Did you see a light?
I'd heard the question so many times that it no longer irked me. I understood, that curiousity – the meaning of life, what happens after we die… People have been asking these questions since humans could grasp the concept of life and death. These questions birthed religions, started wars, brought people together, tore nations apart. No one could know the answer. Well, maybe not no one.
"Did you see a light?"
I blinked at my cousin, heart sinking just a little that after not having seen one another all these years, that was the first thing he said to me. I wasn't surprised, but that didn't stop the feeling of disappointment. But no sooner were the words out of his mouth than a large hand clipped him over the back of the head,
"Alex," my uncle Chris growled, scowling at his son.
"Ow!" Alex cried, flinching away and holding his head, more surprised than wounded. "What was that for?"
"Don't be rude."
Alex frowned, looking between his dad and myself, honestly bewildered. "What? It was just a question."
Standing back awkwardly as father and son had their squabble, I sipped at my drink and looked around again for my mother amongst the crowd. A dozen or so strangers stood in my house, drinking and laughing merrily beneath the warm lights, spilling out of the French doors and onto the deck overlooking the garden and the pool, where water spilled over rocks and aquatic plants and formed a waterfall that fell into the glowing blue pool where a flotilla of citronella candles floated, flames flickering as they bobbed upon the gentle waters. My stomach clenched at the sight of it and I turned away.
Fairy-lights were strung throughout the dark red mahogany pergola, winding through the thick green leaves with delicate white flowers creating a cover overhead. The night-blooming jasmine filled the house and garden with its sweet perfume, mixing with the warm, thick air – a tell-tale sign of an oncoming storm. The warm lights amongst the leaves were shining almost as brilliantly as the stars overhead – bright and twinkling against the perfect dark of the night sky. It had been a long time since I had seen this many stars – and never had I seen the Milky Way stretching from one end of the horizon to the other. Way out here, on this small island of Isla Heusos just off the coast of South Florida, there were no big cities to wash out the night; only hurricanes which washed away everything else.
I wished I had stayed out there a little longer, milling at the edge of the crowd, cursing my mother for abandoning me at this party she had thrown to welcome me, inviting everyone she knew from 'the old days', meaning family and friends she had left behind when she moved away to go to college, and get married and have a kid. She was excited about this party; excited about moving back to the place where she was born to research her beloved bird, the roseate spoonbill, her life's work, with her daughter in tow. I couldn't say I felt the same, but I had been assured by her time and time again how good this would be for us, for me – for a new start.
"But it's been like two years, hasn't it?" Alex was saying, still looking bewildered but now rolling his eyes. "No way she's still touchy about it – right, Pierce?" He looked over at me expectantly.
"Uh, right," I lied, with an insincere smile that disappeared as soon as it came. Another sip of my drink, I averted my eyes and wished myself far away.
"Told you," Alex grinned triumphantly at his still scowling father. "So, what about it – did you see the light at the end of the tunnel?"
Turning to look at him, I saw the excited curiousity in his face, and Uncle Chris' reluctant interest in my answer, both their eyes on me, listening intently. I gave a little shrug, not really knowing what to say.
"Uh, not exactly…" I shifted uncomfortably, wanting this topic to drop so that I could actually catch up with my cousin and uncle whom I hadn't seen in years.
"Did you see the Pearly Gates?" Alex asked.
"I didn't, no," I told him, rubbing the back of my neck. "But some people say they did. Or they say they saw a path to another land. I've heard people say they saw aliens," I shrugged.
They laughed. I gave another strained smile.
"Cool," Alex grinned. "So, what do you think you saw?"
"Nothing," I told him. "Well, I did see a light. But it was just a hallucination caused by my brain's neurons firing all at once – one final hurrah before they go out forever."
"But they didn't go out," Uncle Chris said, amusement fading as he finally noticed how tense I had become. I avoided his gaze and shrugged again.
"You did die, though," Alex said. "They had to bring you back." Uncle Chris' nostrils flared.
My chest felt tight beneath my dress, and the knot in my throat was hard to swallow. Feeling my face pale and drawn, shoulders starting to ache from the tension, I looked at him with a strained smile and hard eyes.
"Yeah, I did."
And I had told the truth – I did see a light, just for a moment. But after that… well, it was hard to explain, and I'd learned the hard way that it was much better for everyone if I didn't try to. In the distance, the growl of thunder stretched over the dark seas. No one else seemed to notice; the jovial conversation and the music pumping from speakers designed to look like rocks filled the air. But I heard it – there was a storm out to sea, and it was heading our way.
"Alright, stop pestering her, boy," Uncle Chris told Alex, as he adjusted his Isla Huesos Bait and Tackle baseball cap.
"Excuse me, ma'am, may I refill your glass?" I turned to the pleasant-looking older woman who smiled professionally toward us, bow-tie at her neck, pristine white cloth hanging from her arm, and a champagne bottle held firmly in her grasp. Half a dozen more caterers moved smoothly through the crowd, serving platters of cocktail shrimp, chicken skewers and conch fritters.
"Yes, please," I answered the caterer, despite not caring for the taste. The yellow-tinted alcohol bubbled into my flute. "Thank you." She nodded in acknowledgement and turned to Uncle Chris, raising the bottle to fill his as well.
"Mountain Dew!" he cried, startling us all as he jerked his glass out of the way, letting the champagne pour out onto the smooth varnished decking. Flushing sheepishly, Uncle Chris stammered, "Sorry, it's Mountain Dew," he said, raising his glass, "I don't drink."
"I'm so sorry, sir," the woman replied as we all stared in dismay at the puddle at our feet, slowly moving away to gather just inside the French doors.
"Sorry about the floor," Uncle Chris told me, regretfully.
"It's fine," I shrugged. "It's just a floor. Just don't tell Mum it was you that spilled it."
"She probably won't be so forgiving," he laughed, but looked a little worried at the thought of facing his older sister's wrath.
Uncle Chris' laughter faded as a comfortable, quiet moment arose in the conversation. I watched as he drank his Mountain Dew, his eyes darkening, a small furrow appearing between his brows. He smacked his lips and suddenly met my eyes; I saw my mother in his face, and yet, my mother's eyes, even during her divorce proceedings with my dad, had never seemed so sad. Uncle Chris had the saddest eyes of anyone I had ever known. Except for him. I quashed the intrusive thought the moment it came, cursing its clarity. I gave Uncle Chris a small, honest smile, and saw his eyes brighten, only slightly.
Uncle Chris had spent over a decade locked-up in a state penitentiary. He had missed his chance to spoil his already spoiled niece. He had missed out on watching his son grow into a man. Time had passed, the world had kept on turning, and had left him behind – it must be so hard standing here surrounded by people, not being watched, not being told what to do, or wear, or eat, or when to sleep. To be so aware of and so cowed by freedom. I couldn't imagine what he was going through. How could he even begin to catch up? I suppose that was what his family were for; to support him, to teach him, to show him how to use his freedom for good.
Of course, for now he was still trying to get back on his feet – he lived with my grandmother, who had raised Alex after his mum abandoned him and his father was incarcerated. Other than job searching, Uncle Chris seemed to spend all his time watching the Weather Channel and drinking Mountain Dew. But now that my mum was back, I was sure that she would be determined to change all that, for the better. She was good at that – finding a way to fix things; to make them better. Once her gentle heart had fixated itself on a tragic tale, she would be determined to give it a happy ending.
I hoped her little brother's strife would distract her from my own. How could she fix the fact that her daughter had spent almost ten minutes drowning in our backyard pool? How could she fix the trauma that followed – on all our behalves? I shook away the thoughts, grounding myself by staring fixedly at the champagne in my thin flute glass, tiny bubbles shooting through the yellow-tinted liquid to the surface. Things would be better now, that's what Mum said. Was she trying to convince me, or herself, or did she truly believe it?
"There you are, Pierce."
Blinking quickly out of my stupor, we turned to see Grandma moving toward us through the crowd, wearing a beige dress and one of her many silken scarves; her kitten heels tapping on the wooden deck. Alex, Uncle Chris and I tensed and shifted as she approached, seeing her wrinkled lips pursed in annoyance. "What are you doing out here? All these people are waiting inside to meet you. Come on," she huffed, taking a firm hold of my upper arm, nearly making me spill my drink. "I want you to come say hello to Father Michaels—"
"Oh, hey," Alex said, brightening. "I wonder if he knows."
"Knows what?" Grandma asked, not releasing my arm. I stared helplessly at a sympathetic Uncle Chris.
"About the light that Pierce saw when she died. I think it was the Pearly Gates but she says it was something about her brain exploding."
I shook my head at Alex, "I said it was a hallucination produced by neurons—"
"That's what you three are up to out here?" Grandma cried, flaring with outrage. "Committing blasphemy?"
"Nah," Alex laughed, "Blasphemy would be saying the light is seeing the hospital lamps from between their new mum's legs. But it's all relative, yeah? Hindus would say that the Pearly Gates is the blasphemous version."
Grandma looked like she had just taken a bite of a lemon. Eyes narrow, hand tight on my arm as I switched the flute between my hands so I could drink as much as I could as fast as I could.
"Well, Alexander Cabrero," she said, sharply. "You are not Hindu, and you may wish to recall just who is making the payments on that junk heap you call a car. If you'd like me to continue doing so, you may want to consider being a little more respectful."
Eyes suddenly wide, Alex stammered, "Sorry, Grandma."
Under his mother's stern gaze, Uncle Chris quickly removed his cap and suddenly found the floor rather interesting, as did his son.
"Now, Pierce," Grandma said, and I looked to see her face softening, though her grip didn't loosen. "Why don't you come inside and say hello to Father Michaels," she said. It wasn't a question. "You won't remember him, of course, you were too young. He held your grandfather's funeral, and he is absolutely delighted you'll be joining our little parish."
At the mention of the funeral, my stomach filled with bile and the warm air suddenly felt like fire on my skin; thick in my lungs. As my grandma turned to walk inside, apparently intending to drag me alongside her, a wave of nausea swelled from my stomach, spreading up my throat, and sending cold shivers throughout my body. "Actually, I'm not really feeling that great. I think I need some air."
"Now, now, come inside," she insisted, frustrated now. "It's nice and cool with the air-con on – well," she shook her head, "it would be if your mother hadn't opened every single door and window—"
"What have I done now, mother?"
My pale, dark-haired mother came sweeping into view, taking a shrimp cocktail from the tray of a passing caterer and popping one into her red-painted mouth. "There you are, darling. I was wondering where you had disappeared to." Noticing my cousin, she smiled widely, her dark eyes sparkling, "Hello, Alex – are you enjoying the party?"
His answer was interrupted by a loud huff. "Talk some sense into your daughter, won't you?"
Mum's gaze swept over Grandma's irritated form before settling upon my face. Her brow furrowed and she stood to attention at once, "Darling, are you alright?"
"She says she needs some fresh air – but she's standing outside," Grandma shook her head, but Mum didn't seem to really hear her. "What's wrong with her? Has she not taken her medication today?"
I flinched, and Mum's jaw clenched as she turned on her mother, who went on. Alex and Uncle Chris stood back and watched the debacle. I tried to keep my breaths long and even.
"I told you, Deb – she's not ready to start school. You know how she can be. Perhaps she—"
"She's fine, Mother," Mum snapped, and then looked pointedly at where Grandma still held my arm. After a moment, I was released, and I stumbled back a step, head suddenly light on my shoulders.
"Pierce," she said, not quite so sharp but with a firmness that woke me from the haze which began to spread throughout my mind. I blinked unsteadily at her, at her long dark hair gleaming in the light; looking fresh in her white jeans and silken top. She looked perfect. Everything was perfect. Everything was going to be great.
"I need to go," I said, throat tight, resisting the urge to clench my hands into tight fists, not wanting to shatter the flute in my grasp. Cold tingles spread like ice across my skin, and I felt myself begin to tremble.
"Okay," she said, stepping forward and placing a light, cool hand on my back to guide me away from the very confused Alex and Uncle Chris, toward the side of the garden by the gate leading out front.
"What?" Grandma cried, incredulous. "You're letting her go? But it's the middle of a party – her party!"
Mum ignored her. The world began to fade around me; only her hand kept me moving forward, the earthen smell of her skin, the breath of perfume floating from her hair, the way it swept over my face as she kissed me where we stood at the corner of the house, out of sight of the people and the music and the lights.
"Don't make any stops," she said to me, as my chest tightened and tears sprung to my eyes. I wanted to throw myself into her arms and sob until there was nothing left. But I couldn't do that to her. I couldn't put anyone through that. "Stay on your bike," she continued,
I nodded, and moved away, gathering the bike she had given me, complete with basket and bell, in lieu of a car, at least until I earned my driver's licence. As I opened the gate, moving the blue bike through the tall white pickets, I looked over my shoulder as she called, "Don't be too long, darling. There's a storm coming."