All Souls’ Day, taking place on November 2nd, is a Catholic holiday aiming to remember beloved deceased friends and family. It is common for family members to clean and visit the gravesites of these individuals, often leaving candles atop the graves. It is believed the dead temporarily return to Earth on this day.
The leaves beneath my shoes created a crinkling sound, with the occasional snap of a twig. The soles of my shoes were just quite thin enough to make out some of the minor pebbles along the path.
I couldn’t quite choose my usual smoother path, however. Given the mass number of people headed there tonight, I couldn’t risk revealing my sacred shortcut. I wanted something of my own for once, a secret only I knew.
Besides the rather annoying number of people around me, and the abnormally cheery scene of the cemetery, it was a typical November evening in Kaunas. The sky took on the appearance of an improperly combined titration, streaky hues of blue contrasting the muddled background of the sky. It was a crisp 5 degrees Celsius, only five degrees above the freezing point. Of water, at least. Quite far from the freezing point of mercury; approximately 43.8 degrees.
My thoughts had diverted my attention from the monotonous journey towards the cemetery, and I unexpectedly found myself facing the cold, metal gates. Or gate, really, given one lay uprooted by my feet. Its appearance left you with a sense of dismay; it was short, almost taking the appearance of a stock gate. The once fully black gate dotted with exposed iron, far from the grandiose, gargoyle-adorned gates typical of cemeteries. A strong oak tree lay in front of it, its branches taking the appearance of pitch-forks.
“Come on, keep up,” my sister screeched from a point in the distance.
I turned to notice my family giving me that look again; the furrowed brows framing their faces, a blank look attempted to overlay a clear sense of disappointment. That familiar, gut-wrenching pang of sadness filled my stomach. I knew I could never fulfill their expectations of me. As they constantly felt the need to remind me, I was overweight, I didn’t dress or fit the Lithuanian beauty standard to any degree, I didn’t appreciate the drinking culture in Europe. The list as to why I was considered a social outcast was seemingly a never-ending one.
A light jog later I had caught up to my family, and the path began to look familiar. We walked this path every year. The dimly lit candles surrounding us made up for the lack of light at this hour and you could clearly make out the porous, off-white gravestones that surrounded us.
However, I could see us approaching that gravestone. My mother’s. And just like, well, every year, I knew the dreaded conversation that was to play out.
“Father?”
“Yes, Ona?” a slight edge to his tone. He knew exactly what question was going to follow.
“Is this finally the year you’re gonna tell me about mother’s death? I think it’s been more than enough time.”
He turned away from my face, his lip slightly quivering. He closed his eyes for a bit, contemplating the question.
He dared not look at my face as he answered, “Ona, I just can’t tell you. It’s too much for me. And it would break you.”
Despite knowing he would give the same answer, a boiling point had been reached.
“You know what? I can’t do this anymore. You treat me like some child, incapable of understanding death. She’s gone, okay? Nothing’s going to change that.”
Everyone stared back at me as a sorrow-filled silence filled the air. Those same, disappointed faces.
Something in me broke.
“The rest of you are just as bad. Just standing here taking this! I hate you, all of you!”
Without a second glance backwards, I began to run. And I knew exactly where I was headed. My safe space.
The gravestones passed by me in a blur, the candles a continuous stream of light as I ran. The uneven ground only making it trickier to gain traction.
I reached the end of the row of gravestones. Almost intuitively, I glanced around me. No one could see me.
While my running should have caught the attention of everyone around me, no one appeared to be even looking in my direction. I suppose their minds were, rightfully so, focused on their loved ones.
Feeling satisfied with the lack of attention I had obtained, I ducked beneath the bushes, waddling towards the other end. I lifted a branch, revealing my treasured space: the gravesite of Dr. Antanas Gabavicius. A renowned Lithuanian chemist, he was the only person who would understand me. I adored science, and specifically chemistry, more than anything. It was what brought me true joy, in spite of the social isolation.
He had been the last chemist in our town, with a ban being placed on all sciences shortly after his death, and therefore, his name. We are never to speak about him, or his accomplishments. His gravesite lay empty, as it did every year, the engraving lay full of a grassy-dirty mixture.
Pulling out a tea-candle and a match-box, I lit the candle and placed it gently upon his gravestone.
“Everyone should have someone looking after them on All Souls’ Day,” I said out loud. I thought of my mother in this moment, of her legacy. While no one dared mention her death, everyone talked of her character and presence within their life.
She was an old soul, enjoying activities such as crocheting and sudoku puzzles. With her wardrobe consisting of mostly knit sweaters, she wasn’t far from embodying a true European grandmother. In fact, she even had an older person smell about her; an almost unnaturally sweet perfume scent, with hints of praline and florals. But what everyone emphasized most about her was the affection she had for everyone around her; my last memories of her are being wrapped in her arms, giggling with pleasure as her sweet perfume filled my lungs.
Looking down at Dr. Gabavicius’s gravesite, I began to feel a sense of pain for him. No one cared for his gravesite like my family did for my mother’s. In the small light of the tea-candle, I noticed shards of glass lay in the nearby grass. I picked up a larger piece, wondering how I had never noticed its presence, and began to scrape out the grassy-dirt mixture that filled the engravings. Once satisfied with my work, I inspected the glass closely. It appeared to have a ribbed surface. Perplexed by its texture, I placed it in my pocket.
And just as typical of every year since my mother’s passing, a sense of remorse began to fill my stomach.
“How could I do such a thing to my father? Beyond just grieving the loss of his wife, he is grieving someone who carried and cared for his children.”
The remorse propelled me to action. I stood up, took one glance back at the gravesite, and made my way through the bush. The branches slightly crunched under my feet as I walked towards the entrance of the graveyard. I was in no rush, kicking a pebble that lay along the path.
Families still stood by the gravesites, acknowledging their loved ones. The gate let out a high-pitched creak, I cringed as I closed it.
As I turned around, I let out a sharp breath. I faced a blackbird on the branch above me. It lay eye-level with me, its black feathers blending with the darkness of the night. It let out a singular squawk, its yellow corneas an urgent yellow. With its tiny feet, it inched closer, its eyes seemingly still holding my gaze.
I let out a small laugh as I turned from the bird.
“Such curious creatures,” I chuckled.
Besides the presence of people, the path appeared identical to when I had walked it just hours before. Shoe outlines in the dry dirt alluded to this presence. I stared intently at these outlines as I walked, prolonging my presence at home.
Suddenly, it felt as if my shoe had been grabbed from behind, and I felt myself sail through the air, knowing there is nothing I can do to change my fate. My right cheek collides with the ground as I let out a soft groan. I mentally check that all my limbs are still present, a coating of dust covering most of my body as I begin to feel my knees aching. I slowly roll over, bending a knee to my face.
“Shoot! I’m gonna have to clean up all this blood.”
I turn to look backwards. A larger stick lay in the center of the path. I shake my head, struggling to recall its presence while I had been walking.
“I must’ve been too focused on the footprints,” I mumble as I shake my head. I get up slowly, my knees a throbbing ache.
Breathing sharply, I begin to drag my feet towards my home, motivating myself with the knowledge that my home is only about a kilometer away.
I approach a crosswalk, the only one I must brave for my journey back home.
“There better not be any more incidents,” I said as warily as I glanced down at my bloody knees.
Looking up and down the street, I began to limp across.
“Almost there,” the pain in my knees throbbing with every hobble.
Suddenly, I feel a slight heat on my left cheek. I turn, bright lights blinding me. The heavy weight of a car slams into the left side of my body as I collapse to the ground. I catch myself with my hands, the concrete indenting into my palms. The heat from the contact is only building. The sound of my blood pounding fills my ears, a mix of adrenaline and shock sending tremors throughout my body. Panting, I look at the car speeding away, too far in the distance to make out a license plate.
“What’s wrong with you?!” I yell out, as if that will do anything to change the situation.
Realizing I need to get to safety, I scoot with my hands to the sidewalk, groaning with each movement. Attempting to catch my breath, I look up towards the trees, slowly swaying in the wind.
“Just inhale and exhale with each sway of the branches. It will all be okay. Just breathe, that’s all you need to do right now.”
Closing my eyes, I breathe in slowly, willing the pain that fills my body to dissipate. I begin to exhale, reopening my eyes to notice a dark figure within the swaying branches. Squinting my eyes, I can make out a slight yellow color.
“Not the stupid blackbird again.”
Yet, I feel goosebumps beginning to cover my body. The blood pumping in my ears only intensifies. Despite the pain filling my body, I feel a sense of urgency.
“I need to get going. Maybe a bit faster this time.”
I pick up my mangled body, and in an attempt to regain some sense of control, I begin to reassure myself. “This will pass. This will all pass. You are okay.” I pick up speed, the sound of my blood pumping only quickening. “This will all pass.” I no longer feel my knees, with anything below my waist now feeling numb. I begin to see my mailbox up ahead, my body beginning to relax. I ease up on my pace, my breathing still shallow. I close my eyes. “You are oka..” A single squawk is released. The blackbird is sitting stoically on my mailbox now. It’s beady eyes upon me. I’m now sprinting, not a coherent thought fills my mind. I run up the porch steps, my entire body now numb. “This…will…pass,” I say through shallow breaths. I swing open the door. Besides the far bay window, the house is completely dark. The only thing I know for certain is the staircase to my left. I grab onto the railing, hurriedly taking two steps at a time. “You………are…….okay.” My bedroom is the farthest down the hall. Dashing down the smooth hardwood flooring, I throw the door open. A fearful sob now mixes with my gasps. The moonlight streaming through the windows, I make out a dark figure on my ledge. “No, please no. This will pass. This will all pass. You are o…” A familiar item glints in its beak. I run to my bed, frantically throwing off my comforter. The panic somehow only makes the process slower. I cover myself completely, shuddering beneath the puffy covering. “This will all pass,” a shuddering sob emerges. My cries suddenly stifle as I feel a presence only inches from my face. My breathing shudders, I do not dare peek at what sits in front of me. I squeeze my eyes, to the point of witnessing small stars. My body lay completely still, paralyzed with the fear of what stands next to me. I begin to feel faint as a sweet, yet familiar, smell fills my lungs. “Is that pralines? Or flo….”