Release
I shove against the front door until it opens enough to let me in. A dank scent fills the entry hall. Fading summer sunlight shimmers on the plastic sheets covering the stained-wood furniture. Thick spider webs cling to the ceiling, their occupants staring at me as if I’m an intruder. They scuttle into hidey holes as the distorted lino crackles beneath my feet.
‘Scaredy cats,’ I mutter.
Bang!
I sprint down the hall, then pause, realising a gust of wind slammed the door shut. I hunch over, heart pounding. Through the opening in the French doors beside me, a plastic sheet covers the bed where she--
I rush into the living room, the memories still fresh.
Ahead, twisted blinds splay against the scummy sliding door. Dust covers the scratched breakfast bar. An empty glass stands in the sink. I freeze. Who’s been here? Unless she--
I shake my head. Don’t be stupid. There’s no such thing. One of the family must have visited and forgotten to wash it.
Across the room, dust-free marks on the cabinet shelves reveal missing photos and ornaments. I hope the family took them. The hinges creak as I open the cabinet doors. A musty scent emerges from the array of VHS cassettes within. I pull out a handful, trying to read Grandma’s cursive on the stained labels.
Creaking sounds behind me.
I spin around, pulse quickening. Between the flower-patterned couches the brown leather recliner rocks. I frown. There’s no way that was the wind. My face hardens, tears threatening to emerge. Grandma often sat there, knitting needles clicking away as she wove together her latest blanket or jumper. It couldn’t be--
I shake my head again. Stop being silly. Just find the tape and get out of here.
I turn back to the cabinet and scan through more tapes, searching for home movies. It must be here somewhere. I squint against the encroaching darkness, cursing myself for not bringing a torch.
The rocking continues. I try to push the sound out of my mind. The more I do, the louder it becomes. My arms shake as I reach for the next tape and bring it into the half-light. The familiar click of Grandma’s knitting needles sounds from the recliner.
With trepidation, I turn around. The chair rocks with a familiar gentle motion. A stray tear runs down my cheek. I wipe it away with the back of my hand, then sigh with relief when I read the current tape’s label: I’ve found it. I hurry towards the entrance, then freeze. The recliner’s sticky-taped cushions are creased as if someone’s sitting in them.
‘Don’t,’ I tell myself.
My shoulders slump as the memories resurface. The frail old woman in her tattered singlet and underwear slouching in her pillow-laden bed. Her strained voice and blank stare as I told her goodbye for the last time. The knives churning in my gut when I found so many missed calls on my phone. The sobbing messages on my voicemail. Mum’s toneless voice when I called. The hollowness when I realised I had been enjoying the sunshine-bleached beach 700 kilometres away the moment it happened.
My head falls into my hands, tears streaming down my face. ‘I… I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you passed away.’
‘Ah, it’s okay.’ Grandma’s thick French accent fills the room.
I gasp. Her thin grey hair leans against the headrest. My mouth hangs agape. The continuous rocking becomes a haunting rhythm.
‘It was not a nice thing for you to see,’ says the voice. ‘I’m glad I spared you of that.’ A hank of red wool drops from the recliner and spools across the beige mat.
I automatically step to pick it up, then stop. What’s going on?
A deep sigh sounds from the other side of the seat. The recliner stills and a spectral form pushes itself to its feet, shuffles across the floor, bends over, and picks up the wool.
Stringy spittle droops from my open mouth and slides down my chin.
With another sigh, the spectre stands and shuffles back to the recliner. My legs shake. It’s her. Grandma. Her translucent form wafts in and out of sight, but it’s definitely her. It can’t be.
She collapses into the recliner. Seconds later, it rocks again, and her needles resume clicking.
I stare at the chair, not believing what I’m seeing. ‘You… You can’t be here. You’re…’
‘Dead? Ha! You don’t know the meaning of the word.’
‘But… You had an open casket. We… We buried you.’
‘My body, perhaps, but my spirit lingers.’ Her spectral hand gestures to herself.
I creep forward, wanting to see her again, but hesitant at the same time. When I peek into the recliner, Grandma’s familiar features face me. She’s just as she was before the diagnosis, only fluid spilling from a hole in her black lung is visible through her translucence.
She undoes a row of stitches and sighs. ‘Why can no one let me go?
‘That’s why you’re still here?’
She glares at me with her are-you-stupid look and shrugs. ‘It’s as if I am not dead.’
I collapse against the armrest of the adjacent couch, unable to believe I’m smiling. Grandma had always been the link that held the family together. Even after her death, it seems they won’t let her relinquish that role.
‘There is more to being dead than this,’ she says.
‘You mean the afterlife? Is Grandpa there?’
She looks up from the unfurled row of stitches and stares across the room, gaze distant. ‘I can hear him sometimes, calling to me.’
‘Then go to him.’
‘Ha! If it were that simple, I would.’
‘What are you holding onto?’
‘I’m not the one holding on.’
A long moment of silence falls between us as my mind processes this.
‘It’s okay you weren’t there when I died,’ she says. ‘I forgive you.’
Tears roll down my face again. ‘I should have been there to support you and the family.’
‘You were. In the weeks before, you helped with my meals. My medicine.’ She shakes her head again as if to dispel the memory of her resistance. ‘I know you loved me. And still do. You came back early from your holiday. It’s all you could have done.’
I shudder and break into sobs. I try to turn away, not wanting her to see me like this.
The rocking stops. Grandma stands with a sigh and places her shadow hand on my shoulder. ‘La, you see. Let it go. Let me go. It’s time for you to move on. I’ll be in a better place once you do.’
I stare into her there-but-not-there face. I want to believe I’m imagining this, but the weight of her hand is heavy. ‘I… I can’t.’
She smiles. ‘I’ve had my time in this world. Don’t waste what you have left on me.’
I continue to stare at her, not believing her words. Grandma never spoke openly like this. She had always said what she thought was right. Then I recall her clutching my hand before I left and revealing she was no good at expressing herself.
‘Cherish our times together,’ she says. ‘But don’t spend your life dwelling on my death. I —’ She turns away. ‘I never wanted to die when I was alive. But now I’m dead, I know there’s nothing to be scared of.’
Mum’s choked words echo in my head: Grandma’s face had turned blue on her last breath. It was no way to leave this world. Not the woman who had taken me in and encouraged my pursuit of the arts. I burst into another round of sobbing.
Grandma pats my shoulder. ‘My suffering is over. I want yours to be too. Let me go. Let me move beyond this physical realm.’
I sniffle. I want her to stay. To retell how she immigrated from Mauritius and raised five children on a poultry farm. But that would be selfish. I release a ragged exhale, then look into her eyes, clasping her ghostly hand in mine. I nod. ‘Go. I want you to be happy.’ The heaviness I’ve carried since her passing lightens, then lifts.
White light emanates from her body. She smiles wider than I’ve ever seen. The light brightens, filling the room until it becomes blinding. I release her hand, shielding my eyes, but the brightness is so overwhelming, I have to clench my eyes shut. The image of a welcoming hand extending towards Grandma stains my vision.
‘Goodbye.’ Her voice echoes through the room.
A gust of wind whips past me, then vanishes just as quickly.
I open my eyes. The light is gone. So is Grandma. The room seems brighter even though it’s dark outside now.
A fresh burst of tears gushes forth and I hunch over the still recliner, body wracking with sobs. A smile fills my face. They are happy tears.
© A. R. Levett 2019
‘Scaredy cats,’ I mutter.
Bang!
I sprint down the hall, then pause, realising a gust of wind slammed the door shut. I hunch over, heart pounding. Through the opening in the French doors beside me, a plastic sheet covers the bed where she--
I rush into the living room, the memories still fresh.
Ahead, twisted blinds splay against the scummy sliding door. Dust covers the scratched breakfast bar. An empty glass stands in the sink. I freeze. Who’s been here? Unless she--
I shake my head. Don’t be stupid. There’s no such thing. One of the family must have visited and forgotten to wash it.
Across the room, dust-free marks on the cabinet shelves reveal missing photos and ornaments. I hope the family took them. The hinges creak as I open the cabinet doors. A musty scent emerges from the array of VHS cassettes within. I pull out a handful, trying to read Grandma’s cursive on the stained labels.
Creaking sounds behind me.
I spin around, pulse quickening. Between the flower-patterned couches the brown leather recliner rocks. I frown. There’s no way that was the wind. My face hardens, tears threatening to emerge. Grandma often sat there, knitting needles clicking away as she wove together her latest blanket or jumper. It couldn’t be--
I shake my head again. Stop being silly. Just find the tape and get out of here.
I turn back to the cabinet and scan through more tapes, searching for home movies. It must be here somewhere. I squint against the encroaching darkness, cursing myself for not bringing a torch.
The rocking continues. I try to push the sound out of my mind. The more I do, the louder it becomes. My arms shake as I reach for the next tape and bring it into the half-light. The familiar click of Grandma’s knitting needles sounds from the recliner.
With trepidation, I turn around. The chair rocks with a familiar gentle motion. A stray tear runs down my cheek. I wipe it away with the back of my hand, then sigh with relief when I read the current tape’s label: I’ve found it. I hurry towards the entrance, then freeze. The recliner’s sticky-taped cushions are creased as if someone’s sitting in them.
‘Don’t,’ I tell myself.
My shoulders slump as the memories resurface. The frail old woman in her tattered singlet and underwear slouching in her pillow-laden bed. Her strained voice and blank stare as I told her goodbye for the last time. The knives churning in my gut when I found so many missed calls on my phone. The sobbing messages on my voicemail. Mum’s toneless voice when I called. The hollowness when I realised I had been enjoying the sunshine-bleached beach 700 kilometres away the moment it happened.
My head falls into my hands, tears streaming down my face. ‘I… I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you passed away.’
‘Ah, it’s okay.’ Grandma’s thick French accent fills the room.
I gasp. Her thin grey hair leans against the headrest. My mouth hangs agape. The continuous rocking becomes a haunting rhythm.
‘It was not a nice thing for you to see,’ says the voice. ‘I’m glad I spared you of that.’ A hank of red wool drops from the recliner and spools across the beige mat.
I automatically step to pick it up, then stop. What’s going on?
A deep sigh sounds from the other side of the seat. The recliner stills and a spectral form pushes itself to its feet, shuffles across the floor, bends over, and picks up the wool.
Stringy spittle droops from my open mouth and slides down my chin.
With another sigh, the spectre stands and shuffles back to the recliner. My legs shake. It’s her. Grandma. Her translucent form wafts in and out of sight, but it’s definitely her. It can’t be.
She collapses into the recliner. Seconds later, it rocks again, and her needles resume clicking.
I stare at the chair, not believing what I’m seeing. ‘You… You can’t be here. You’re…’
‘Dead? Ha! You don’t know the meaning of the word.’
‘But… You had an open casket. We… We buried you.’
‘My body, perhaps, but my spirit lingers.’ Her spectral hand gestures to herself.
I creep forward, wanting to see her again, but hesitant at the same time. When I peek into the recliner, Grandma’s familiar features face me. She’s just as she was before the diagnosis, only fluid spilling from a hole in her black lung is visible through her translucence.
She undoes a row of stitches and sighs. ‘Why can no one let me go?
‘That’s why you’re still here?’
She glares at me with her are-you-stupid look and shrugs. ‘It’s as if I am not dead.’
I collapse against the armrest of the adjacent couch, unable to believe I’m smiling. Grandma had always been the link that held the family together. Even after her death, it seems they won’t let her relinquish that role.
‘There is more to being dead than this,’ she says.
‘You mean the afterlife? Is Grandpa there?’
She looks up from the unfurled row of stitches and stares across the room, gaze distant. ‘I can hear him sometimes, calling to me.’
‘Then go to him.’
‘Ha! If it were that simple, I would.’
‘What are you holding onto?’
‘I’m not the one holding on.’
A long moment of silence falls between us as my mind processes this.
‘It’s okay you weren’t there when I died,’ she says. ‘I forgive you.’
Tears roll down my face again. ‘I should have been there to support you and the family.’
‘You were. In the weeks before, you helped with my meals. My medicine.’ She shakes her head again as if to dispel the memory of her resistance. ‘I know you loved me. And still do. You came back early from your holiday. It’s all you could have done.’
I shudder and break into sobs. I try to turn away, not wanting her to see me like this.
The rocking stops. Grandma stands with a sigh and places her shadow hand on my shoulder. ‘La, you see. Let it go. Let me go. It’s time for you to move on. I’ll be in a better place once you do.’
I stare into her there-but-not-there face. I want to believe I’m imagining this, but the weight of her hand is heavy. ‘I… I can’t.’
She smiles. ‘I’ve had my time in this world. Don’t waste what you have left on me.’
I continue to stare at her, not believing her words. Grandma never spoke openly like this. She had always said what she thought was right. Then I recall her clutching my hand before I left and revealing she was no good at expressing herself.
‘Cherish our times together,’ she says. ‘But don’t spend your life dwelling on my death. I —’ She turns away. ‘I never wanted to die when I was alive. But now I’m dead, I know there’s nothing to be scared of.’
Mum’s choked words echo in my head: Grandma’s face had turned blue on her last breath. It was no way to leave this world. Not the woman who had taken me in and encouraged my pursuit of the arts. I burst into another round of sobbing.
Grandma pats my shoulder. ‘My suffering is over. I want yours to be too. Let me go. Let me move beyond this physical realm.’
I sniffle. I want her to stay. To retell how she immigrated from Mauritius and raised five children on a poultry farm. But that would be selfish. I release a ragged exhale, then look into her eyes, clasping her ghostly hand in mine. I nod. ‘Go. I want you to be happy.’ The heaviness I’ve carried since her passing lightens, then lifts.
White light emanates from her body. She smiles wider than I’ve ever seen. The light brightens, filling the room until it becomes blinding. I release her hand, shielding my eyes, but the brightness is so overwhelming, I have to clench my eyes shut. The image of a welcoming hand extending towards Grandma stains my vision.
‘Goodbye.’ Her voice echoes through the room.
A gust of wind whips past me, then vanishes just as quickly.
I open my eyes. The light is gone. So is Grandma. The room seems brighter even though it’s dark outside now.
A fresh burst of tears gushes forth and I hunch over the still recliner, body wracking with sobs. A smile fills my face. They are happy tears.
© A. R. Levett 2019
