Willow’s Last Three Words

Willow turned her body in agony as the sun streamed through her bedroom window into her wide-open eyes. 

Although the sun rose a few moments ago, Willow had been awake the entire night, tossing, turning, and jolting up straight when her breath staggered.

Today, Willow Church turned thirteen years old. For the past few months, the taste of being a teenager was all she could salivate about. Thirteen was entering a new era of blue-streaked hair and staying out later than she could at twelve.

Willow was especially excited to go to school on her own. With every thirteen-year-old in Blakeridge commuting to school in striking bicycles with geometric electric blue patterns, that was all Willow wanted for her birthday—the perfect bike for a teenage girl in this small town. Willow’s old bicycle was a beacon of second glances and sniggers with its baby pink colour and woven basket adorned with metallic tinsel. 

A week ago, Willow believed the most unfathomable thing was to wake up without the correct bicycle on her thirteenth birthday. 

On the morning of her birthday, Willow laughed through sorrowful tears at the frivolous toll her mind had taken seven days earlier—though it felt like an eternity.

When Willow lay awake in bed until the sun rose high on her thirteenth birthday, she learned the true nightmare, one worse than falling off a cliff or even waking up without the electric blue bicycle, was knowing her father no longer existed in this world. 

This was a nightmare on an infinite loop; a heartwrenching, ear-ringing nightmare she would continue to sleep through this year, the year after, and for as long as she would live. That birthday feeling—a special one where everything tasted sweet and everything around levitated—was now replaced with an emptiness as if all of Willow’s organs were ripped out with nothing left but tears flooding her insides and streaking her face. Her body convulsed as the last words she said to her father continued to ring in her ears. She couldn’t bring herself to say them out loud or even in her head. 

As she turned onto her back, the sun shot at her eyes, leaving Willow Church no choice but to finally push herself out of her damp pillow. Once standing up, she turned around to see her bed with mismatched pillow covers and yellow sheets. Everything looked the same in her floral-scented room and the same oak tree stood tall while cars honked and children giggled on their way to school outside the window. Although everything was the same, everything felt changed as if she blindly fell into a universe where her father was no longer there and nothing mattered anymore—a universe where the last words she said to the person who meant the most could never be unravelled and woven again. 

***

Through the beautiful glass near the staircase, the sun shone brighter than ever, a day after the funeral of Harris Church. Willow climbed down the stairs, into the kitchen where it seemed her mother had been awake all night. It smelled of apple pie, grilled cheese sandwiches, and salad drenched with balsamic vinegar. 

With tiffins full of spaghetti and vegetable mush from all of Willow’s neighbours, the kitchen countertop was flooded with far too much food. Willow gingerly took a seat on the chair by the counter—which spun and, most of the time, Willow loved to twirl on it. But today, she stacked a few tiffins on each other and dropped her forehead onto the warm granite. 

“Were you cooking all night?” Willow asked her mother.

“What time is it?” 

“Eight in the morning.”

“Oh,” Willow’s mother said softly. “I think I might have cooked all night.”

Willow lifted her throbbing head but saw the pain in her mother’s face was far worse. Kayla’s honey blonde hair was slimy with grease and her under-eyes were hollow with shades of blue and pink. 

Kayla slowly walked around the kitchen counter and embraced her daughter around the head, stroking her soft brown hair, tangled after a restless night. Kayla brought forward a small bowl filled with a slice of apple pie, broken into three haphazard pieces. 

“I made apple pie,” Kayla said. “Hope you’re hungry.” She tried to sound casual, but both knew nothing would ever feel casual—at least for a long time. 

“Thank you, Mom.” Willow was empty inside and her appetite was lost within the vacuum of herself. But as Willow’s mother looked at her with glassy eyes, waiting for her to take a bite of the gooey pie, Willow couldn’t do anything else but that. The thick toffee sauce drizzled generously on top of the juicy apples and sweet crust was delicious; for a split second, Willow forgot about time and life and death. 

But the moment barely latched onto her. Soon, Willow spiraled into an abyss, wishing time would rewind and pause forever. 

“How are you?” Kayla asked, unable to say anything else. 

“How are you?” Willow repeated the question with a wavering voice; neither could explain the millions of fragments their hearts shattered into after turning to stone. 

“Your grandma is coming today. Your dad’s mom,” Kayla said. 

“Just for today?” Willow asked while shoving the last spoonful of pie into her mouth.

As if waiting for the right moment, Addison Church came bursting in with her formidable stance and energy that could make everyone in a room look twice.

“My darlings!” Addison came bounding towards them in a black dress and grey hair tied into a neat bun. She hugged them both with her fleshy arms and Willow inhaled the sweet scent of Dior’s Pure Poison wafting from her grandmother’s silky dress. “How are you?” She asked with a raspy voice.

 Willow and her mother sank further into Addison’s soothing embrace—which felt like a momentary oasis before the inevitable time to let go.

“My dear.” Addison stroked Willow’s straight hair as she burst into tears. Willow couldn’t help but think of her father. The car came from nowhere and the shock came speeding into her life. 

“I—I…uh—I,” Willow stammered as her body shook up and down. All the while, Kayla was crying silently in the seat right next to her.

“Honey.” Addison held Willow close to her chest while Willow felt warm tears fall on her head. 

“I can’t believe I won’t see him again,” Willow whispered. And the last thing I said to him was, I hate you. Willow finally found the courage to think about her last conversation with her father, but she couldn’t find the strength to say it out loud. 

When Harris Church couldn’t get Willow her bicycle before her birthday, Willow's anger was unbridled. Willow, it’s just a bike, stop being a foolish child! Harris yelled and in a moment of fury, as Harris rushed out of the house, Willow yelled, I wish you didn’t even exist, I hate you! Harris slammed the door behind and the words that left Willow’s mouth were the last she ever said to her father. 

Willow felt her heart sink deeper into her chest as she remembered the wrinkles around her father’s soft face and curly hair—which stood at odd angles.

“I know, Willow, I know, this is a kind of pain no one should go through.” Willow looked up at her grandmother and saw the same pain reflected deep in her eyes. 

“I wish I could speak to him again,” Willow said. 

Addison hugged her granddaughter with a sharp burst of intensity and then found her way up to the guest room with her suitcase in hand—lips trembling ever so slightly. 

***

As the day progressed, Jade McSorley, Nicola Spade, and Betty Moss came with their families. Each of them held a fabricated sad look on their face and each said the same thing as the other in slightly different words. Despite the chatter and clanking of new glass containers with pasta and soup, a strange silence lingered within Willow. 

Once night fell, Willow’s legs quickly carried her up to her room, where, across the hall, the mellow snoring through the shut guest bedroom door made her smile ever so slightly. Willow hoped tomorrow would feel a little bit better with her grandmother around. 

***

Addison Church entered the kitchen dressed in black, but beneath her firmness, she was just as broken as everyone in the house.  

A few moments later, Willow came with her straight hair taking the shape of a bird’s nest. 

“No school today, Willow?” Addison asked.

“I have some time off,” she replied while sitting by the counter. From what Willow could tell, she slept for a few decent hours.

“Ahh, yes, only some time. Your mother had to get back to work today. It’s too bad no one can truly understand.” Addison sighed.

When Willow closely looked at her grandmother, something peculiar caught her eye. 

Pressed underneath her grandmother’s left arm was a pink hardcover book with a beautiful red engraving on the front. From Willow’s point of view, she could trace the shape of a stone with her eyes. 

“What is that?” Willow asked while pointing. 

“It’s rude to point.” Her grandmother twisted her lips comically. 

“Oh please, tell me!” Willow whined.

“Eat your cereal.” Addison plopped a bowl in front of her and Willow did blindly as she was told. 

Addison soon placed the book on the counter while Willow munched on cocoa puffs with cold milk rolling in her mouth. Willow scanned the book with eager eyes. 

“The glarastone,” Willow read with a mouthful of cereal. “What is that?” With her mind sore after the past week, Willow couldn’t find the incentive to flip through the pages of the exquisite book before her. 

“It lets you speak to the dead one more time,” Addison said far too bluntly, and while Willow almost choked, she soon realized this book must simply be a story and nothing more. 

“Is this a myth or a fantasy story?” Willow couldn’t puzzle her thoughts together.

“No, darling.” Addison poured herself a cup of tea. 

“What do you mean? It exists?” Willow’s eyes bulged out. The whole idea was ludicrous and for a brief moment, Willow laughed. But her grandmother’s serious expression didn’t move an inch. “Where is it?” Willow asked gingerly. 

“There is only one glarastone, located at the base of the furthest cliff in Blakeridge.”

“That’s only a few hours away!” Willow exclaimed. 

“Yes, yes it is.” Addison pulled her car keys from her pocket and headed out the door. Willow followed instinctively, ready to find a stone that couldn’t possibly exist. 

***

“Are we there?” Willow asked as she looked towards the blue waters of Blakeridge. 

“It’s been twenty minutes, Willow. Don’t ask me that question every twenty minutes.”

“Sorry,” Willow mumbled, leaning against the car window. It smelled like her grandmother inside the vehicle—vanilla and rose mixed in a wooden bowl. 

“How long have you known about the glarastone?” Willow asked quietly as her head bobbed back and forth from the window. 

“Since I was about your age. This book has been passed down our family for generations.”

“It’s my turn?” Willow asked.

“Precisely.”

“Will I get to see my father?” If the stone couldn’t bring her father back, even just for a moment, Willow wondered if there was any point to it at all. 

“No. The stone only lets you speak to your lost one, one last time.” Willow raised her eyebrows at her grandmother’s abrupt remark. “The glarastone is not a magical spectacle, Willow. Through the stone, you will simply feel your father and have one last conversation.”

Willow recalled the harsh words she exchanged with her father and her lips quivered. 

“One last conversation,” Willow repeated. “What do you mean I will feel him? And how did our family come across the stone? What does the stone look like?”

“Willow,” Addison said. “Calm down. You don’t have to know everything just yet.”

“Right.” Willow inhaled deeply as her grandmother whizzed away down the empty roads of Blakeridge, towards the last cliff overlooking the beautiful blue body of water.

***

“Willow, Willow.” Addison shook her grandaughter’s shoulder. 

“Huh.” Willow woke up with a jerk of the head and felt drool plastered to the corner of her lips. 

“We are here,” Addison said.

“Did I sleep the whole way?”

“Thankfully, you did.” Addison stepped out of the car and Willow mimicked the same action. 

Willow placed her feet onto cream and white coloured stones and stared at the still ocean with waves crashing along the shore in all its serenity. 

“Come, let’s go.” Addison was halfway down the rickety staircase, leading to the base of the rugged cliff with moss seeping out of the crevices. When Willow reached the bottom of the steps, she spontaneously stripped off her laced shoes and walked along the shore while her feet sizzled from the heat. 

Addison Church stopped abruptly and Willow stood right by her side. 

“Is this it?” Willow asked.

Her grandmother nodded once and slowly extended her arm until it was placed on a small square-shaped crevice. Addison was looking directly at the cracks and lines near the base of the cliff, but it seemed as if she could peer through the opaqueness and into the unknown. As Addison’s eyes stayed glued on the same spot, the wall slowly began to move and an opening appeared.

Willow nearly stumbled backward. Her grandmother straightened Willow up and nudged her forward with ample authority.

“Do I go inside by myself?” Willow’s eyes stretched open. 

“That is the only way it will work.” Addison headed towards the crashing waves and sat down, allowing the seawater to drench her dress from the waist down.

After watching her grandmother walk the whole way towards the ocean waves, Willow hesitantly turned back to the passageway and took meager steps. 

It was a process for Willow to enter the narrow path, but the stone appeared closer to the entrance than she thought. There was a round-shaped opening with grey walls and a small black pedestal on which a fairly ordinary stone was placed. The stone was the size of a fist—mostly grey, with flecks of white. Her hopes plummeted when she picked up the stone and absolutely nothing happened. A glowing aura didn’t appear, the stone didn’t hover above the pedestal, and lights didn’t flash on boldly, revealing rare crystals and artifacts within the dimly lit room. 

Disappointment engulfed Willow and she carefully returned the stone back on the pedestal. As the stone nearly left the palm of her hand, a warm sensation rushed through Willow’s body, and although her father wasn’t in front of her, she could see him vividly in her mind. She blinked once and then again while lifting the stone close to her chest. Nothing around her changed; however, her insides continued to tingle. She could feel her father was alive. It was a strange, comforting feeling.

“Willow,” The image of Harris Church spoke inside Willow’s mind. She gasped and blinked again, hoping to see her father in the flesh. Once again, her surroundings were as dull as she found them.

“Dad?” Willow said to the image in her mind. 

“My sweetheart, I’m sorry I couldn’t get you your bicycle for your birthday. I know it meant a lot to you, I should never have undermined that. I’m very sorry.”

“No, Dad, I’m so sorry for yelling at you, for saying all those things.” Willow sniffled with tears, but relief encapsulated each teardrop as she spoke to her father one last time. “I didn’t mean it when I said I hate you.”

“I know.” Harris’s voice was like honey as he spoke to his daughter. 

“But I still shouldn’t have said it! I’m sorry, I wish you could come back.”

“I'm sorry I can’t come back home, but I know you are strong and you will get through this in your own time. Remember, you can always picture me when you close your eyes.” 

“Can I come and speak to you again through this stone?” Willow clutched onto the fairly ordinary stone as if the world’s fate lay inside its simple exterior. 

“You can only speak to me once through the glarastone.” Harris’s voice wavered and Willow felt like she was crumbling towards the hard grey floor, but something held her. Something which felt oddly familiar: her father’s warm embrace when she would come from school after a bad day. She savoured her last hug and soon, Willow felt the embrace weakened; her connection with her father began to falter. Her time with the glarastone was coming to an end far too soon. After one deep breath, she spoke the simple words that should have been her last the first time. 

“I love you,” Willow whispered.

“I love you too, my daughter.” Harris slowly faded from Willow’s mind until everything returned to her new reality. 

The glarastone magically floated towards the pedestal and glowed a brilliant white before returning to its seemingly ordinary state. Willow tenderly stroked the stone with a glimpse of magic before returning to a life she might just learn to live one day.