Michigan weather is weird, I think, staring out of the windshield at the trail that started in front of my car’s parking space. The snow drifts piled up to either side of the path, slowly beginning to melt, the cold water trickling onto the paved pathway.
The snow shouldn’t be melting already, I thought, staring out of
the window at the slowly melting drifts of the park. It’s mid-December, in the middle of winter, in Michigan. It was just
snowing like hell earlier, during the drive here, and Grand Rapids is several
hundred miles from the lakeshore. At the very least there should be lake effect
snow falling, and yet…
And yet, melting snow
drifts. Patches of green and tan grass under patches of white on the hilly lawns
of the park. A rising Grand River water level off to the right, no doubt from
snowmelt runoff.
Yeah, Michigan weather is weird as hell, I think as I step out into
the parking lot, slamming the car door behind me.
But not as weird and fucked up as the shit you’ve been seeing lately,
is it?
I shivered, and my eyes
fell to the ground as I walked along the path, noticing some of the wet, black
leaf rot there. Oh God. Why did I have to remind myself of… of that? Of the very thing I’d come here to
get away from? I always do that. You always do that to yourself, Michael,
reminding yourself of shit you ought to forget about. But no, here I was, doing
the same stupid shit I always did, reminding myself of the Surgeon and his
sickening excuse for a mouth. Or, I thought as my eyes flicked upwards towards
the barren trees lining the path, of the Man and the Girl, the ones that had
followed me out of the hospital. The ones that had shadowed me as I walked down
this very path during the first snowfall of the season. The two of them, one of
them with such sad, unchildlike eyes, and the other with no eyes to speak of…
I felt my feet hesitate
and my mouth go dry a second, pulse quickening. That bench to the right… that
was where the Boy had sat in the cold, the oy that didn’t exist. And off to
the left, in the far distance… that was where the old playground was, where the
Girl that followed the Man first was…
Michael, stop. Stop it right now and calm down for five seconds. You
came here to relax. You shouldn’t be dwelling on all this now. You’re so
stupid, why do you do this to yourself? You should control it better. You need
to learn how. You need to…
The wind whispered lowly
through the trees, and the branches scratched at the grey sky as I moved on.
The pathway into the woods
narrowed as I approached the trees and their low-hanging branches. A raven
cawed in the branches above, once or twice, and then fell silent. A cold breeze
continued to slip through the forest softly, brushing against my skin as I
pulled my jacket tighter. Silence. That was the best word to describe the
surrounding forest, the entire place, really. It was entirely, deathly silent,
not a human noise to be heard, not even the soft sound of footsteps on pavement
except for mine. Not even the soft dripping or trickling water melting off the
metal bench nearby and flowing from towards the river, or the churning of the
river flowing a few feet to my right. Nothing.
There was nothing.
And furthermore, the
snow… there was hardly any at all now, not even patches of snow on the
branches. It was like fall all over again, even the breeze was beginning to
warm up just a bit, and the path itself began to fall into shadow as I walked,
as if a canopy of fall leaves covered it overhead. I could even hear the cawing
of distant crows or ravens, above me, around me, all throughout the barren
forest canopy. But not just one or two, I noticed as I approached the source of
the sound, which was now nearly deafening. No, there were a lot more ravens than
that. Far more ravens than that.
Confused, I looked up
into the branches, and my mouth hung open in utter awe. Every tree, every
single branch, was covered in ravens,
hundreds of thousands of enormous black birds, a living canopy. All of them were
cawing loudly, all of them huddling together as if they were resting.
No, not resting, I thought as the birdcalls became a dull roar. Waiting. They’re waiting.
I watched as the bird
closest to me turned its head to look at me, beady black eye casually
observing. That was the odd thing about ravens, I always thought, their eyes
aren’t like those of other birds. Their eyes have a strange intellect in them,
a strange sense of knowing, a sense of uncanny understanding that borders on
slightly chilling. They didn’t just observe things and react to them. No, they
understood what they saw. They could think. They could know things…
One by one, every raven
in the branches above silenced themselves and turned their eyes towards me,
watching me, as if expecting something, anything, from me in response, and I
balked. This wasn’t normal bird behavior. No normal group of birds would ever collectively turn their heads and
continuously stare at a passing human being. No group of birds this large would
ever let a human get this close to them without flying off in a panic. It was
if they expected something from me; as if they were preparing to pounce on me,
fluttering down to take whatever I offered them…
Creeped out, I turned
back down the path, my walk now a brisk jog and my palms already beginning to sweat.
Not again. I was not dealing with more creepy shit again, not today, not now,
not ever. I didn’t need this, not when I had Andrea’s health to worry about. I
didn’t need it when I had my own mental well-being to take care of. I just
didn’t need it, plain and simple, at all whatsoever. The birds’ eyes followed
me back down the pathway, still scrutinizing. Still waiting.
“They aren’t going to
give up on you that easily, you know.”
I startled at the creaky,
harsh female voice behind me, turning to see the old woman sitting on the metal
bench a few feet away. Her grey hair hung matted in her hardened, wrinkled
face, and her clothing was ragged; the old, stained grey dress paired with the
faded pink knit shawl had clearly seen better days. Her wizened hands shook
with age in her fingerless grey knit gloves, and the grey stockings she wore
with her scuffed leather flats were clearly once white. A few dozen of the
birds were gathered around her feet, picking at something she’d flung to the
ground from a leather bag, others fighting over scraps of whatever it was she’d
flung, still others staring upward at her expectantly from perches on the
ground, on the bench, and in the branches above.
“I-I beg your pardon,
ma’am?” I asked, fidgeting nervously under the harshness of her tone.
“Ravens are clever
birds,” she croaked, continuing to feed the ravens at her feet. “They notice
things before most creatures do.” Her bony fingers dipped into the leather bag,
pulled out something red and raw, and flung it to the ground below. Two birds
fought each other over the meat scraps, wings flapping. Her eyes glazed
sightlessly over the fighting corvids as she murmured to herself.
“Do you know what time it
is, child?” she asked, turning her milky, sightless eyes to mine.
“It’s three,” I responded
as the ravens above all turned to look at me once more. I ignored them to the
best of my ability, checking my watch. “About three-fifteen in the afternoon,
actually.”
“Do you know what day?”
“Wednesday, last I
checked…”
“Are you certain?”
I was taken aback by her
statement. Of course I knew what day it was, how could I not? I’d scheduled the
therapist’s appointment for Wednesday, and I’d just left the appointment, so it
had to be Wednesday…
All the same, I fumbled
for my phone in my jacket pocket, sliding my finger across the touch screen to
unlock it. As I stared down at the time and date at the top of the screen, I
blinked in confusion.
Wednesday. Wednesday the 18th
of November, 2013.
Impossible, I thought, opening the phone’s calendar app to confirm
the date. That doesn’t make sense, it
was… it was just…
My mind scrambled for an
explanation as I stared at the phone’s screen. Maybe I’d dropped the phone
somehow, and it thought it was the wrong date because of damage. Maybe someone
had fiddled with it when I’d set it down at work. Maybe water had gotten into
phone somehow and damaged it, or maybe I’d just misread the date as November
when it really was December. How could the date spontaneously change on its
own? It didn’t make sense, it couldn’t, it…
“Are you going to keep
gaping at that gadget like a moron,” the old woman asked, blind eyes
scrutinizing me once more, “Or are you going to tell me what day it is?”
“W-Wednesday,” I murmured,
pocketing the phone once more. “It’s… It’s Wednesday, November 18th…”
The old woman nodded
slightly, folding her weathered hands in her lap.
“Have you counted them?”
She asked, her attention focused solely on me. The birds before her squabbled
for her attention, eyes glancing between her and I. “The ravens, I mean, have
you counted them?”
“No,” I replied,
confused. “Why would I? There’s… there’s way too many here to count…”
“Perhaps you should the
next time,” the woman replied in the chiding voice of a strict teacher. “You
could stand to learn a thing or two from them, young man.”
Her attention turned to
the ravens again, which now sat waiting for her attention like patient
students, and her bony finger proceeded to point to each one in turn.
“One for sorrow, two for
mirth,” she murmured, pointing, “Three for death, four for birth. Five, Heaven;
six, Hell – seven, beware of the Devil himself.”
“And what about numbers
after seven?” I asked, still confused as the birds fluttered away and she
continued silently counting them. “There’s more than seven ravens here…”
“There often are,” she
said, looking up at me once more. “Once you reach above that, they call a group
of ravens an Unkindness. An Unkindness of ravens. A ridiculous term if you ask
me; there are a great deal of birds that fit the term far better than ravens…”
The ravens at her feet
scattered into the canopy above, joining their brethren in watching both the
crone and I beneath them. A few black feathers scattered from above, floating
onto the paved pathway like falling leaves. All was silent for a while, save the
occasional vocalization from the birds.
After some time, the old
woman spoke, cataract eyes glazing over my own.
“Why do you fear death
so, child?” She asked, stony-faced. “Do not try to hide it and say you don’t.
You are a haunted young man. You’ve seen more than you should. At your age, you
should have no cause to fear your own death, not yet, so that is not it. No, it
is the death of another that you fear, the idea of losing someone. Why?”
“How did you -?”
“How did I know?” A thin,
restrained smile crossed her dry lips a second, then faded. “I didn’t. The birds
did. They see and understand far more than you think, and the pain is clear
enough in your eyes. So, whom is it you are so afraid of losing?”
“It’s a long story,” I
lied, stuffing my hands into my pockets, eyes shifting towards the ground
uncomfortably. “It’s a long story and I’m sure you don’t want me to bother you
with it.”
“You aren’t bothering me,
or them, or anyone else,” the woman responded curtly, pale fingertips stroking
a nearby raven’s glossy black feathers. “And shame on you for lying. It’s not a
long story at all, and you know it, Michael. After all, it’s only been about a
week since they diagnosed her, hasn’t it?”
Chills instantly shot
down my spine and my palms began to sweat. Not again. Not more of this shit
again…
“You’re one of them,
aren’t you?” I blurted, scanning the woman and her ravens with a paranoid eye. “You’re one of those things that I keep seeing, you’re just like that Man, and
the Surgeon, and… and all the others, aren’t you? I don’t know what you are,
and I don’t know what you want, but you aren’t getting it from me! I’m not
letting you or any of the others have me, you understand?”
I regretted the words the
instant they flew from my mouth. So much for acting natural.
“To be quite blunt with
you, Michael, yes, we are one of them,” the woman responded, unfazed. “And so
are the others you speak of. But there are others yet still to come, several
others, and you would be wise to deal with them as soon as possible. As for
taking you… why would we? It isn’t you yourself that we want.”
“You can’t have Andrea
either!”
“We don’t want her,
either. She is to die. What good is a dead human to any of us?”
“She isn’t going to die!”
I screamed angrily, tears stinging my eyes. “She’s going to make it, she just
needs to… she needs to hold on a bit more, just a bit longer…”
“And if she does die,
Michael?” The woman’s blank gaze settled on me once more, her words angry as the
birds followed suit, cawing. “What if she does die? Who is suffering more right
now, Michael?”
I fell silent as the
words sunk in. No matter how I mulled it over in my head, not a single response
would have made sense if I spoke it. Is she suffering? Of course she is; why
would I want her to suffer more than she already is? Am I suffering? Of course
I am; why would I want more of it by watching her die?
“You should evaluate
yourself, Michael,” the woman continued, her attention returning to the ravens
gathering at her feet once more. “The problem with you is that you’re
incredibly selfish. You assume that because you cannot live without someone
that the world cannot live without them. And you further assume that because
you are afraid of watching someone die, that they themselves must also fear
death.”
“I’m not –”
“Quiet, Michael, and
listen to someone else before you panic for once in your ridiculous life. To
fear death is to fear life. Once you are born you will die, it is just a matter
of time as to when. To fear inevitability only serves to distract from reality
and the present. Besides that… if you are afraid, how must Andrea feel, knowing
she will be taken so cruelly from you?”
The tears fell to the
concrete in small droplets despite my best efforts to contain them.
“Don’t… just… stop it…” I
murmured, wiping at my eyes. “She’s… stop using her against me like this…”
“We’re no more using her
against you than you are using her against yourself,” the woman responded,
standing. “You cannot prevent the inevitable, Michael. But there is one thing you can do to ease the pain for the both of you.”
“What?” I choked, gagging
on my own emotions. “Tell me what I should do to fix this… Please…”
“You may be a selfish
man, Michael, but you are far from stupid, and you are certainly smart enough
to find the solution for yourself,” the woman replied curtly, proceeding to
walk away down the path. “I will be keeping watch on you. Heaven knows you
can’t watch yourself… Oh, and do say hello to the Tree Man for me, we have not
spoken with him in quite some time, and from what we understand you two are
very well-acquainted…”
I watched as the ravens
collectively took flight in a roar of beating wings, swirling around the old
woman as she walked away, eventually scattering to reveal an empty path where
she once stood, and everything was silent again except for the burbling of the
river nearby. The only evidence of the birds having ever existed were a few
scattered black feathers on the ground, settling in the mounds of winter snow
that has mysteriously appeared from nowhere.
The old woman’s words
echoed in my ears as flakes of soft December snow fell into my scraggly brown
hair.
You cannot prevent the inevitable… you are selfish… find the solution
for yourself…
The solution…
How must Andrea feel?
Horrified. Afraid. Alone…
She needs you, Michael. She needs you more than you need yourself…
I crinkled my eyes to
prevent the tears from flowing again as I turned and walked back towards the
parking lot. How dare I leave her there? How dare I leave her alone and scared
in the hospital bed? She needs me to be there for her. She needs me there
tomorrow, as soon as I wake up and can walk to the hospital to see her. She
needs me.
And I need her.
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