Sixteen and Crazy: An Anthology

Falling is Just Like Flying

If the kookaburra sits in the gum tree a merry king, then I perch in the oak tree a joyless queen, watching as a casket is lowered into the cold, dead earth. I can't help but think of the way things used to be. How they'll never be again.

The sky is cold, steel gray, the clouds hiding the sunshine that would shower the earth in warmth and melt what remains of the snow fall. A light drizzle falls, like the clouds are shedding tears. Weeping for us.

As if we deserve their sympathy.

It's a beautiful day for a funeral.

I should have listened to Mother, you know; she was right about you. Her crystal ball held your looming shadow, but I thought I was too old for voodoo spells and fortune-telling gypsies.

So I sit upon my branch and listen as my death knell tolls. I remember how you slithered into my heart and filled my ears with poisoned lies that dripped easily from your once hallowed tongue.

I'd apologize to Mother now, if I could.

I watch you take your seat beside her now. I see the way you avoid her gaze, the way you ignore Daddy's tear-stained face, as the pastor drones on, condemning the body to the earth where it will rot slowly for eternity.

My, my, how guilty you look. You'd think the dead woman in the casket was your fault.

Oh, wait.

It was.

A mirthless laugh escapes my lips, harsh and cruel like the winter wind that shakes the leafless branches around me. My voice must carry down to you because you look up to my lonely tree on the hill of dead grass. I grin coldly at the horror that drains the color from your face and leaves you as pale as the sky above. I wave at you from my tree and watch as your eyes grow round with terror, the smile on my face widening as I confirm your fears.

I may be dead, honey, but I'm far from gone.

You can seal my casket in an earthen tomb, but the memory of me will never leave you. And so I will thrive, feeding on your guilt, your sorrows. Your fears.

Do you know what it's like to be haunted, sweetheart? To never have a moment's peace from the voices that scream in agony in the dark corners of your mind?

I don't suppose you do, perfect as you are. Manipulation is more natural to you than the air that still flows in your lungs. There is no room for guilt.

Well, I've learned your tricks now, and I won't be cheated again. I was dealt a stellar hand in this game. You only won because I let you, because I handed you the trophy on a shiny silver platter. I was eager to give you that taste of victory, sweetest chocolate that no amount of faint green paper bills can buy.

But in the end, it was you who played me, and if there's one thing we have in common, baby, it's that we're sore losers.

So tell me, do you feel like a winner now? Was it really worth it to stretch out your spindly fingers and leave me to plunge into darkness alone?

It was a beautiful night that proved my undoing. A rooftop dinner, lit in soft candlelight, and dancing in the moonlight to quiet orchestral strains and the hum of traffic far below.

I should have read the signs more carefully; it was far too perfect.

We stood at the edge of the roof, absorbing the glowing city with the streetlights that replaced the starlight with their own shine. You teasingly dared me to climb up onto the edge, to prove to you that I was not afraid.

You knew I would never refuse a dare.

So I stood on the short wall that kept me from taking a step too far and I showed you how easily I could keep my balance as the wind played with my hair and fondled the hem of my flowery dress.

"You should join me," I laughed, turning to look down at you. "It feels like I'm flying!"

Then your hand was at the small of my back.

And I was falling.

I don't remember colliding with the concrete, but I do remember waking up to see my broken, bloody corpse crumpled on the sidewalk like yesterday's newspaper. I remember trying to scream, to cry, to shout, to just make a sound, but there was no breath to feed my voice.

There was only you, kneeling beside me on the sidewalk. Only your voice as you whispered, "Flying is just like falling."

That was the moment I turned from a peaceful spirit to a raging wraith.

I don't enjoy being played, precious.

You may have thought you had finished with me, that because I was dead I was lost.

Oh, dearest. How naïve you've always been.

If I must fall, you better pack a parachute, because I'll be taking you down with me. I'll haunt you until you join me on the other side. You'll never be alone with me hovering over your shoulder and murmuring in your ear. The lingering scent of my favorite fruity perfume is seared into the cotton of your shirts. I'll be the cause of your descent into madness. I'll be your unknown burden, your clandestine victim, your dirty secret buried in the backyard.

Because I. Don't. Lose.

Don't worry. The tumble into darkness isn't that bad. It's almost peaceful. You're weightless, floating... Flying.

Besides, isn't that what you told me, darling?

Falling is just like flying... with a more permanent destination.