Elysian Fields

On Sunday evening, after a long day at work, I stood by the edge of a bridge. I had stopped by my house before this. Donned my flowy white dress, my favorite. Written a note. The walk here was unnerving. My hands were shaking as I held them close to my body, and I sobbed, feeling the pain more and more with every step down those cobblestone streets. I felt each crack beneath my bare feet, stabbing my soles with ferocity. I had cried tears of desperation, lamenting the life I had grown weary of living. The things I hadn’t done, but that I had no strength left to do. It felt treacherous to give up now, after everything everyone had given me. Now, though, it was different. Everything was in order; I felt an empty peace. Even as the adrenaline coursed through my veins, clouding my thoughts, I felt separate from it all. The apprehensions that had plagued me were gone; I had been pulled out of their orbit, and I enjoyed my time in the vacant cosmos, swaying amongst the stars. 

I rested my arms on the concrete ledge, and the rough surface tugged at my skin. I felt tired. Tired of doing this, everything. My dress whipped around my calves, carried by the strength of the wind, which stung my face and dried my tears. I watched the trees as they waved their arms, shedding leaves with every movement. I paused to listen to the river, watching as the falling leaves were swept away by its current. It looked so peaceful. 

I pushed myself up onto the ledge. My breath caught, became raggedy as I steadied myself. I took a look around me at the streets; empty. The deserted streets looked menacing. It’s the kind of night that echoes the strange sounds heard in alleyways. I looked up at the sky, searching for a reminder of what I had once loved. The stars had lost their sparkle. The black void seemed unforgiving and endless. The moon, round and bright, stared down at me from her place in the sky. I felt her gaze on me. I hadn’t remembered her being so beautiful. She shone brightly in the sky, dwarfing everything around her. Everything around me. My hands began to shake again. I didn’t need reminders of what I would miss. 

I stared down at the river. The weight in my chest pushed down on me. It tugged me two ways. I felt like a fly, strung up in a spider’s web. One piece of silk whipped in the wind, calling me back to my bed, warm and soft and comforting. Back to another day. And the other pulled menacingly downward, off the edge, into the churning waters. The promise of the end. The end of struggle, the end of pretending like everything was okay. The end. And every moment that passed, I could feel the pull getting stronger. It called to me like a siren, with promises of calm, peace, finally! My hair whipped violently around me as my tears began again. They streamed down my face, down my chin, down my neck. I wiped them away with gasping breaths. I looked down at the ledge, at my feet. How long had I been up here? I looked back up at the sky. The moon was still there. She looked down at me despondently.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered to her. “I can’t, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t.” She stared back at me. I ducked my head in shame. The tears were coming faster now. “It hurts. I don’t want to be here anymore.” I looked back up at her, watched her closer. She looked pained. I quickly turned my head away. She made it worse.

“Please forgive me.”

My toes curled at the edge of the bridge. I took a few deep breaths. I dangled one foot over the edge. The waters seemed to churn with life, screaming out for another to absorb into their depths. I closed my eyes, took a breath. And I felt it all stop. The wind. The water. Everything.

I opened my eyes. I hadn’t jumped, not yet. The streets, once eerily empty and quiet, were blanketed in a reverent silence. The sound of the wind, which had once whipped my dress and stung my face, had paused. The trees stopped their solemn dance, and the leaves that had been shed wavered in midair. The air felt holy, thick with meaning. It felt sweet as I breathed it in, and it flowed richly through my lungs. I looked up.

The moon.

Once an orb, large and bright in the night sky, she hovered before me, transformed. A girl. No. A woman. She glowed white, and her hair twisted gracefully around her, carried by the zephyr that affected only her. Her fingertips were streaked with gold, twisting delicately up her wrists like lace. Her gaze pierced me. In her eyes was a power. A fury, quiet and powerful, marred by the potency of her sorrow. 

Why do you do this?

“I’m sorry…” I whispered. Her muffled, eerie whisper echoed through my bones, sending shivers down my spine and goosebumps down my arms.

I have seen the things you have done. You fill your life with sorrow. Why do you hate yourself so?

Her hands reached outward, touching my wrists, where my scars were. Her touch was soft and warm. I pulled away fiercely. I said nothing.

I was there when He breathed life into you. I saw the love with which you were made, the life you were destined to have. The lives you have impacted, the lives you change every day.

The tears fell silently all the while. They streaked my face. I wouldn’t look her in the eyes.

Even thousands of miles away, I see it. You are loved.

She lifted my chin, looked in my eyes. Her gaze was heavenly, infused with love and power tangled in a painful mix that permeated through the weight in my chest.

I see it clearly. Why don’t you?

My breath caught. She was crying. She floated back, pulling away from me, hovering above the river. Three tears, streaked with silver, carved a path over her cheek. One by one, they fell off her pointed chin into the water. I watched them fall, coloring the water with a powerful light. The water, once paused in a patient slumber, now twisted and turned, mixing with the tears in a slow and graceful dance. And then it stopped. Slowly, the perfect ripples cleared, revealing a glowing surface, smooth as steel.

I looked up at the woman. She smiled a sad smile, gestured towards the glimmering water with her long, graceful fingers. I looked down at the glow.

There, suspended in the water, was an image. It was blurred at first, but with every second it became clearer. A little house, situated on the edge of a hill. The front yard filled with blue and purple wildflowers, growing almost as wild as the children that frolicked in them. My childhood home. I saw me and my sister, running after butterflies while my mother watched us from the kitchen window. I saw my father, coming home from work, and his warm, comforting hugs. I saw Christmases and Easters, school days and summer vacations. I saw days of frolicking in the snow and running through the rain. I felt the warmth of these memories like the sun on my skin. They echoed through my subconscious, the truth ringing through me like the echoing of church bells. I saw myself cooking with my grandmother, reading poetry with my grandfather. I saw myself growing up, my sister beside me in everything I did. I remembered her giddy smile. I remembered watching her leave for college, just a few years before I did. I remembered my first award in school, my first snowfall, my first kiss. I saw our family move and grow, undulating like the waves on a shore. I remembered my cat, curling beside me in front of a fireplace. Graduation. Celebrating with my best friends. Moving to the city, finding my favorite shops, and the bakery around the corner. Meeting my sister’s boyfriend, her future husband. Meeting my nephews and nieces, watching them frolic like I had done once. I saw myself laughing, crying, singing. I saw big beautiful moments, and the small ones, too. Raucous laughter and bitter tears. I saw the sun rise and the rain fall, heard the sounds of frogs and cicadas on summer evenings. I remembered the taste of mangoes, the juices running down my arms. Hot showers on winter nights, warm hugs and whispered secrets. I saw the people I had met, and the marks they left on me. And I saw the way I had changed them. My life, my experiences, the bravado of all the little moments, settled on my shoulders like a winter coat. The weight was warm and comforting. I carry the people I love around with me every day, wearing their influence like freckles on my skin, embroidery on a pair of jeans. Yet I had never felt their presence more strongly than in this moment. 

The memories caught up to the now and became fuzzy, now no longer sharp with the memory of what had happened, but bright with the opportunity of what could. Possibilities. I saw new memories to be made, opportunities to be savored, people to be loved. Nothing guaranteed, but I needed nothing more than the chance. I knew they were possible. To have these wonderful things, these new memories, I only had to reach out and find them. I was filled with a new urge, a need. A need to get more from this world, to savor the unexperienced. To reach out and grasp the hand of life, shake it, and demand that it never let go. I wanted it, craved it more than anything I had ever craved before. I wanted to live.

The water stopped swirling. The glow disappeared. It left me dazed, the weight from my chest lifted. I looked up.

The woman was no longer there. The moon was bright in the sky.

The wind picked back up again, soft and buttery on my skin. The leaves once again fell, the water churned once more. The reverent silence was gone. 

I stepped off the ledge. I looked in the direction of my apartment, where my cat would be curled on the covers of my duvet, waiting for me to come back. I began the walk home, once in a while stopping to stare at the night sky.

I don't think the stars have ever looked so bright.