As Shadows Bleed From the Stars 

            I hear her voice echoing in the darkness, riding upon the waves as they crash against the shore. I hear her voice calling to me through dreams left unfinished. Through an infinite heartache that leaves my soul split open, burrowing into my skin, deep into my bones, until the very marrow within is consumed by anguish. I don’t know how to survive this, how to survive her being gone. I don’t know how to dispense the image of her pale skin, eyes vacant and unseeing, from my mind. I can feel her lifeless body in my arms, the weight of it pressing down against me as her final breath filtered from between unmoving lips.

            The piercing rays of the morning sun break through the slat in the blinds, slicing across my corneas. I squeeze my eyes shut, grabbing blindly for the pillow beneath my head. Jerking it from under me, my head slams down into the headboard with a hollow thud that clacks my teeth together, rattling whatever brain cells are still swimming around in there. If the alcohol would just do its damned job.

            Smashing the pillow to my face, I wonder for a brief moment how much pressure it would take to stop my heart; to end the misery I’m drowning in. Would my strength wane before I finish the job? Before the last thud rattles through my body? I can feel it beating now, a steady rhythm thrumming within my chest that belies the ice freezing inside my veins. Everything is cold these days, as if winter has taken up permanent residence inside my soul, although the world around me has been unseasonably warm for March. March. She would have been 24 this month.

            An unhinged roar bursts from my throat, so loud, so full of rage, I startle even myself. Gypsy scurries from her perch on the window sill, her calico coat standing on end, tail sticking straight up behind her. I’m sorry, I think, but it’s too late. She’s been as lost as I have these last few weeks. Her mama’s never been gone this long before; how do I explain to a cat that the woman she loves most in this world is never coming back? I can’t even explain it to myself well enough for it to make sense. Hurling the pillow across the room, I storm from the bed into the tiny bathroom. I won’t think about it. I can’t.

            The water spilling from the faucet is frigid as I splash it across my face. I use the purple hand towel from the rack to dry my skin and mop up the puddles around the sink. Standing stupidly, I stare down at the wadded-up ball of cotton. The towel, gripped tightly between white knuckled fingers, is the last thing in the world I would have ever picked out for myself. Now, I can’t let it go. I can still see the smile stretching across her face as she showed me the colors for the bathroom; she was so proud of how well everything matched up. I’d teased her relentlessly, but all that mattered was how happy she had been. I could live a thousand lifetimes fueled by one of her smiles alone. What is there to keep me going now?

            A loud crash echoes down the hallway, coming from the living room. I peak my head out the door, scanning the dimly lit area. Every window has the blinds pulled firmly closed, and with that room on the opposite side of the house, the sun won’t reach there until late afternoon. I squint, trying to see through the gloom.

            “Gypsy? Are you alright, kitty?” My voice sounds rough in my ears. I clear my throat in a vain attempt to soften my tone. “Gypsy?”

            She’s nowhere in sight, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t hiding beneath the couch or in the miniscule space between the fridge and the cupboard. I swear, she could fit into a hole the size of a quarter if she was determined enough. Stupid cat.

            Stepping into the room, I glance around, searching for the source of the noise. My eyes stop at the shattered chunks of porcelain lying scattered across the floor in front of the hearth. My boat. The to-scale replica of the first boat I’d ever built and sold on my own. The first boat we’d christened after I’d asked her to marry me. She’d taken pictures of all the schematics and the final product and had the model crafted for me as a wedding present.

            “What the hell?” The question leaves my lips on a weighted breath as if I’ve taken a punch to the gut from someone much larger than my six-and-a-half-foot frame. I drop to my knees as a strangled cry chokes from my throat. Tears burn my eyes, scorching down my cheeks before I can consider an attempt to hold them at bay. What does it matter, anyway? No one is here to watch me fall apart. She left me here. Alone. Abandoned me to this hellish existence where I don’t even recognize myself anymore.

            I drop my head, pressing my fists against my eyes, as angry sobs rack through my body. Cursing her for leaving. Cursing whatever entity exists in the heavens above for taking her from me. Cursing myself for being too inept to see what was right in front of me the whole time.

            I jerk my head back as a feather soft touch brushes against my cheek. Eyes springing open, they dart frantically about the room, but there’s no one here. Only a deafening silence threatening to pull me beneath the surface into sweet oblivion. I can practically taste the end, honeyed saccharin melting on my tongue, releasing me from the torment of a life in ruin. But I would never really do it. I’m too weak. Too selfish. She was always the strong one. Always the one who wasn’t afraid of the unknown.

            Dragging myself up off the floor, I grab the broom and dustpan from the pantry and quickly sweep up the mess. A debilitating pain shoots through my chest as I discard the pieces into the trash bin; a knife twisting through muscle and sinew. It’s just a stupid boat, I tell myself. It doesn’t mean anything now.

            The shrill of my phone ringing from the bedroom pierces through the silence. I stumble down the short hallway, grabbing it from the nightstand. My mother’s face appears on the screen, her perfect smile causing bile to churn in my belly. An audible sigh escapes my lips; I don’t know if I have the stamina to deal with her this morning, but I swipe my thumb across the screen anyway. I was never the type of son who ignored calls from his mother. I can’t start now, despite everything.

            “Mom?” The trepidation in my voice is palpable.

            “Noah, sweetheart, how are you this morning?” I can hear the disquiet emanating through the phone. It can’t be easy for her to watch her only son crumble into obscurity, but I don’t know how to stop it.

            “I’m fine, Mom,” I lie. “I have work today. The customer wants this boat by the end of next week. I’m already behind schedule because…” I choke on the last word.

            “Of course, baby, I understand. If you want to talk later, I’m here. Whatever you need.” She’s pleading. Begging me to let her in. Begging me to let her help me. The problem is, I don’t know if I want help. I want to let myself drown, let the tidal wave of anguish consume my last breath and leave me nothing more than a shell of existence in a world that no longer makes sense.

            “I gotta go, Mom. I’ll call you tomorrow.” I sound every bit as defeated as I feel.

            “Noah?”

            “What is it, Mom?” I struggle to swallow down the sigh. She doesn’t deserve my irritation. None of this is on her.

            “If you’re hungry later, we’re having pot roast at five. Your sister’s coming. We would all really love to see you.” Tears stain her words and it’s all I can do to hold myself upright.

            “I love you, Mom.” I disconnect the call before she has time to respond. The thickness in my throat is suffocating. I suck in each breath as though I’m breathing through wool. Through a blanket wrapped tight around my face, pressing against my nose, drying out my mouth. Leaving behind a desolate wasteland of heart wrenching madness.

            I leave my phone on the nightstand; no one else will call today, and I wouldn’t answer if they did. The condolence calls stopped within a few days of the funeral. Apparently, my ill receiving attitude was off-putting to those wanting to express their sadness over a loss none of them were fully capable of understanding. No one in my small group of known associates, friends and family alike, had lost someone in such a manner before. They couldn’t fathom the depth of blame I was putting on myself, let alone the complete and utter demise of my sole reason for living.

            Trudging back into the kitchen, I grab the coffee pot and pour the steaming sludge into my travel mug. A thought niggles in the back of my mind. I don’t recall dumping out yesterday’s brew, refilling it with fresh, or even setting the timer. But that isn’t completely unfounded; there’s a lot I don’t recall these days, from my nights spent inside a bottle of some amber liquid or another. I was never a drinker, but these days, it’s the only way to remotely block out the pain, if only for a moment.

            The camphoraceous scent of cedar fills my nostrils as I step into my shop at the back of the property. My muscles immediately relax, uncurling from their taut, bound state. This is the only place I’ve been able to grasp a fraction of solace since… I shake my head vigorously, forcing the thought from my mind. I refuse to bring that in here with me. This is the only reprieve I have amongst the chaos that has devoured my every waking moment these last few weeks. The only thing keeping what’s left of my sanity intact.

            I find Gypsy curled up near the bulkhead of my latest project—A gorgeous twenty-foot, western cedar kayak. A request from some city slicker ventured to the coast, most likely with the intent to ‘find himself,’ but with far more money than motivation, I’d wager. She jumps down, twisting her body around my legs, soft purring vibrating up my calves.

            I start up the wood planer, getting lost in the softness, the sensation of wood beneath my fingertips. I may have never amounted to much, but when it comes to crafting the most gnarled piece of wood into a thing of beauty, I’m a master. I learned the skill from hours of watching my dad as a boy. He taught me everything I know and I took it up a bar or two, maybe even ten, when I went into business for myself. It’s the only thing I can claim I’ve ever done right in my life.

            Hours pass as I refuse to let my mind wander. Refuse to think about the storm raging outside these four walls. My solitary purpose is the task at hand. It isn’t until a sudden crash thunders from the far wall that my head jerks up and my focus slips. My mind shudders back to reality. A low growl radiates from Gypsy’s mouth, her hair standing straight out and she backs up a few steps, tail twitching angrily.

            A can of varnish lays on the floor in front of the shelf. I walk over, picking it up, turning it between my hands, brows pulled low. “How…?”

            The word barely leaves my lips when an icy cold touch snakes up my spine, wrapping around my throat. Fear pulsates through me, sending a parade of goosebumps pebbling across my skin. I slam the can back onto the shelf and rush for the door, punching it open with so much force, it bounces off the wall and bangs closed behind me as I hurl myself into the fading daylight. 

            “Forget this shit,” I grumble, storming across the lawn and into the house. I grab a bottle of whisky from the cupboard and rush back out the door, trekking across the deck and to the beach below. I kick off my shoes, nearly tripping as I wrench the socks from my feet, my momentum never slowing. My feet sink into the sand, steps quickening, as I put as much distance as possible between the house and myself. When the weight of my sorrow becomes too much, I collapse, my heart buzzing erratically inside my chest. Bringing the bottle to my lips, I take a long pull, letting the fire race down my throat and settle into a delicious burn in my belly. I crave the numb oblivion alcohol provides. Is that too much to ask for when my soul has been carved open and left hemorrhaging amidst the rubble of a life cut short?

            Staring up into the darkening sky, I watch as the stars blink into existence. Tiny beacons of hope; shadows of light bleeding from the night. My body shakes, an uncontrollable tremor quaking from the very center of my core. Tears cascading down my cheeks, I succumb to the grief that has altered the very cells which make up my being. I don’t know how to get through this. I don’t know how to survive.

            “Noah?” Her soft voice whispers out from the darkness, wrapping around my mind. My eyes snap open and she’s there, her face directly in front of me. I don’t startle. I don’t pull back. I drink her in. A vision of beauty, even under the ghostly pallor. She reaches out, tentatively, pressing her palm against my cheek. The invisible touch seeps into my skin and I lean into it, desperate for any semblance of connection.

            “Astrid?”

            “I’m here, love.”

            “But you’re not. You left me.” I can’t contain the venom in the accusation.

            “I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to hold on. I wanted to. Desperately. But I was too weak. But you… you’re so strong. Strong enough to survive for both of us.”

            “I love you, baby.”

            “I love you, Noah. Always. Never forget that.”

            Then she’s gone, fading into an iridescent mist, leaving me alone once more, with my heart beating in my chest, breath moving in and out of my lungs. Alive.