The trees whispered. A sigh of conversation carried on the wind. It slid between them like a caress. Lifting the uncut grass that grew between the gravestones. The warm air lifted the flimsy material of her blouse, the air sliding across her exposed stomach. It was a warm touch that brought a tear. It was familiar, missed.
She reached down and held her skirt against her as she knelt at the foot of the grave, the grass cool against her knees. Before her, was an eight by-two-and-a-half-foot plot of land that was carefully tended. Around it was unkempt, near wilderness. Markers dotted the green, the roots of them touching a benediction to those long forgotten.
Her fingers touched the rectangle of cropped grass in front of her. This grass had been warmed by the sunlight. Its moisture evaporated. It felt like the warmth emanating from those who had been buried deep beneath it. Deep, but only so deep. An arms-length away. She slid down onto her stomach, her ear pressed to the green, and she listened.
There were no sounds. No whispers to add to the tree’s murmurs. No reassurance that its occupant was not one of those forgotten around him. She cried a little then. They were silent tears. She thought them dignified, and it pleased her that he would have looked at her actions with pride. It was not easy to contain her grief. The tears threatened to break into racking sobs that would shatter her dignified sadness.
She turned on her side, her left side, the same side she would always turn when she woke. Before the morning sun would bathe her and she would look at his sleeping form and know there would never be another to replace him. He would say the same. There were ups and downs. There were sometimes raised voices and quiet reproachful evenings, but when they lay down to sleep, they never slept angry.
Above was deep blue, and below was startling green. The summer brought out the colour. It was so vivid it belonged in the twilight years of Hollywood’s golden age. It was technicolour married to dance and song. To stories of impossibly pure expressions of love that evaded most of their entire lives.
It had not evaded hers; it had collided with her on one winter evening. She had been cold of body, while he had been cold of heart. When they met, she wanted him to offer his umbrella against the rain. He had wanted nothing more than a return to his solitude. Once bitten, thrice shy, he would tell her later. This was when they had met again on a warmer day for them both.
She ran her hand over the green. The short shards of grass slid over the flesh of her palm. She felt her tears cooling on her cheek. She imagined the waters seeping into the earth beneath her. She wanted to cry more. She wanted to bathe the grave in her tears, but the memory of their meeting had shifted time around her. For a moment he was with her still, and it would take her time to remember the sad truth.
She wallowed in the moment. Drank of it like the earth drank her tears. Like time took those precious moments from her that only lived now in delicate memory. The blue was not so deep anymore, the green not so lush. The day was overcast without there being a cloud in the sky. The clouds were within her, and nothing she touched could remain untainted.
Then there was movement. The long grass shifting against the wind. As the sigh of air pushed the green one way, she saw something push against it. There was a flash of brown amid the stalks of green and a tiny body ran as fleeting as happiness across the ground. It stopped near her hand, and the woman held her breath.
The mouse looked at her. Its fat bottom pushed towards the sky as its head hunkered down low. Its tail was pressed into the cropped grass, and she marvelled. There was no fear, and this is what was remarkable. She was afraid of animals in all their forms, but she was especially afraid of tiny creatures. Creatures that scampered unseen terrified her. They would cause her heart to palpitate with unrestrained and irrational terror. He would comfort her, and explain to her that their tiny forms were of no danger to her, but it was to no avail.
But this little creature carried with it no fear. It sat up. Its little front paws raised as if holding an invisible book, looking exactly like someone about to read to her. One ear lay against its head while the other pointed skywards. She saw the tip of its tail rise from the grass and sway in the air.
She felt fresh tears. The tiny animal was mere inches from her hand. She wanted to reach out to it but would not dare. She would scoop it up if she were able. She wanted to hold the little creature close. Its fur was chocolate brown and she wondered if it was tame. An escaped animal that had left some child in the same state as herself. It could be the only explanation. It peered at her with no fear at all. It was almost curious. Perhaps even sharing a little in her sadness.
Friends who had animals told her that this was true. Animals would share in human sadness. She had always dismissed the idea, but what other explanation was there?
The mouse moved a little closer. She could feel its warmth as it neared her hand. It was a bundle of heat. A tiny furnace of energy. She was certain she felt its nose press against her finger as it sniffed at her.
She was crying again now. They were silent tears. She knew he would be smiling.
“You see,” she heard him say, “they just want to be warm and happy. They want companionship, and they want to play. They want what we want.”
The mouse ran in a little circle around her hand. Paused a moment, its face so close to her own that she could make out its whiskers. Its fur was lighter across its belly and darkest between its ears. It sat up again and its body leaned to one side as if listening.
“I love you.” She said, and in a moment, it was gone.