The Departure

by Sandy S.

Now was not the time for tears.

Nevertheless, tears swept up, smearing across her field of vision and pausing on the brink of spilling over her lower lashes. To no avail, she blinked rapidly and forcibly, trying desperately to dissipate the salty, burning liquid. She gripped the steering wheel so tightly that the bones of her hands threatened to split her skin, and with every muscle from her jaw to her toes taut with tension, she leaned forward intently in her seat.
Rain rushed from the blackened night sky in sheets of tiny pebbles that hammered on the roof and windshield, drowning out the steady back and forth scrape of the wipers. Between the flood inside and outside the car, she could barely see the beam of her headlights.

Her heart began to beat faster, but she would not stop driving. She was determined not to pull onto the shoulder of the invisible road.
She kept moving in her unbending manner for what seemed like forever until her pulse throbbed loudly in her ears and against her skull. Her muscles screamed for relief. The fear pressed on the cage of her ribs, and at last, she gave in to all her body's signals, turning the vehicle toward the side of the highway.

She parked and turned the motor off with the twist of her wrist. The wipers ceased movement in mid-motion halfway across the windshield, and the rain coursed harder.

Suddenly, she wanted to feel the rain on her skin, so she rolled down the window.
The icy drops poured into the newfound crevice, cooling the air inside the car so that she shivered before she even felt the wetness on her skin. As soon as the nourishing liquid of nature found her trembling body, she was comforted as she always was, and her tears now came forth with hot energy.

It had hurt so much, leaving him.

She recalled every detail of only a few hours ago as if she were still by his side.

* * *

At midnight, she gently untangled herself from his arm and slipped softly from beneath the sheets into the cold current of air from the air-conditioning vent above. Not looking back or switching on the light, she moved with deft grace around the bedroom furniture and out the door into the hallway.

She found her way into his study and switched on the lamp over his desk. Settling herself into his smooth leather chair, she opened the center desk drawer and slid out two sheets of his personalized stationery. His desk pen fit perfectly between her fingers, and she began to write.

As the words flowed over the page, she was aware of his presence everywhere around her. She even smelled his cologne mingled with the scent of the leather.

Her heart wept. If he came to her now as she sat huddled in the spotlight of his study, she would not be able to leave. She prayed for him to sleep deeply.

The letter was finished. She signed it and then crumpled it into a ball. No words could describe how she felt at this moment; no words could adequately explain to him why she had to leave. She could not bear to picture him reading the letter she had written and not understanding, never understanding, why she was gone.

She did not want to leave, but she had to. She had almost stayed too long. That was all she could write, and those few phrases did not make sense even to her.

She rose abruptly, straightening the desk and chair and turning off the lamp. Only then could she bring herself to walk out of his room, clutching the poorly written note in her fist.

Once in the kitchen, she decided she wanted to spoil him one last time. With simply the sink light on, she washed the dishes from their spaghetti dinner the night before and stacked them in the cabinets. Then, she cleaned the coffeepot, filled the machine with water and coffee grounds, and set the timer. She placed his favorite coffee mug, the one she gave him on his birthday, beside the pot.

Hunting for and finding the black shoe polish, she plopped down next to the coat rack and polished his black work shoes, placing them carefully beside his briefcase at the back door after she was finished. Finally, she made him two thick sandwiches for lunch and packed them in a brown paper bag along with one of the green apples he so dearly loved. She chose two more of the apples to take for her journey.
Satisfied, she darkened the kitchen once again and crept back to the bedroom where he still slept. She pulled her cotton nightgown over her head and folded it neatly, putting it in the bureau drawer. Choosing a pair of faded blue jeans, a white T-shirt, and a pair of sneakers, she dressed quickly, stuffing the wrinkled note in her pocket. After dressing, she stood before the mirror, though she could not see her reflection, and ran a brush through her thick hair.
She was ready. Now she had to say goodbye.

With deliberation, she tiptoed to his side of the bed and knelt beside him. She heard him breathing slowly and evenly in the sleep of peace and contentment. His serenity tore her heart.

She had to see him one last time, so she cautiously turned on the bedside lamp.

He lay on his side, facing her, facing the light. His dark hair was shiny and tousled, and as he dreamed with his left hand tucked under his cheek, his lips parted slightly.

She could not resist touching him. Her index finger reached forward and ran lightly across his smooth forehead, down his cheek that was becoming prickly with stubble, and over his almost-hairless arm.

Her lips quivered, and she bent toward his face, her lips almost upon his. Deciding against his mouth, she went a bit higher and kissed his eyelids instead, barely brushing his skin. Then, she drew away.

Oh, how she loved him! How, how could she possibly walk out the door?

Her heart skipped, and she held her breath.

He stirred in his sleep, rolling onto his back.

If only he would open his eyes right now, the emerald glow that always held her gaze and reminded her of the green spring leaves of home would keep her by his side. She would relent, climb back into bed with him, and stay forever.

He did not open his eyes but continued to sleep, so she extinguished the lamp and left their life behind.

* * *

Eventually, her tears ceased, and she rested, almost appeased, in the steady trickle of rain. At 4:23 A.M., she brought the engine grumbling back to life and calmly drove back onto the empty highway. She knew where she was, and she knew where she was going.

Through her open window, she smelled the clean air of nature almost more strongly than the odor of the suburbs, and within minutes, she espied the familiar dirt road. The car bumped down the muddy path until suddenly the path ended.

This time she remembered to shut off the windshield wipers before the motor, and she climbed out of the car, slamming the door without locking it and leaving the keys in the ignition. She almost forgot the apples she had brought with her and retrieved them from the passenger seat.

Nostalgia washed over her as her hand grazed the seat, and gathering the apples onto her lap, she took their place, thinking about the day she and he had gone to the beach in this very car.

* * *
The summer sun was brilliant and glaring as it reflected off the steaming sands. She was rather glad she had worn sandals with her bikini and cut-offs.
He set out the picnic basket, cooler, and radio and spread out a blanket on the sand. As he searched for the sunglasses, she sat down, squinting in the sunlight. She crossed her legs Indian-style and put on the glasses he handed her.

She gasped.

She had never seen the ocean, never known a body of water could be so vast and churning. She jumped to her feet in amazement, her mouth hanging open in awe.

After a moment, he laughed at her, tickling her feet until she fell to the blanket. She was giggling but still speechless.
"Never seen the ocean before?" he teased, green eyes sparkling.

"No, never." Her eyes were round and somber. "Not even when you were a little girl?"

"Well, I...," she floundered, then, grew silent.

His face lost its smile, and she was again aware that she had not told him anything of her childhood and never could.

She bit her lower lip and decided to turn on some music. A fast song rose out of the speakers, and she tugged at his hand until they were both standing. He still would not smile.

She whirled away from him, dancing to the steady beat of the music. She glanced back at him, wearing her own teasing expression, and with a tiny bending of her index finger, she dared him to try to catch her.

He gave in and grinned, reaching to grab her, but she leaped away, staying in time with the music and returning his grin. Frustrated, he grabbed and missed again.

Her laughter echoed in his ears, and he chased her down the stretch of beach. When she turned back the direction that she had come, she shrieked because he was right behind her. He laughed and snagged the cuff of her shorts. With another tiny cry, she jerked away and headed for the blue-grey waters and the lovely white foam.

At the water's edge, she halted with a frightened look on her face. He was next to her and noted her expression.

"What's wrong?" he asked, concerned.

She covered up her fear and smiled. "Nothing. I just realized I was hungry. Let's go eat."

To her relief, he agreed. "I'm starving, too, now that you mention it."

They headed back to the blanket, arm in arm. She would never tell him that she had smelled the salt in the water and could not let it wash over her skin.

After they ate, they curled up next to one another, listened to the radio, and read books aloud.
A few hours passed, and he looked up from his book to notice a family walk by. The two adults were talking in low voices and holding hands while their three children ran in wild circles around them, throwing sand and splashing in the waves.

He took her hand and laid aside his book, staring at the family. "Just think, one day, you and I will have a family like that."

She said nothing but did not let go of his hand. She dreaded that day.

* * *

She stroked her recently rounded stomach thoughtfully. That day was the present.

She clutched the apples and abandoned the car, walking into the dark and dripping but familiar woods that began where the road ended.

After covering several meters among the trees, she began to whistle in a quiet, gentle tone. She repeated the melody every ten seconds until she reached a tiny clearing. A subdued glimmer touched her eyes from the distant trees that were still enshrouded in darkness, and she smiled, calling to the shimmering glow.

"Silver Belle, Silver Belle, come here, Silver Belle."

The dim light grew stronger as it approached her, and she stepped out from behind the bushes. The glow hesitated.
"It's all right, Silver Belle," she whispered, wiping raindrops away that had dropped on her face. "It's me, Silver Belle. I've come back at last."

The luminescence increased in intensity and speed of movement. Finally, the light was upon her, and a hot, moist nose nudged her right arm that carried the apples. She surrendered one of the apples and stroked the horse's fuzzy ears in greeting.

She laughed. "I don't think you missed me at all, Silver Belle. I think you missed my apples."

The glowing creature fixed its argentine eyes on her eyes and whinnied softly in denial of the missed apples. The nose sought the second apple.

"No, no, Silver Belle," she murmured in understanding. "You have to take me home now."

She held the apple away from the horse's mouth, charily swinging onto the solid back and clinging to the flowing silver mane. She felt the shimmering back heave in a sigh, but she hardly noticed when they turned away from the direction of the car, the highway, and him because she was too busy holding on for dear life.

The creature did not start at an easy slow pace and get steadily faster but instead went straight to top speed as if racing from a deadly assailant. The wind surrounding them abraded her face and bare arms, and she kept her eyelids closed tightly. Oddly enough, however, she could not feel the motion of the creature's muscles, and her mind could not seem to grasp a conception of the amount of time that passed.

She must have lost consciousness because when she opened her eyes next, she was on the ground beneath a tree, and Silver Belle was nearby with bent head, drinking from a small freshwater stream.

She stood and joined Silver Belle at the water's edge. She knelt and splashed her skin with cool liquid. Golden rays of morning shone on her face, and she felt overwhelmingly refreshed. Then, she turned to Silver Belle to offer the second apple and stared in surprise.

Silver Belle, who did not glow so brightly in the sunlight but who was still the shiny color of polished silver, had a long silver spiral pushing its way past the curling strands of mane that fell over the forehead. Bright, intelligent eyes reminded her of the truth of who and where she was.

She sank to the damp earth that was her home and stared at the green apple that lay in her lap, the green apple that reminded her of him and his laughing emerald eyes. She held up the apple, focusing her eyes solely on it, and Silver Belle delicately took the last remnant of him from her fingertips.

She could not watch the fruit disappear and ran with blurred vision toward the tree she had awakened under. She flung her arms about the trunk and wept hard, body wracking sobs. The leaves rustled above, breathing comforting messages of hope in her ears.

When she no longer had tears left to cry, she stepped away from the wise, old tree and raised her head with a last scrap of courage. A tingling began deep inside her soul, and confidently, she raised her hands toward the clear azure sky. The tingling spread out from her soul into her bloodstream and flowed through her fingertips and toes.

The long awaited transformation began.

Her legs and torso merged into a slender trunk with the lightest brown bark. Her feet and toes pressed down into the rich earthy soil, becoming a root system that stretched all the way to the stream. Her arms and fingers extended and grew into a network of delicate branches, and her fingers and fingernails sprouted into the young leaves of spring.

There was a brief pause in the process.

Then, tiny clusters of pink flowers blossomed across the branches until the tree she had become was decorated in the buds of new life. She was suddenly proud that her limbs would soon bear the rich green fruit, and she entwined her branches with those of her mother who was rooted next to her.

The child she carried was the source of her pretty ornaments, but the child was also his child and would have to be born in the manner of his people. However, she would be unafraid when the time came because she had been born in the same fashion as had her mother before her and her mother before her to the beginning of time. Though she thrilled at the thought of always having a piece of him to nurture and treasure for eternity, her heart would always recall the pain of departure.

(September 7 through September 8, 1996, 12:58 A.M.)

THE END