A/N - ok let's try this again. FFN has been giving me non-stop issues posting chapters and screwing up back rich text formatting. Fingers crossed this works. Thank you ghostwritten2 for letting me know! 3
Chapter 3
"I don't understand you sometimes. Why can't you just take better care of yourself? Wear the damn gloves and put on some sunblock," Meg scolds me under her breath.
"It's fine, just leave it," I scowl at her, trying unsuccessfully to intimidate her as she massages a lidocaine cream into my hands and fingers while reaching for the aloe gel. Being her older brother is absolutely infuriating.
"You are such a jerk sometimes, you know that?" Her blues lock on to mine and I know exactly what she'll say next. "You're all I have left. I'd prefer you to stop being an ass hole and take better care of yourself." She stands up and opens the front door to go wash her hands. She's a good kid, too motherly at times but she's a great little sister. The screen door to the house slams shut and I hear her slam down the plastic remedy bottles onto the kitchen counter and storm upstairs. I stay on the porch and kick off my muddy boots, the dried, caked-on dirt falling off in clumps onto the wood blanks.
"It's too early for it to be this hot," I mutter to myself as I plop down on my father's old porch rocker, peeling off my sweat-soaked socks. This May heat is oppressive, humidity intense and in my mind, I'm thinking we'll be in for a long summer on the farm. The methodical, gentle back and forth motion of the rocking chair is making my eyes heavy. The late afternoon crickets and cicadas are singing a very sleepy and quiet lullaby, and along with the subtle motion from the rocking chair makes for ideal summer napping. And my guess is Meg thinks the same. "She's probably upstairs sleeping already under a fan with the dog," I chuckle to myself. Come to think of it, I haven't seen Sasha all day. I wonder where he ran off to.
I'm not much for napping, or even sleeping for that matter. I can't ever seem to quiet my mind down; music constantly flowing in my head begging to be released to blank staff paper. I haven't composed in ages, not since my parents. Ten years, it'll be ten years in just a few days. Circumstances would certainly explain Megs' mood this week. Explains my mood, too. Again the sounds of nature pull my mind back to the serenade. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, whispers the rocking chair. Reaching for the glass of iced tea, the cold condensation glides off my fingertips and my eyes concede to nature's lullaby and slide shut.
Somehow I'm transported into the apple orchard on the outskirts of our farm. My favorite spot is at the edge of our land which butts up against the blueberry hedges of Mrs. Valerius's farmhouse. The orchard was also my parents' favorite place on the entire farm. What drew my great-grandparents to purchase this land so long ago was the orchard. Towards the edge of it, there stands a tree which has no earthly business being there. The massive, thick tree trunk twists and winds from the massive roots up to the mazing and tangling branches. In the winter, when everything in the land is barren, this tree is haunting with its branches reaching outwards like decrepit hands and fingers of a witch. But in the spring is when this menacing tree becomes a beacon for all things beautiful. The blossoms which bloom for the twisted branches are perfectly fragrant, stunning hues of purple petals with accents of vibrant yellow from the pollen-rich centers. The summer brings deep emerald-rich leaves that make the most beautiful music in the wind.
Perched from a low branch, I listen to the summer breeze rustling the leaves when I hear another kind of music. A voice floats to me on the wind and I startle awake, almost falling out of the tree. I wait with bated breath for the sound again but it's quiet. "Hello?" I barely call out, my eyes searching through the rows of apple trees. And I hear it again, it's getting closer. It's a woman's voice, it's angelic! I jump down from the tree in search of the voice. From the distance, I see the most beautiful young woman I have ever seen frolicking towards me, singing and giggling as my amber-colored canine companion is skipping around her feet. "Sasha?" I call out and the woman stops and watches Sasha run to me, wagging his tail and licking my face with kisses and greetings.
I pull my body upright and hear this woman's name cross my lips. "Christine," I whisper as her large emerald-green eyes lock onto mine. I feel the corners of my mouth pull into a smirk and whisper again, "Come Christine…" It's as if my voice is no longer mine, my body no longer in mine.
She is now standing before me, I can feel her warm breath caressing my neck… she's so close and the thrill of being next to her sends electricity pulsing through my body. It's almost as if I'm having an out-of-body experience as I watch my hand reach out to her and my skin is coming alive at the softness of her face. My lithe, long fingers gently push her curly, long mahogany-brown hair behind her ear. This isn't me! How have I become so brazen under this woman's spell? Shy and quiet, reserved but with a terrifying storm of grief and anger consuming my soul every day for the last ten years. How is it that this woman, this vision, calms me down to my core? I want nothing more than to possess her thoughts, her soul, her ethereal voice. The feelings battle from deep within, and I smile. I am actually smiling. How is it that this mysterious figure can bring me such peace and joy and awaken music in me after laying dormant for too long?
Earth-shattering thunder booms high above us in the orchard. It startles my eyes upwards to the sky in curious observance. "Erik!" My name is a shrill streak of lightning which strikes a tree in the distance. The storm builds intensely and the woman I never knew I needed has vanished. "ERIK!" Another shrill call of my name rings in my ears. "ERIK!" My eyes jolt open and I find myself once again gliding methodically back and forth, back and forth, back and forth on the front porch. "Erik! Come get your dog. Sasha ate too much grass and is about to puke in my room!"
Rubbing my eyes and bringing myself out of the weird fog and haze I find my mind floating in, I hear Sasha bounding down the stairs. Opening the door, he runs out and hurriedly heads to the front yard and proceeds to expel whatever God forsaken putrid item he coveted during our walk into the fields earlier that morning. A sound in the distance catches my ear and I swear I can hear someone calling the name of Christine.