Radiant Eclipse

I'd found us a cab and had paid for the drive to the town where my mother had been buried. It was roughly forty-five minutes out of Chicago, plus another forty to the outskirts of Mundelein, where my mother was resting in a large cemetery on a Catholic seminary's grounds. It seemed weird to me even as I drove that she was buried there. For one, my mother was never the religious type, or at least she wasn't from what stories I'd heard about her. She wasn't a sinner, but she didn't believe, so I guess she still lived with that original sin crap. Secondly, my mother had killed herself. That was an act against God, so why was she buried in his name on the grounds of his own land?

Johnny sat silently the whole time, and when I paid the driver the fair as well as asked him to wait for us, I stepped out of the cab and headed towards the large opened wrought-iron gate that engulfed the cemetery. I heard Johnny following after me, so I didn't bother to turn and check as I bowed my head while trailing underneath the gateway that read St. Mary's Catholic Seminary & Grounds. It was what I felt I needed to do. I guess if I had walked through proud it may seem cocky to the dead.

The grounds were surrounded by large willow and evergreen trees, and the sky lay above in dull shades of blue and gray clouds. I gulped as I looked back down at the gravel path that I was following to the west. My mother was buried all of the way in the back, under the overgrown branch of an evergreen so that if you weren't related to her, you had no idea she was there.

Her head stone was the simple plaque in the ground because we hadn't been able to pay for one, or so my father had said. I think it was because he didn't want to acknowledge her death so boldly with a large head stone and fancy picturing. I don't blame him.

The grass was freshly cut, blades of it lying across my mother's plaque as if she was trying to hide herself from the world rather than be mourned. A slight breeze picked up as I knelt down on the bed of grass before her. I laid a bouquet of sun flowers near her plaque, as Johnny wondered softly, “Why the sunflowers?”

Without looking at him, though he sat beside me, I stared at the firm lettering of her memoir and replied, “She loved them. That's what my grandparents told me. Said she used to get so excited whenever they were ready to be planted and grown. I guess my mother had said that sunflowers are a symbol of life and how we are always so eager to grow. I just thought she deserved them.”

As wind rolled and my hair wandered around me in a wild frenzy, I inhaled deeply and said, “I was here only twice before in my life, Johnny. Once when I was five. My grandpa took me here. He said that it'd help me to understand why things like this happen sometimes. He was probably the only person who ever knew me and liked me, problems and all. He's buried over near the lake towards the northern wall.” I nodded to the right of us and then looked at Johnny. “I didn't understand, really, at least not then. I just knew my mom was here and that was all.”

Johnny settled himself by sitting Indian style on the grass and cleared his throat with a cough as he wondered, “And the second time?”

My voice was lifeless and cold as I replied, “The second time was after I'd been raped.”

His eyes bulged, and if I hadn't seen how white his knuckles had gone in anger as he grasped air tightly, I would have thought he'd have been shocked. But he wasn't. Johnny looked like he was about to kill someone, and that someone was probably Michael. His voice agreed with my thought as he snapped, “When? By who?”

Pulling my knees up to my chin like a child, arms wrapped around myself, I answered, “I was eighteen when it happened. His name was Michael Danson. I went to school with him and had been friends with him since we were probably thirteen or fourteen before it happened. The first time I was walking home alone from school, and he pulled up in his Ford truck. I was talking to him about how he'd been acting like a real ass that day when he stormed out of his truck and towards me. He slapped me across the cheek and shoved me into the car as I just went with it. I was scared. I didn't know what was going on, really.”

Sitting just like Johnny, I continued: “Michael drove back to his house, where he grabbed my right wrist so hard it lost circulation for a few seconds. He brought me downstairs and started going off on this rant about how I belonged to him and how I should know that since we'd been in love for so long.” I looked down at the ground, away from johnny's fiery eyes and shook my head. “I should have called the police when I got home. But I didn't. I wasn't aware of what was happening to me.”

“You said the first time,” Johnny acknowledged. “What do you mean? There was more than that?”

Hesitantly, I nodded, replying, “It went on three days a week for a few months. Until we graduated. I told my dad, but he refused to listen to me. He said that I led Michael on and that sex was normal for two young adults who were dating. When I told him how Michael had forced me to, he hit me, and yelled at me. He said that I was being a stupid, annoying, snot-nosed whore, and that I should never come home. Ever.”

“Did you tell the police?” Johnny questioned through clenched teeth and an anger that seemed to be be rising more than falling like it should be. “They had to believe you. I'm sure you had...proof. Right, Vickie?” He glanced at the way I watched him with hopeless eyes, the feelings that I'd felt years ago flooding the gray dead color of my gaze quickly. “They didn't?” he asked.

Shaking my head, I answered, “They came to the house and my dad freaked. He told them I was a compulsive liar, and he told them if they believed me that they would be the ones in need of someone's help. Not me. So they left. I packed my bags that night and ran to Brad's, who took me in until we left for our small Midwest tour.”

“You got away, at least,” Johnny said with some relief.

“That's what I thought.” I stared directly at him and went on before he could question my phrase. “I was getting onto the elevator today in the hotel when he came up from behind and started to threaten me. Michael knows where I go, and who I talk to. He has probably been on my trail for awhile, just waiting for the right moment to strike. He said that I was his to take, and that we belonged together, whether I liked it or not.”

My chest ached as I started to cry and get to my feet. I brushed dirt and grass from my butt and said, “I guess my luck hasn't changed since I was eighteen. All I can do is run. I fought once before, and the world seemed to fight back with more bite and force.”

Johnny got to his feet and was silent for a long time before he looked at me and quickly engulfed me in a warm bear hug. My body hung against him limp for a minute as I listened to the beat of his heart and the inhaling-exhaling of his breathing, but then my arms seemed to function again and they found their place wrapped around his torso. I closed my eyes and let the emotions run over me, tears soaking his shirt pathetically as I sobbed quietly atop my mother's grave.

Johnny whispered only one thing before we left, and I cried harder when he did.

“You can have my luck if I have any left, Vickie. I don't want it anymore.”