Listen ...Still Waters

STILL WATERS by Misha Crews
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PART ONE: DEATH

"Under the wide and starry sky, dig the grave and let me lie." – Rudyard Kipling

Prologue

Summer 1984

Storms break when we least expect them. We float out onto the open sea, with calm water beneath us and clear skies overhead, luxuriating in the benevolence of the universe. But then the air grows thick, and the wind changes direction. Clouds gather overhead, the rains let loose, and all at once the water is our enemy.

Sea change. There's a reason for that expression.

Driving home from his grandmother's funeral, Chris Appleton could feel a change coming. It was in the prickle on the back of his neck, and the itchy feeling under his skin. Foreboding had settled beside his grief and exhaustion: three black crows sitting side-by-side on his chest.

Chris glanced in the rearview mirror. His mother and stepfather sat in the back seat. They were silent, each one looking out a different window. Only their hands, touching slightly on the seat between them, told the story of the closeness that they shared, in body as well as spirit.

Outside the air-conditioned comfort of the automobile, heat-drenched lawns and sun-hot sidewalks rolled slowly by. Christopher would have liked to be out there: walking in the hot, wet air, with the damp round scent of summer blackberries in his nose, feeling the sun beat down on his shoulders. He'd like to wander down to the creek and climb on the mossy green rocks, the way he had when he was young.

But today was not the day for walks, or for dipping his feet in the cool waters of memory. Today, unfortunately, was a funeral day – not the first he had known, nor the last he would see.

From an early age, Chris Appleton knew Death. With his own eyes he had witnessed the twitching, staring void that marks the passing of a living creature. And, like most human beings, he found it terrifying. And fascinating. After the glory of a human life, death is a sorry inevitability. And maybe that's why Chris had become a doctor.

Of course, he hadn't exactly gone from childhood directly to medical school. He had been born in 1951, the year of Catcher in the Rye, and started med school in 1973, the year of Gravity's Rainbow. In between, a lot of stuff had happened, including the Sixties. Now here they were in 1984, the year that had so terrified him when he'd read Orwell's book in junior high. The world was a very different place, and he was definitely not the same human being who had first come face to face with mortality.

He turned the car onto First Street, drove around the traffic circle with its giant holly tree, and pulled into the short driveway in front of his house. He looked up at it for a minute before setting the brake. From the back seat came his mother's voice, sad but soothing.

"I'm so glad we didn't sell this place when we got married," she said. In the rearview mirror, he could see Mother touching Dad delicately on the wrist. Then she turned her head and met Chris' gaze. The wrinkles around the corners of her eyes and mouth only seemed to accent the gracefulness of her face. Her hair, which had once been as black as night, was now run through with silver. "It was such a pleasure to see you move back here when you started your practice, Christopher. I know it made your grandparents happy, too." There was a pause. "Did Bess say she was coming over later?"

"She and Kevin will meet us for dinner."

"Good."

Chris's sister had flown in from Seattle for the funeral, and after the wake she and her husband had decided to go back to their room to rest. Mother and Dad had tried to convince her to stay with them, but Bess, who knew her own mind and who had always liked her privacy, had opted for a hotel.

Christopher got out of the car, watching as Dad crooked out his elbow and Mom took his arm. She looked over at Chris and smiled, her expression positive despite the tinge of sadness brought on by the passing of his beloved grandmother. There was a time, oh so long ago, when Mom had only given him that smile on special occasions. Although she'd tried to hide her melancholy, for the first part of his life his mother had been a distant, beautiful mystery. Like the moon, she was luminous but lonely.

But not anymore. Not for a long time.