’s eyes?

They twist their mouth sheepishly before looking back at the water.

Sorry, They mumble. My mom…she would sing that all the time when I was little. She doesn’t do it much anymore… This view reminds me of her. She would be at peace here, I think.

They give a nonchalant shrug and look down at the cat, scratching behind his ear a bit. You think it begins purring (probably?) and imagine that they’re the type to have a way with animals—the type to get out of their car to stop traffic so baby geese could cross.

They hum again.

Do you ever think about your parents when they were young?

The muscle twitches in your jaw. You blink your eyes hard before continuing.

I mean…not really. Do you?

Sometimes. When I feel a certain way…I imagine how they must’ve felt this too. I always thought I was old but now that I’m…well, I realize just how young we are. Well, me, sorry I don’t know how old you are. You look my age, though.

Not fully comprehending what they’re saying, you just continue to watch them sort of babble on before they look at you. They give a smile, and through crooked teeth ask you your name, embarrassed they hadn’t asked earlier. You tell them, and they nod calmly before speaking.

To be honest, I followed you here because I thought you looked lonely. Maybe in need of some company.

Oh?

You’re not sure how to reply to that. You are lonely. You don’t leave your house and barely eat. You twitch, and you sigh, and you drown, and you get watched as you drown. Your sister comes by frequently to check on you and drop off her weird soup and vegetables. How do you leave this? You don’t know.

The cat yawns and meows and you think: Yeah, me too.

You decide to answer semi-honestly:

I guess. I mean…in the end, like, what is it to you?

They avert their eyes, slightly swaying the cat asleep in their lap. You can see them collecting the words together in their head and wait patiently for their reply. A slow lull of birds fill your ears. You listen until your companion (yeah, companion) finally speaks up.

I’m also alone. They say quietly. I don’t really know anybody here. I just moved back into my parents’ house since I decided it was best to leave the city I did post-grad in. I thought it might be nice to become friends with you…I thought maybe you needed one too. I don’t know. On the hill, it looked like you were waiting for something.

You feel a weight in your chest. A heart-attack, maybe? A slight drizzle begins to come down onto you both. It's here, you guess. You don’t have your umbrella. You’re not ready. You’re not…

Okay, You say quietly. I...okay.

They say your name and give you a tender smile.

I feel that I should tell you by the way…

They meet your eyes, and the words come from the back of their throat, the back of their heart.

Well, I’m dying soon.

You can tell they’re weighing everything on what you have to say next. The stillness of their shoulders, the way they hold their mouth. It’s that presence they bring again, the immobility of the day and night. Why you were able to feel their silence back at the tree. It makes sense and it doesn’t at the same time. Life came from them, not at them. Maybe when you only have so much time, you want to spend it all the ways you can. Is it possible to come back to life twice?

You look down at the sleeping cat before looking up at the somber sky. The drizzle has stopped. Guess you didn’t need that umbrella. You turn back to them.

Do you think you could sing me that song again?

Their smile filled the woodlands. You had a feeling you could maybe live twice after all.

-

When you asked them their name on the way back from the creek, they told you, then proudly adding it meant gold in Hebrew. You watch as the sun rises now. You stayed out all night on accident, again, standing in the middle of time. They said to you when they died, they would come back as a color that would fill the sky. They said you should catch them once in a while. They’d love to see you.

This time around, you didn’t mind getting check in on.