Marianne at Solstice

The fire blazed against the setting sun, partially masking Marianne’s family as they finished their Kubb game, and Marianne sat with the food in her rocking chair, admiring the joy of her final Midsummer day. Her frail hand picked up a strawberry, admired its size and took a bite. Sweetness filled her body as the voice of Samantha rang from behind the fire. “Grams! We’re done, I won!”

“Come here, I have a prize for you,” Marianne called feebly. She grabbed the crown of flowers, made of geraniums, daisies, marigolds, honeysuckle, limonium (for durability) and lavender; it was one she made so many years ago when she had her first vision on a Midsummer day. It was the color that was Marianne’s favorite part. She put it on her granddaughter’s head and was pleased at how perfectly it fit. “The embodiment of the May Queen,” she said.

“Grams! It’s beautiful,” Samantha said, adjusting the crown so it showed mostly the daisies.

“You’ve been making those for years, Mom,” Julie joked as she poured herself a glass of wine. “You always loved the rituals.”

“I do. And…they work, you know!”

“Yes, of course,” Aidan, Julie’s husband, spoke. “How do you think I met Julie?” He kissed her on the cheek, making Julie’s already flushed cheeks turn a deeper red.

“And it was how I met Chris.” Marianne sat and watched the sun, its orange flame melding into pink as it descended slowly.

“Chris?” Samantha asked. She bit into a strawberry and winced at the sourness.

“Your grandfather, dear.” Marianne then looked at Samantha who resembled her dear Chris with her smoldering green eyes, although she never told her. “He’s the love…”

“…Of your life,” Julie sighed out. “Mom.”

“What? He was!” Marianne spoke defensively.

“But he’s not Dad.”

“Yes, he was.” Looking at Julie with a sense of shushing, she raised a finger to her pink-painted lips. This evening, this was the one; she wanted to be ready. Pink was his favorite color on her. “He may not have been around, but he is your father.”

“Mom…”

Samantha preened up. “Who is Chris?” Julie moved to say something, but Samantha stopped her. “Mom, I’m 25, I can handle some scandal!” She almost chuckled at the idea that her grandmother had some torrid love affair.

Marianne took a breath and relaxed into the chair and smiled; her eyes creased with joy, and she spoke:

“Long ago, when I wasn’t much younger than you, I tried the ritual. The flowers were fresh, and no one was around. The sun was setting, and Midsummer was coming to a close. It was so long ago, I can barely remember the details, but I remember the first vision—his eyes. Those piercing green eyes in a haze of smoke. And after that, I had many suitors, men who wanted me.”

“Mom!” Julie took another swig of her cabernet.

“You were a beauty, weren’t you, Grams?”

“Oh! I don’t know…but I had many options. But none of them had green eyes; then one did, in 1970…Chris. I was at the library, writing something or another, and a young man sat down in front of me. He extended his hand, introduced himself, and asked what I was writing. Usually, I was hesitant to a man’s approach, but I knew…I knew that was him from my Midsummer vision. He said his name was Chris, and he was home from the Vietnam war on a leave, he was a scientist.”

“They were married, and I was born; which is why I also waited in later in life to have you.” Julie looked at Aidan and smiled. “And I also waited for my Midsummer vision.”

“Julie!” Aidan smiled and kissed his wife. “Magic didn’t bring us together; forced studying and a love of Dickens did.”

“It did! But Mom, Chris was never our father. He—“

“Died.” Marianne looked around, the time must have been close. She needed to hurry through the story. “Yes, he went back oversees about 18 months later, and he never came back. I never wanted to marry again. But I was left with a child and bills.”

“Then you met Cillian!” Samantha chimed in.

“Yes, I did! He was a good man. He took care of us. But that was only after I did the tradition again, when your mother was only six. I arranged the flowers again, right at about nine pm, and I wished. I wished to see my next lover. When I opened my eyes, there was a slight figure! And…I knew it was Chris, not Cillian. I think the other world was telling me that Chris was waiting for me in another place. But I met Cillian a month after, and I loved him. I loved him but never forgot about Chris.” Marianne swallowed and grasped for another strawberry. Samantha gave her one and also got up to get a piece of bread with the pickled herring.

“Grams, have something to eat.”

She ate and was grateful for the food. “Yes, thank you, dear.” She sighed.

Julie looked around and noticed a small batch of flowers near the porch’s stoop; she saw the way they were assembled so precisely, and she noticed the time. “Mom…are you…are you hoping to see him again tonight?”

“Yes.”

“What use would that be? Cillian was our father! He took care of us, and when he passed, we were all devastated! Including you!”

“Julie,” Aidan tried to pull her down.

“Because, my dear Julie, it’s my time. I can feel it.”

“Grams, no.”

“Yes. And I want to show you the magic of this beautiful tradition!” She tried to get up, but the pain in her bones raised an objection and forced her back into the seat.

“Mom, it’s not real.”

“Julie, can I see you a moment?” Aidan was far enough away to have a discussion to where no one else would hear. Beside him, the fire still engulfed the sky, crackling and muffling their words. “What does it matter? If your mom wants to think this holiday actually produces magic, why should we stop her?”

“Because, I don’t want Samantha to think that…”

“That what?” They continued to discuss the morality on believing in magic, while Marianne called Samantha closer.

“Will it work, Grams?”

“I believe so.”

“Then I’ll help. What do I do?”

“Add this.” Marianne produced a white rose from her pink dress. “It’s what he gave me. And I’ll say his name. You’ll see…the mystic of Midsummer is real, and love lives through the confusion. I promise.”

Samantha did as she was told. The circle was about two and a half feet in diameter, completely filled out and was littered with red roses, lavender and daisies. Placing the white rose directly in the middle, she looked back. Marianne was whispering something, holding her hands together. When Samantha looked over at her parents, the wind suddenly changed. It was cooler and more insistent; it was faster and almost felt as if someone was controlling it. The fire roared and scared Julie and Aidan; the setting sky somehow losing any sense of time, just whirling colors. And Samantha looked back at the circle of flowers. It rose, not very high, but it rose off the ground and began to move. It moved towards Marianne. Julie saw it, too, and became still. Aidan wrinkled his nose, not believing what he saw.

But Marianne. Marianne looked up and saw him. Chris, his green eyes, piercing with only one aim. Chris, with his calming smile and broad shoulders. Chris, Marianne’s love. They spoke.

“I knew you’d come.”

“I had to.” His voice was soft but present all at once.

“Why not last time?”

He chuckled. “It’s hard to get between worlds, my dear.” They stared at each other. “You look beautiful, just like when I first saw you.”

“Oh. No.”

“Yes.” He moved closer.

As this happened, Julie and Aidan moved closer, only seeing Marianne talking to the air. Yet, there was a slim outline of a man with eyes of green that pierced the oncoming summer evening. Was time collapsing? Did the ritual truly work? Julie’s mother began to cry, but Julie couldn’t do anything.

“What happens now?” Marianne asked.

“Take my hand.” She did. It was cool and warm, firm and caressing.

“Will Cillian be there?”

“No.” He paused. “You see…we are all looking for completion in this plane. We search and search but sometimes never find it. When we die, we go into the plane I’m in now, and we have a choice—return to find our true happiness or stay. I stayed. I stayed because I found my happiness with you. I stayed, waiting for your return, because our time on this plane was far too short; now my waiting is done, and I gain back my time with you.”

Marianne stretched up, she looked at her family. Julie, stunned; Aidan, mesmerized; and Samantha, so innocent in this life, crying. She knew that he was there. Then Marianne moved forward, kissed the air and sat back down. “Goodbye,” she whispered and smiled. “Love on this plane while you can.” Then it happened—Marianne leaned back and ceased to breathe. The air moved faster, and the outline grew.

The three that stayed on this plane knew what happened immediately—what once was one, then, was two. And the sun set, whispering its farewell to the festivities of Midsummer and to the cool reasoning of the events that had just occurred. Julie ran to her mother and kneeled, feeling for a pulse.

“Mom?” She looked up at Aidan and shook her head, tears flowing. “Samantha.”

But Samantha knew, it had worked; the two that had always meant to be were now one in another place, in a magical place of love. Her tears stopped, for happiness did not warrant woe; it must fill the heart and let one believe in the good of this world.

“Did you all see that?” Samantha asked. Her parents nodded. “It worked.”

“Or was it us wanting it to work?” Aidan sat next to his wife.

While they would never know, they found Chris’ grave and buried Marianne next to him. That day, they collectively understood that magic might be real. Because they could suppose that it was a collective vision due to the wine; or they could believe that the grace of spring’s slumber giving way to the graciousness of summer resulted in the magic of a forever midsummer love.