Free Court of the Myrtles by Lois Cahall Page B

Alice and I planted just last week.
    â€œDon’t over-water those,” hollers Alice. “It rained just yesterday.” She approaches from up the hill, bending over to catch her breath, her hands on her kneecaps.
    â€œCourse you got a kink in the hose—right there—all twisted. That’s why the water’s stopped.”
    Staring down to the soil, a small puddle of mud forms around my sneakers. My tears could water these plants faster.
    â€œDid you hear me, Marla? Oh look—you’ve got some pink flumes forming.” Alice touches my shoulder, but I pull back. “Marla?”
    â€œWe’re all just time bombs!” I snap, practically exploding myself. “And when our time is up, it’s up. Could be cancer, could be hit by a bus, could be murder.”
    â€˜Oh I see. So we’re angry today…”
    I shoot her a look. “No,
we’re
not angry. I am.”
    â€œSo you decided to take it out on my daughter’s grave, eh?”
    â€œOh, no, I—”
    Alice grabs the hose from my hand, untwisting the kink before aiming it straight at me, her finger pulling the trigger.
    â€œDon’t you dare—” I say.
    But it’s too late. Alice sprays hard and I hop around cursing her name as she unloads a hose full of bullets. She finally stops and lowers the nozzle. Panting hard, I look down at my soaking wet clothes. I could, quite literally, kill this woman. But then, despite myself, I start laughing. And so does she.
    â€œI’m sorry. I’m just—yeah, I’m angry,” I say, wiping my hands along my saturated body. “Or was…”
    â€œAnger is a good friend for a while. But you can’t beat laughter.” Alice turns off the water from the spigot. “The truth is, if you stay angry for too long, it keeps the real emotions from surfacing.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œI mean the emotions that allow you to mourn, to move forward and begin rebuilding the
me
inside.”
    I flap my water-soaked shirt in the breeze. “It ain’t easy.”
    â€œNobody said it was.”
    â€œI got a pay raise today and an extra week’s vacation. It sucks, Alice.”
    â€œIt does?”
    â€œYeah,” I say, “First thing I wanted to do was call my mother.” I head for my car trunk to grab a beach towel. “And I wanted to discuss the idea of going back to school. I enrolled at the community college two days ago and I wanted to tell her that, too. See what she thinks about my class choices.”
    â€œShe might not be here, but you have to assume she
is
listening.” Alice winds up the hose. “By the way, I’m proud of you for enrolling, if it counts for anything. You can talk to
me
about your courses.” She winks as if she knows that talking to Alice is something of a mixed blessing for me.
    â€œThanks,” I say, glancing at the Peter Rabbit box stashed in a corner of the trunk under the spray can of Armoral and a cleaning rag. I toss the emergency beach blanket on top of it and slam the lid of the trunk down. “You know, the only good thing that’s come from my mother’s death? When I’m trying to prove a point to and I say, ‘I swear on my mother’s grave!’ They take me seriously.”
    I’m at my mother’s stone now and I look up to the sky. “Do you think everybody sees the light—the near-death tunnel that people talk about? Do you think Charlie saw the tunnel, the light?”
    â€œCharlie?”
    â€œMy boyfriend.”
    â€œI thought his name was Eddy.”
    â€œCharlie was my first love. I was just thinking how unfair it was that he died. He was in a car accident—actually an
out-of-car
accident. He was hitchhiking. Only seventeen.”
    Alice plants her hands on her hips staring to the sky, struggling for words. “Would it help if you knew Charlie didn’t feel any