Whispers

Dew wet her feet as she crushed the tender blades of grass beneath them. Tiny flames waved and writhed an interpretive dance on top of wax plateaus inside red glass. The candles lit up parts of the headstones they sat on.

 Andy made her way through the cemetery to her sister's stone. She could never bring herself to think of it as a grave; she couldn't bear the thought of her sister's body buried inside a mahogany box. She sat on the grass and stretched out her long slender legs and wiggled her bare toes at the writing on the stone.

"Hi, Love. I just came to say happy birthday." Andy leaned forward, struck a match and touched it to Johnna's candle. The amber dancer started out weak and small but quickly grew into a beautiful ballerina. Somehow its recital seemed more tender than the others. It didn't writhe, but wave.

"Dad and Mom send their love. So does Bull-head. Do you know what he did this morning? No, of course you don't. He burst into my room and stole my blankets then was completely bull-, um, furious when I got upset.

"He's turned into such a little monster since he hit puberty. All he talks about are girls and cars and football. He never does anything other than whine about how his voice is changing. 'Man, did you see - UGH! I hate my voice! Why can't it just decide how deep it wants to be?' He needs a grip.

"The parents are still fighting. It's all they do now. At least at first I could say that it was just stress, but it's been over two years; they're used to you being gone. I think they fight now because they're used to fighting. I hate to think of what's going to happen."

Andy wiggled her toes again then dug them into the dirt. She pulled them out and inspected the dirt that was stuck under the nails. Andy pictured tiny animals, too small to see, living in the dirt, eating her toes away as she watched. She pulled a pen knife out of her pocket and started digging at the grime.

"I wonder about weird things sometimes. Like what are we? I know we're people, but really what are we? Are we some giant’s recurring dream? That would account for déjà vu, don't you think? Or maybe we're some intricate novel that is going through rewrite after rewrite. That would explain why some things feel as though they aren't really happening. I don't know, maybe I'm nuts."

As she slowly lowered her back to the ground, Andy began to cry. The stars twinkling above her didn't talk. She couldn't feel their power. They didn't reach out to her. Nothing did. The trees and grass and soil were all silent. "Johnna, why is everything so quiet tonight? Usually I can hear, or at least feel, something from this place. Sometimes I think they might be ghosts or specters who don't have anyone else to talk to. Apparently they all have something better to do tonight. Maybe they're finally at rest."

A star shot across the sky. Andy didn't bother to make a wish; somehow it didn't feel right.

"Sometimes I think it would have been easier if you had run away. If I had found a run away note maybe Mom and Dad would have been better than they are. I don't blame you. No, actually I do. If I had just found a note I wouldn't be so messed up - that much is for damned sure.

"Mom always loved you better than Jake and me and you knew it. You were smart and creative and everything she wanted us to be, but it wasn't enough!" she screamed toward the sky.

Andy rolled over onto her stomach and stared at her sister's geraniums. The red petals were beginning to turn brown and break off. Weeds were trying to over take them.

"I'm sorry." Andy was quiet and pensive for a moment. "It would be really cool if you could come back from the dead like Eric Draven. But who would you kill? Would you have to avenge yourself by killing yourself? That could be a vicious cycle. Or would you come back and kill everybody who ever put you down? Everybody who made you feel like you should die, or should never have been born? I can't think about this anymore.

"Mom wants me to go to therapy. She's been trying since the day after the funeral to get me to go. I've been refusing, but I'm too tired to bother now. I'll go once a week and sit there and answer questions in as few words as possible when they're asked. After a while Mom and Dad'll realize they are wasting their money. Or they'll locked me up for being apathetic. I don't care either way. It's not my money.

"Johnna, I want to know why." Andy listened to the silence for a few moments then pushed herself up so that she was kneeling. Something sharp jabbed into her left knee, cutting it. She pulled a piece of red glass out of her leg. As she watched, blood began to run down it in a thin stream. Andy watched the blood slip down between her toes and into the ground underneath them as she stood. "I'll see you tomorrow, Love. I've got to clean this. It might need stitches."

Drops of blood rolled off of Andy's toes as she walked down the street. They splashed silently on the pavement, then soaked into its cracks. Behind her the stars, trees, grass and sky whispered goodbye, but she didn't hear them.

 Johnna whispered that she was sorry, but Andy wasn't listening.