Live to tell the tale
By T.C. Linden
They say that when the rain falls, angels cry their tears. That's what my mother said when I asked where the rain came from. I still remember when I was little and played by the river a summer day, when it suddenly darkened and the first drops fell. A happy summer day became a grey August eve.
I believe it still; a saying that angels are crying whenever it rains. Marlene still gazes up towards the sky to see the slightest glimpse of an angel.
Children believe what they hear, I did that too and perhaps I still do. I asked him what he believed as a child. He looked at me for a moment and I thought that he would never answer, but he did.
"Fairies danced in the early morning hours, when the morning dew was still fresh."
I smiled, even he had believed in fairies and trolls. My smile grew when he told me that used to get up in the morning to see the fairies dance. A childhood memory makes us younger and I could see his smile, even if it is small. He remembers of what made him happy as a child.
It made me glad.
I told him of what I used to do during the summer. In the morning I always sat outside and watched the summery plains. There were always beautiful flowers there and I often went there to pick them. Dad worked with the others in the town while mom was in the kitchen. Mom used to come out with a bowl of cereal and milk with sliced strawberries, directly from the garden. That was something I loved during the hot summer days. Dad came home late in the afternoon and helped with things at home. Mom made dinner and I set the table with the flowers I picked from the plains. Mom laughed when she saw them in the vase. She said to me that I had picked seven different sorts of flowers and that I should put hem under the pillow before I slept. In sleep I would dream of my future lover
He asked me of whom I dreamt of.
I laughed and said that I forgot them on the table that night.
A cawing sound echoes in my ears and I look at the tree in the garden. On a leafless branch sits a lonely crow. I feel his intimate eyes cast a glare at it and I know why. He hates that bird, ever since I told what some birds symbolize. He's not the person to believe in the occult, but he knows what they believed in at that time; his lineage was from that time. There were people who believed in those ways back then. Ever since I told him, he had been so protective. I told him that he didn't need to but already knew he felt responsible for it, so he stayed.
The crow cawed again and I watch it. I know that he watches me and sees me watch it. I'm more sensitive now; the medication perhaps. He has an eye on me and makes sure that I take it. But still I wonder how the third option would have been.
The sun sets and he stands up. He lays his hand on my shoulder and I turn my head away from the black bird.
"It's getting dark, lets go inside."
I nod and he turns to walk inside. My attention is back at the crow again before I walk back to the house also. He stands there and waits and I see the pain he tries so hard to hide. I smile at him before we enter. One last glance at the black bird then I close the door.
The crow flies away.