In Loving Memory
Empty. The truck, the cabin, the lake, and the bed all seemed so empty without her at his side. Why'd he come up here? Why'd he put himself through this torture? Maybe because he'd rather remember the good times instead of the last ten days of suffering. The bustle of sorrowful family members, the constant demand for decisions, scrounging through her stuff trying to hold onto something; he'd come to the lake house to escape it all.
Although the funeral had been three days ago, his family hadn't cleared out. He understood they were just trying to love him, but a man can only stand so much. So, in the middle of the night, just like he had as an upset teenager, he packed his truck, left a note on the dining room table, and headed out. He felt the healthy expanse fill his lungs as he left the remorse-stricken, claustrophobic air of the city behind him. The starlit sky twinkled a greeting.
(Photo taken from Pinterest)
In the silence, just above the whirl of the engine, he heard a soft giggle. That sound he knew too well. It warmed his heart every time it rang. He looked to what should've been an empty passenger's seat. There she sat, smiling over at him, her green eyes almost making fun of him. She seemed so realistic he could reach out and catch a strand of her soft auburn locks.
"Claire," he whispered.
Her light chuckle rang like bells, "Oh Cameron, you're so serious." He opened his mouth to speak but immediately closed it, afraid that any sudden movement would scare her away. "Go ahead, press play you know you want to."
He'd almost completely forgotten about his iPod. He gave her one last look, praying that she wouldn't go away. Floating through the speaker system came the familiar tones of a popular Beach Boys single, "Wouldn't It Be Nice." Once again, Cameron shot a desperate look towards the ghostly passenger. Her smile and small dancing acted as a balm to his scarred heart. Before he could catch himself, his low base began to harmonize with the '60s boy band. Claire clapped her happy approval. He gasped as he felt a pressure on his hand, a familiar delicacy as she slipped her fingers between his.
"I'm so glad we decided to go to the lake," she praised. "You always seem to be in a better mood up here." He felt the air shift knowing that she was about to kiss him, but the gesture never came. Cameron refused to look at what he knew would be an empty seat. Disappointed tears threatened to release but he stubbornly fended them off.
After twenty love songs, ranging everywhere between a crooner classic and contemporary rap, Cameron pulled into the gravel driveway. Though the place was pitch black, he felt a small peace come over him. Claire's words sliced through the air, "You seem to be in a better mood up here." Cameron allowed the creeping smile to grace his face.
“As usual, you are right, my dear," he whispered to the breeze.
He pulled his weekend supplies out of the bed of the truck and took his usual path through the garage and up the back stairs to the kitchen/dining room area. Every creak under his weight resonated off the walls, emphasizing the emptiness. He'd never noticed the loose floorboard on the fifth stair from the top. Had Claire ever noticed? They'd usually been fooling around as they came in, trying to get to the bedroom as quickly as possible. The cabin seemed so big, and the lack of companionship added to the space. The hollow echo added to the rapid decline in pleasure, but he made his way to the bedroom to drop off his suitcase.
He stalked back to the kitchen, flicked on the lights, and before him flickered a vision. Her auburn waves were pulled back into a messy bun, and a look of concentration sat on her face. The sound of slamming cupboards created a melody set to Claire's confusion.
"Cameron," she began to yell. "Oh, um, where's the wine?" He stared at her. She came towards him with a mischievous smile and waved a hand in front of his face. "Hello? Cameron, are you in there?"
"Why are you doing this to me," Cameron whispered hoarsely.
"Doing what? You're the one that needs the wine. Come on, where is it hiding?" She again reached for his hand. He felt the airy pressure as if dragging him to the cupboards, but she disappeared once he found the bottle in question. He groaned in her absence and instead opted for a beer. His mind is already muddled, a drink would only work to settle his nerves but never clear his mind.
He popped the lid off the bottle and sighed. Her presence is everywhere, her smile is in the pictures, her warmth is in the craftsmanship of her quilts, and her dreams are woven into the threads of his heart. He came here to find peace and instead found the woodwork infested with memories. She'd been almost everything to him: wife and companion to critic and fangirl. Claire knew what to say and how to act in every situation. He laughed to himself as he walked out the door. Cameron knew his destination was the dock, her favorite pouting spot.
(Photo taken from Pinterest)
Claire hadn't been a saint, far from it. Stubbornness showed as a permanent feature in her personality. If it were a physical feature, it would resemble the red hourglass of a black widow or a rough waters warning. The fire red of her hair served as the only real warning that she could fight dirty. Claire couldn't be called sensitive; she's got the skin of an elephant, but every once in a while, she'd find a reason to pout under the stars. Claire would tell him that the stars listened better because they were a direct channel to God. If her theory was correct, what better place to hold a little one-on-one confrontation with God?
Cold night air enveloped him, but his hot frustration doubled as armor against it. Wind on the lake created ripples, and the moon's reflection provided the perfect amount of light, so he knew when to stop.
"You took her from me," he announced to the emptiness. "Why?" The wind kicked up in the answer. "I loved her. I wanted to make her happy, and before I had that chance, you took her away."
A soft giggle came across the water. Cameron felt a faint tug at his sweatpants. Every nerve in his body sang with awareness. Sitting at his feet, he found Claire once again. She wore his grey pullover and jean shorts, and her sandals sat beside her as her toes splashed the water. Her smile had a light of its own.
"Sit down." She tugged his pant leg again. "Come on, come cuddle with me."
"No," he barely managed. His nerves were shot, his emotions were a mess, and knowing that he couldn't actually hold her tore his heart in two. "I can't."
She gave him a perfected "curious" eyebrow look. "Cam, what's wrong?"
He shook his head in frustration as she tried to reach again. He took a step back. He couldn't handle the disappointing fall of losing her when she vanished. In one last attempt for some mercy, freedom from the lovely but lonely memories, he shot a glance to the sky and cried, "I can't do it anymore!" Before he could comprehend, his feet were leading him up the path to the cabin.
Bursting through the door, Cameron marched towards the bedroom. He knew it was almost the worst destination, but he needed to cry comfortably. The dam of hostile tears finally broke, leaving trails on his cheek as they escaped.
For once in his life, crying didn't make him feel weak. He knew that if he didn't truly love her, he wouldn't be in this place, crying like a boy who had just put down his dog. He had every right to cry because he'd lost the love of a lifetime. Claire chose and pursued him; she made it her business to see him fed and loved him through his times of insecurity and doubt. Claire gave her whole heart to him, and Cameron took a while to appreciate that love and trust fully, but once he grasped it, he was loathed to give it up so suddenly.
All she'd needed was a carton of milk and a dozen eggs, but her impatience and his refusal to go right away cost them her life. Kicking himself for not going is pointless. It's not like he encouraged the deranged shooter, and he had no way of knowing that she just so happened to be in the wrong place as she took a bullet to the chest. When he was called to identify her, he noticed something strange in her lifeless eyes; instead of an expression of pain or horror, she almost seemed sympathetic.
Cameron sat up after an hour or so. His bones ached from tension, his muscles needed a good stretching after nothing but the fetal position, and his lungs needed more than shallow, angry breaths. He made his way to the balcony just off the master bedroom.
(AI adaptation of original drawing by William Griswell.)
Lake air filled his lungs once more. This time, he knew what he needed God to hear. "Alright, God, she's in your arms instead of mine. So I need you to relay a message for me." Cameron took a deep breath before continuing. "Claire, my dear, you've become the perfect haunting memory. I see your smile in pictures, hear the echo of your laugh in the wind, and feel your constant love humming through my veins. I know this isn't fully goodbye, so I will see you soon enough. I love you, Claire."
The wind picked up and wrapped around him. He felt that airy pressure as her ghostly figure slid her arms around his chest. Her soft hair lay against his back, and she squeezed tighter.
A lone tear slid down his face as she whispered, "I'm chained to your heart and never wish to part from it. I love you too, Cameron. I love you so much."
(Original Drawing by William Griswell)
This is a story that I based on the drawing above by a college buddy of mine. I loved the thought in it, and so I created this. I hope you like it.
Until Next Time
Peace Out Lovers.
