Indigo Rock Page #7

Is it possible to grieve someone before they're gone?

• Fiction
• Horror
• Mystery
• Science fiction
• Anthology

								


"Listen," I interjected with urgency, "I wanted to ask you something." Future-me pursed her lips. She knew I'd say that. She had already asked it before. She sighed a strained sigh, like she was avoiding it. 

Reece jerked his head at Jonesy, signaling him to offer us privacy. So they went off to the side, leaving me to grit my teeth and blurt out: "How do we save him?" 

I felt no need to mince my words. Not to myself. 

"Jess, listen to me. I know how you feel. I know what you felt when you read that post. But trust me when I say, there's nothing we could've done." 

I winced. The stone in the tree illuminated, a conduit to my anger. "Don't say that. Cyrus is still here. He's at home, resting." I gasped for air. The forest air was a raging river, and I was drowning. "Maybe if we moved? Far away from here. From where he died." I flinched again---the stone even brighter now. "I mean, from where he's going to die. Maybe we can change it." 

"Jess, please." Future-me stayed composed. Stoic. "You don't want to do this. Trust me. I spent a long time trying to..." The buzz of static flooded the call. "Deal with his..." The worse the static became, the brighter the stone. 

The call dropped. 

"No, no." My heart sank. I tried feverishly to reconnect, to no avail. "Come on... please!" Nothing. No maroon-haired Jess. Nothing. That was the best shot I had; a chance to reroute the roads of destiny. 

What good is that dumb stone in that dumb tree if not to right future wrongs? Wrongs committed to the best of us. The ones who deserve to go on,
and live, and thrive. 

Reece placed a hand on my shoulder. "Jess--I, I'm sorry--" I pushed his hand off and fled from Indigo Rock. As I raced down the embankment, her words echoed in my head: there was nothing we could've done. Could have, as though he was already gone. 

Her Cyrus might be gone. But not mine. 

Not mine.


4. ACCEPTANCE 


Reece and I sat in silence the whole way home. I kept my thoughts to myself, and whatever added news he discovered about his own future, he kept to himself as well. It was news we never should've been privy to. He caressed my hand as we sat in the driveway. "You sure you'll be okay?" he asked. 

I looked toward my front door, the red mahogany looking so distant. Foreboding. "I'm fine. I'll see you tomorrow?" 

"I'll meet you at your locker," he beamed. 

I made my march inside the house, the screech of Reece's car behind me. My pulse raced, along with every molecule in my body. What if he's not there? What if by some sick twist of fate, Future-me had projected her reality into mine? 

My hand rattled on the doorknob, and I stepped inside. 

"Dingus?" My mom's voice was the first thing I heard. "That's not a real word." I walked into the living room to find my mom and brother playing Scrabble, wide smiles on their faces. "Jess, tell your brother 'dingus' isn't a real word." 

I stood there with a stupid grin. 

"What? It's totally a word!" Cyrus protested, the room basking in playful banter. He was still on oxygen, but the life and warmth on his cheeks had returned. 

I pushed down the events that happened on the mountain. "Sorry, mom. 'Dingus' is one-hundred percent a word." 

"Aha! I knew it." Cyrus placed his tiles down with glee. 

"Of course you two would conspire against me." Mom snickered. "I made some casserole, Jess. You hungry?" 

"Starving," I replied. She left the table and went into the kitchen. I threw my bag down and sat next to Cyrus, looking at him. Just looking. 

"Did you get my math homework?" he asked, still preoccupied with his tiles. He had that child-like sparkle in his eyes every time we played board games -- Scrabble being his favorite. I'd always tease him for it. But today, I wanted to savor it. 

That goofy smile of his. 

"Earth to Tadpole, did you get it or not?" His eyes went from the board to my face. "Jess...? What's wrong?" I didn't even notice the tears. Fake tears, as I called them, rolling down my face. But I was lying to myself. These emotions were as real as Cyrus' inevitable fate. 

Whether I wanted to or not, I had to face that reality. 

The floodgates in my eyes opened, and Cyrus etched a look of concern. "Whoa, Jess. Talk to me, did something happ--" 

I dove in and hugged him as tight as I could. I pressed into him, making sure he was still here. That I wasn't imagining him. With a broken rasp, I asked, "You're still here, right? Tell me it's really you... please." 

He gently lifted my head up, his collar drenched from my sobs. He looked at me bewildered. I'd
expected as much. But underneath that laid a level of understanding. A twin thing. "Yeah, it's really me," he said warmly. "I'm here, Jess. I'm still here." 

After I calmed myself, I told Cyrus the truth. Everything. From the stone, to the Instagram post, to the cryptic call across space and time.
Whether he believed me or not didn't matter. I had to purge it all out --- I had to let him know. 

The next morning, I went off to school. Cyrus' breathing wasn't at a hundred percent, so he stayed home again. As I walked out the door, Cyrus said, "It's a nice morning. I think I'll go for a walk." The tone in which he said it was curious, but I thought nothing of it. 

I threw a light punch on his shoulder. "See you, dweeb." 

"Later, Tadpole." Cyrus smiled and walked in the house. 

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

A year later, my brother died. 

He fought as hard as he could. Down to his last breath, even as the cancer metastasized to most of his vital organs. Like Reece said---Cyrus was a fighter. A warrior. In true Cyrus fashion, his band played at his funeral. "Send me off like a badass, alright?" So we did. 

They played "Playing For Fools," and that last line carried more weight than ever before. During the funeral, I never let go of mom's hand. It was easy to dwell in my own hurt, that I forget about her emotional needs. 

So I stayed by her side -- what Cyrus would have wanted. 

The hands of time wait for no one, however, and life carried on. I went to college, graduated, and eventually moved in with a certain football jock. Reece and I started dating our freshman year of college. Somehow, we had went from childhood friends, to strangers, to partners. Funny how life works. 

Speaking of which: here he is now -- calling me.
From Instagram, no less. Why's the weirdo calling
me from there? "Babe?" I pick up. Nothing but the
hum of static. "Hello? Reece?" 

"This isn't Reece," croaks a faint voice. "Its, um... it's Jess." 

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

Daylight dwindles, and Reece comes through the front door. It's been a few hours since I received the call, and I tell Reece all about it. We couldn't believe we forgot about the date. Such a crucial moment in time, tucked away like a lost sock in the bottom of the drawer. Maybe that's the way Indigo Rock designed it. 

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