“Just a little higher”, I coached myself.
I had balanced myself perfectly on the table, one hand reaching for the porcelain canister on the very top of the shelf. I tilted a little and took the canister in my hands. Hopping down from the table I opened a lid and found what I had been looking for.
Sugar
It was the sweetest taste of the afterlife
Slowly, I was still learning what was and wasn’t in my grandmother’s house or in Nightfall for that matter. I hadn’t left the house since arriving yesterday but Ms. Ginger had left me a note this morning saying she would be over this afternoon.
Although it was just a friendly obligatory invitation, it meant so much more. Especially considering I was truly alone for the first time in my life. Death had been unexpected and this new world left me with so many questions I hoped Ms. Ginger could answer.I was raised to be a gracious host, so before I started interrogating my neighbor I looked for something to serve my guest. I somehow found myself In the backyard where I found a ceramic pot with a beautiful little lemon tree sprouting out of it. I gathered a few and (after some more searching for ingredients) I had filled an antique pitcher with fresh lemonade.
I dropped in the ice just as the door bell rang. On my way
to the door I stopped and reflected on how nice it was to finally do something
relatively normal. Ms. Ginger filled the frame she was aptly named, her short curly red hair sat perched beneath a white pillbox hat and her matching suite.
“Good Afternoon, Clara”, she greeted me.
“Oh, Hello. I made some lemonade”, I gestured behind her, “I thought we could sit on the porch?”
“Of course, of course”
She turned to sit at the little table and chair out front while I gathered the pitcher and two tea cups.
“I hope this is okay”, I said pouring a little into the cups.
“Its fine dear—oh, you look so much like your grandmother”
“I got that a lot”, I said, “I was so upset when she passed ... is she here ?”
Ms. Ginger looked down at her cup and set it down before turning her attention back to me.
I was honestly afraid of her answer. My grandmother had been my everything, she had practically raised my father alone and spent summers and weekends with us girls. When she died 2 years ago I kept telling myself I would see
her again and it was the only thing keeping me going.
“No, dear. . . I’m afraid she’s moved on. . . she knew about your accident though. She wanted to be here.”
I pondered this for a while, it had never occurred to me there was a place after after death. Dying, for me, had been so sudden. I didn’t think I could or would want to do it again.
“Moved on ?”, I questioned
“It’s nothing dear”, she changed the subject quickly, “How are you adjusting?”
I vaguely remembered waking up after the accident and standing
on the dirt road that lead to
I just knew.
But at the same time I didn’t.
Nightfall was far from the ethereal place I had hoped for, and whether it was heaven or hell I doubted I would ever know or would want to.
“It so . . sudden.”, I told her.
“It’s always sad when you’re young”, she said peering across the street.
“Yes”, I agreed, “My parents and sisters . . . I wish I. . . .”
“No sense in thinking like that... we just have to find our
peace here.”
“It’s beautiful here”, I said watching as the sun slowly began to set over the intricate rooftops
“It’s the best there is. I’ve been here for 20 years I think. It can be lovely . . .”
20 years.
That would have been a few years after I was born
“Really? Don’t you ever miss home ?”
“Yes, but you get used to things”, she changed the subject, “Now the house. Are you planning on doing any changes?”
“Uh, I don’t know.”
The large three story Regency style house was a far cry from the two bedroom condo I had left behind.I hadn’t even begun to explore the second floor yet,The first floor had a parlor just off from the stair case and 2 medium sized bedrooms. On the other side of the grand staircase was a living room that was connected to a large but modest kitchen. Every room was decorated with antique furniture; it was a little like living in a large doll house.
“It’s a bit large, but your grandmother loved it.”, Ms. Ginger said.
“I can imagine, she loved history and this place is like an old novel.”
We chatted until the it was about dark. Ms. Ginger excused herself for the night and before I knew it I had more questions than answers. I sat on the porch and watched her shuffle 2 doors down to her house, once she was inside I stayed out until the sky darkened and the stars began to shine.
I closed my eyes and felt the tea cup I was holding slip from my fingers. Before I could hear it break I fell into a deep sleep.
+++
I don’t know how long I slept for but when I awoke it was dawn. I quickly looked over at the single tea cup still on the table and noticed it was still full.
Ms. Ginger hadn't taken a drop.
I laughed at a silly thought.
Could I still eat ? Did I need too ?
It was things like this I should have asked Ms. Ginger. Life certainly had not come with instructions and apparently neither did death. I reached for the cup and took a sip of the lemonade. It was refreshing but there was no thirst to quench, no need it was just there.
Live to eat
I suppose I could do that now.
The cup I had been holding was now on the porch an lay broken into 4 perfect pieces. I had barely been in my grandmother’s home and I was already breaking things, just like I did when I was a child.
Sitting up in the chair I surveyed my surrounding, when an eerie feeling ran through my body.
I was being watched.
I immediately turned behind me, but then looked straight ahead.
Across the street, in the green and red house what looked like a man was standing along the white wraparound porch, his arms spread along the railing.
The rest of his lean sinewy figure was dressed in a crisp white shirt with a high collar, a tie hung loosely from the neck and a pair of black pinstripe trousers.
What held my
attention and terrified me at the same time was the pallid-washed color of his
skin and long white hair that betrayed his young age, high cheekbones were surrounded
by eyes that were as light as mine were dark, he looked as if he may have
stepped out of a Victorian melodrama or I'd stepped into one.
A Ghost ?
He turned quietly quickly disappeared into the house.
I suddenly felt frightened and alone, as I had the night I had died.
Leaving the cups and pitcher I fled into the darkness of my home.
+++
The next morning with thoughts of the stranger from across the street out of my mind, I discovered an old yellow bicycle in the backyard. It had been tangled in the bushes but just needed a little care. I spent the morning cleaning the bicycle with hand soap and water. I let it dry in the sun till it was fit to ride.
I felt like a child and let a momentary smile come over my face as I ventured farther from the house. I turned and rode by Ms. Ginger’s house she was outside and waived to me, Her knitting clasped in her hands.
I stopped in front of her house and called to her over the fence.“Good Morning, Ms. Ginger”
“Don’t you look adorable”, she said, “I bet you could take
that to town ?”
“Town?”
Of course there had to be a town, but I never imagined it
would be so close. I hadn’t yet ventured out of the confines of
“Yes, you could get some new clothes maybe some food. . . if you want.”
“I don’t have any money”, I told her.
She shuffled around in her pockets and handed me what appeared to be pressed paper money.
It was white and blue with pictographs of a Lion wearing a crown. I spent entirely to long studying the money.
“You won’t need it for everything . . . but you know. Town is about 2 miles that way”, she pointed east
I thanked her and for the first time since I arrived I
skidded out of
Approaching train tracks I glided across the walkway and saw the town rising in the distance. A sign had been fashioned out of metal with the words “Litany Village’ written across it. I stopped short of the main entrance, in the center of town was a large church surrounded by little cottages on a narrow paved street. It reminded me of the small village I had lived in while studying abroad in Germany.
I perched the bicycle by the gate where a few other bicycles were leaning. There were a few people milling around many were older citizens. It seemed like everyone knew everyone else. I could have spent hours just looking at all the different clothing styles. In the center of all the shops there was a huge stain glassed Church, it was something I hadn’t expected to see. . . I felt uneasy just walking past it toward the map.
I found
50 60 70
Nothing from 2007, a year that would always be mine
I settled into the “90’s” and picked up a green peasant top. white shorts and a yellow sundress to try on. It felt nice to rid myself of what appeared to be the last outfit I ever wore. Looking into the half mirror I felt unusually exposed. My skin, body and clothing felt so real. Yet, I knew from all convention or conviction that my body had to still be on Earth, whatever I was looking at in the mirror was something else entirely.
Once I was ready to “check out” I went to the man behind the desk, not quite sure what the protocol was.
“Can I get a bag ?”, I asked.
“Certainly. . . this top belonged to one of my old cashiers”, he had the green shirt in his hand.
“There clothes are used ?”
“It’s taken from those who have moved on. . you’re new aren’t you”
“Yes, I imagine I’d have to pay if I wanted new clothes.”
“That’s right. I’m not hiring right now. .. But I don’t see the fuss about used clothing.
back in my day we made our own clothes”
I gathered my items and walked around town a bit, everyone seemed to be in groups or pairs. I wondered how they could all look past the lost of their mortality, if they wished to live again.
I rode back toThey never did.
I heard laughing.
It was coming from across the street.
I picked my head up to look at the house across the street expecting to see the manI had seen last night but instead another man ,who looked to be in his late 30’s with warm brown skin and curly hair, peered down at me.
“Have a nice fall, Darling ?”, he asked.
“Yes, extremely”, I said copying his light tone.
I stood up as the man came down off the porch and picked my bicycle up.
"Oh, I've got it", I said
"Please, let", he said, "I need a distraction."
He was dressed in similar fashion to the white-haired man except he was wearing a dark brown coat. It was very old fashioned, but a part of me liked it.
“I’m across the street”, I tell him as he walks my bicycle back to my yard.
“I heard an older woman used to live here”, he mused.
“My grandmother”, I told him
I opened the gate and showed him where to leave the bicycle.
“It was nice to meet you”, he said, “I am Emile”
“Clara”, I said shaking his hand, “have you been here long ?”
“I’m a rather new addition to
He certainly couldn’t be any newer than I was and I found that comforting.
“Thank you, Emile. If you ever want to come over. .. .”
“I’m usually very busy… I’m a writer . . .but I’ll keep that in mind. Oh, and welcome to the neighborhood.”
+++
The house was silent; the only noise was the creaking of steps when I ventured to the second floor. There were four rooms and a master suite. Each room was lavishly decorated like her house back home. So far I had counted 3 bathrooms that appeared modern and closets filled with my grandmother’s clothing.
I had made myself at home in the downstairs bedroom. I only spent time in the room when I was sleeping or eating. Exploring the huge house took up a surprisingly large amount of time. I couldn’t help but to be troubled by my grandmother’s absence, even when I knew I was dying I had hopes of seeing her again, feeling her warm embrace and yet all I was left with was a creepy old house.
One morning while cleaning I stepped on the balcony of the
second floor bedroom, from the balcony I could see a majority
A garden
“Beautiful”, I said to myself.
I stepped off the balcony in search of company. Ms. Ginger was inside today, so with a pitcher of lemonade in tow I walked over to Emile’s house, hoping to make a new friend.
There was a table and chair set similar to the one on my porch on his, I set the pitcher down and knocked on the door.
No answer.
I left a note, scribbling with a piece of coal I had found in my kitchen.
As I turned to leave the swinging of the backyard fence called to me.
Maybe a glimpse into the garden.
Leaving the pitcher and all common sense I trespassed into my neighbor’s yard.
The garden was as beautiful as I imagined. In the center of a regal spiraling stone pathway was a chalky black antiqu iron patio furniture set, beside which a little pond glistened with clear blue water.
Every other space was filled with rising rose bushes in a rainbow of pink, white and red. A rare few held a damasked hue. I drew a little closer to the roses, most were in full bloom.
Maybe Emile won’t notice one missing
I reached behind the rose bushes and picked one the was in the back, I pricked my finger and quickly pulled it away, the flower fell to the ground. I took the large blossom in my hand and wondered if I could grow my own rose bushes. Have a garden that looked as beautiful as this.
“Excuse me”, a cold voice calledI looked up to see the white-haired colorless man I had glimpsed the other day. At a closer glance he looked to be in his late twenties. He was standing on deck, his brow was furrowed and lips in a taut straight line.
He was angry.
“I didn’t mean to. . . .” I placed the flower back on the vines, “Is. . .Emile here?”
The man took the corner of his bottom lip into his mouth before turning back into the house, his steps were so quiet it was no wonder I didn’t hear him. Suddenly Emile bounded out of the house and returned to where the white-haired man had been standing. He had my pitcher in his hands.
“Clara. Don’t mind Mr. Fierro come in.”, Emile said.
Emile used the term in a respected way, given that “Mr. Fierro” was probably years younger than him.
Emile opened the gate to the deck and led me through the
house. The house was immaculate and set up very similar to my own home. Emile
sat down in the parlor.
“What brings you by?” Emile asked taking a sip of the lemonade.
“I saw the roses.”
“Yes, they are beautiful.".
“So, does Mr. Fierro live here to?” I asked.
“Not exactly, this is his home. He’s just letting me “crash” for a while”
“Crash?”
“Sorry, it’s a word kids from my time use it means sleep spend time free of charge”
“No no”, he misunderstood me, “I know. . . I’ve only died recently.”
He seemed taken aback from my use of the word died. I myself had misjudged him by his old fashion clothing.
“No one here likes to talk of such things… an incident a a few years ago. . . the poor kid didn’t even mean to hit the trigger.”
“That’s terrible”, I said.
“Yes, and even with that . . .there are so few young people in Nightfall.. .”
Finally someone who seemed willing to talk.
“How do you get used to it? Is this really forever”
“Honestly, Clara ?.”He poured himself another glass, “I don’t know”
“I just have so many questions but the strange thing is I don’t know what some of them are yet.”
“All in good time”, he finished his second glass, “This is delicious how about a little trade off ? A few lemons for some roses.”
“Sounds fair.”
The stair cased creaked signaling the return of Mr. Fierro, he stood at the entrance of the parlor. Under the light of the chandelier his skin appeared clear, white and morbidly transparent.
“Is she still here, Emile?” Mr. Fierro said while looking right over me.
“I was thinking of giving her a quick tour, she is Lucie’s granddaughter you know.”
“Lucie?”, said Mr. Fierro not even looking at me.
I couldn’t believe I was listening to this man have a conversation as if I weren't in the room. He hadn’t even had the decency to offer me a proper introduction.
“I’m Clara DeLune”, I said extending a hand, he ignored it.
“Clara DeLune ?”, He pronounced my name Claw-ra, something I despised. It was “Clair-a” a play on my mother’s name.
“Yes.”, he had heard it right.
Emile jumped in and introduced us;” This is my good friend, Fierro”.
“You may call me Mr. Fierro, Ms. DeLune”, Mr. Fierro said.
I would have preferred not to call him anything, having to force an introduction out of him. I instead turned back to Emile.
“I won’t need a tour, Emile, this house is very similar to mine.--”
“Lucie's granddaughter was a pianist. Do you play the piano, Ms. DeLune ?”, Mr. Fierro asked gazing at a painting in the room as if they weren't his.
“I--Yes”
He and Emile exchanged a look and I followed both men to a room that was my bedroom in my house. Instead there was an ivory grand piano with a vase filled with fresh flushed pink roses I assumed from the garden sat atop it.
It was calling to me, but even with it's beauty I was afraid to touch it.
“May I ?”, I asked
I didn’t wait for an answer but approached the white bench and ran my fingers over all of the keys. I took a few minutes to tune the piano much to the amusement of Emile. Mr. Fierro kept a straight face.
I let my fingers plunge over the ivory keys starting with a perfect F and leading to the next minor key, I closed my eyes as I played the song that was my coincidental namesake.
Clair De Lune played thought the small room and echoed in my ears as each crisp tune escaped my fingers.
I was no longer in the strange town of Night fall but I was in familiar territory.
I was sitting in my favorite room, playing my piano much to the delight of my children. Their faces would be bright with smiles, seemingly hypnotized by the music.
Each time I hit a perfect key I’d look out and make sure
they were still awake and usually they were.
All 20 of them.
When the music came to it’s natural end I’d push back the chair, and ask my classroom of bright music students what they thought.
A room full of twelve year-olds could come up with surprising answers, a few of them would attempt to play the piece and that was how I usually taught my class on Debussy.
Those days were behind me now.
I played out the last section of F minor, keeping my hands in tune unitl the last note was done. I opened my eyes, my hands still hovering above the piano keys.
The clasp of hands coming together interrupted the silence and
I saw Emile giving me applause, I smiled 
sheepishly.
Mr. Fierro watched with his hands behind his back.
“Do you play?” I asked the men
“No, not like that”, said Emile, “That was beautiful—“
“Could I have it?” I looked towards Mr. Fierro, “The piano. My house is so silent and I--”
“No”, he said firmly
“Why not ?”, I felt close to losing my temper, “Please, I’ll pay you”
I grabbed the handful of money Ms. Ginger had given me earlier. I couldn’t explain how this instrument meant to me and the life I had lost.
I was never going to see my students, my family or even my own piano again. He didn’t understand that I needed this to keep grounded.
Playing that song had taken me home—let me live-- for just five minutes.
Mr. Fierro looked at the money and me as if I were dirt on the floor.
“I think you have over stayed your visit, Ms. DeLune”, he turned to Emile, “Please see her out”
“Please.”, I begged
Emile held my arms as Mr. Fierro walked out of the room and up the stairs. I couldn’t understand how Emile could stand to live with a man like that.
I found my own way out of the house and curled under the sheets in my bed as the music played in my head.
++++
I leaned my bike what was now going to be its usual spot in town and made my way back to the clothing shop. The old man was still there reading a paper behind the counter.
“Morning”, he said
“Good Morning”, he seemed to remember me, “I was wondering if maybe you knew where I could find a piano.”
He handed me the paper he had been reading
“Check the paper.”, he suggested.
“There is a paper; of course”, I said flipping to the classified. Nothing came up except an ad for a music store.
After getting directions I located my way further into town till I found the music store Notes. There were a lot of smaller instruments, but located in the back I saw a pair of matching dark oak upright pianos. They didn’t compare to the elegance of Mr. Fierro’s ivory grand, but it would do.
The large price tag indicated that they were the equivalent of 1000 dollars which would have been a steal in any other situation.
The shopkeeper watched my face fall after realizing how much I needed for the piano.
“I have a few keyboards in back”, she offered.
“No, it has to be this”, I put my hand on the oak cover, “I’ll be back for this”
I hurried out of the shop and picked up my own newspaper, flitting through the classifieds for a job. Nothing particularly useful came up and I grew frustrated.
I still needed to know how this world worked.