The Tempest

Promise turned in her bed, pushing at the snake that had settled its weight across her chest as it did every night, "Move," she commanded, heaving the monster with all her strength. The snake slithered off her chest and pressed up against the length of her body. When she had first enslaved Caliban in her empty home, it felt like a guardian. She had welcomed the monster; it had kept her safe from the reporters and intrusive acquaintances, all hungry for a piece of her story. It was a comfort. She had begged it to protect her and never leave her for a moment, but the arrangement was getting burdensome, and she could no longer stand to look at the loathsome creature. 

A flutter at the window caught her attention. Ariel, the little sparrow that sang to her in the mornings, pecked at the crumbs Promise had left for her the night before. The little gray bird tipped her head at Promise and trilled four syllables that sounded remarkably like "text Madison." She was always nudging Promise toward doing little things like that. "Go for a walk, Promise," she would sing, or "Take a shower, Promise." This morning, with the snake's weight shifted off of her and the potential reward of hearing from Madison, she listened to the sparrow. She reached for the phone on her bedside table and tapped in, "Good morning, sweetheart. Are you still coming on Monday?" Then, she waited for the little dots that indicated a reply was coming. When no dots appeared, she tossed the phone to the foot of the bed and pushed her face into the pillow on the empty side of the bed.

They called her a whistleblower or a hero, depending on what channel carried the story, but she knew neither was true. She knew she had been a perpetrator no matter what the world said. Not being charged was not the same thing as being innocent. When Rex first came to her asking for time before the safety reports came out, she didn't hesitate. He had always had her back, and she fully intended to have his, but when the plane went down, she knew she had done the wrong thing. The unthinkable thing. It had been her worst nightmare. The storm had blown through, and she didn't even care that she lost her career. She had poured her whole heart into her job, sometimes at her only daughter's expense and usually at her marriage's expense. Stuart had left and remarried long before the accident and hadn't even called. She was alone with her blood-soaked conscience. She had also lost a sense of safety in the world and the confidence that had made her go into Aeronautics in the first place. Everything that had given her a sense of identity had dissolved. She wasn't an engineer anymore. Her body was no longer strong, atrophied by lack of use. She had been alone in her apartment for months, waiting for the trial. Even motherhood was barely clinging to a cliffside, about to slip into the abyss. Madison was her only grip on the outside world and the only thing she still cared about. She was the only thing that made shaking off the snake every morning even remotely possible.

The phone dinged, and Promise dug around in the covers to find it, "Mom, of course I'm coming; I told you a million times. Are you up? Did you eat? I'll be there tomorrow around 8:00." 

Relieved, Promise looked at Ariel and, very slowly—so slowly that she was barely moving—stood, walked to the window, and opened it. 

The bird hopped as if blown in with the breeze, "I've been waiting," it sang. Though still insubstantial, the bird was larger than it had seemed through the window, and her feathers had an incandescent appearance that Promise had never noticed before.

The snake hissed, but Ariel ignored it. Positioned between the snake and the bird, Promise felt a building pressure in her throat, and words began to bubble up.

"I can't stand the thought of my daughter finding my body; it's the only thing keeping me alive."

"Yes," the bird song sounded deep and solemn. "But you are alive."

The snake slithered closer and stopped. Promise wondered at the difference in weight between the two creatures: one as heavy as a tree trunk and the other weighing only a few ounces. 

"Maybe I am alive, but all those people aren't," Promise said. Caliban twisted around her ankle.

"You didn't know." said the bird

"I should have known," Promise collapsed back onto the bed. "I should have inspected those reports myself; I should have demanded, I should have…." The tempest raging inside her swallowed the words. 

"There was nothing you could have done." The bird floated to the bed near Promise. The snake forced itself to continue climbing up and around Promise's calves.

Promise reached down and steadied herself on the snake's scaly head, turning to the bird with rage in her eyes. "There were 358 people on that plane! 358! 358 families in mourning. I am responsible for three hundred fifty-eight funerals. I have no right to live; I have no right!"

Ariel stretched her beak forward and gently pulled Promise's hand away from Caliban. Promise fell backward on the bed, arms stretched out to her sides, palms up. Ariel hopped closer, and tears started streaming down Promise's face. "Why are you here?" she asked.

"you need me."

"I don't deserve you. I don't deserve anything". For the first time since the accident, Promise started to feel a release through crying; sobs began slowly, then blew through her like a wind. Tears and snot flowed down her face and onto the bed—wave after wave of pain ripped through her body. The fury of it erased every other sensation. There was nothing but the tempest, nothing but the grief.

The storm rocked Promise back and forth like a ship about to capsize. In her grief, she didn't see Ariel begin to grow and morph from a sparrow to a swan. Feathered wings stretched beyond the width of the bed. The swan covered Promise in soft wings, and Promise buried her face in the hollow of Ariel's wing and continued to weep. Ariel wept with her.

The snake slipped off Promise's legs and lay at her feet.

Eventually, the weeping ceased, but Ariel didn't stop holding Promise. She continued to hold her like an infant wrapped in a feathery blanket.

Quietly, almost unperceptively, Ariel whispered a name. "Shirley Armstong".

Promise winced and then punched against the great bird. The snake lifted its head and opened its mouth as if to swallow the words, but Ariel would not relent and said again, "Shirley Armstrong." This time, Promise collapsed into the words and repeated them, "Shirley Armstrong."

Ariel spoke another name, "Brian Collins," and Promise repeated it.

And then another, "Immaculate Mokambe."

Ariel spoke, and Promise repeated 358 names. Each one held in her mouth like a live coal.

When it was over, Ariel spoke one more word: "Forgiven". Promise began to weep again and Ariel waited with her until she fell asleep.

The following day, Promise woke and was surprised by the lightness of her body. The snake she was so accustomed to was not lying across her chest but on the floor across the room. She looked at it and commanded, "Leave". Caliban looked at her with its yellow eyes and turned to slither out the door. "Wait", called Patience. She climbed out of bed and walked across the floor, kneeling near the monster and gently setting her hand on its back. "Thank you for helping me hold onto my humanity while I needed you, but I'm ok now. I release you." The snake seemed to shrink as it settled near the door. Ariel was gone.

Patience washed her face and laid clothes on the bed, preparing to testify.