Moss: A Short Story

The nighttime sky chased Abigail into the mountains where the trees were bare and the road was winding. There was no other traffic, no oncoming headlights to blind her. Her foot grew heavy on the accelerator. Her eyes focused briefly on the white sign that blurred as she passed.

Speed Limit: 35 mph.

She didn’t need to glance at her speedometer to know she was going faster than that, to know that she was going too fast, but it wasn’t enough. She felt it creeping up her neck, hot and prickling. It pulled at her chest, causing her shoulders to sag forward with the weight of it. It rose into her throat and she swallowed against it, but it was like trying to swallow a writhing snake.

“I can’t do this with you anymore. You’re too much,” James’s venomous words broke into her mind. “I deserve better.”

It was for her mom. It was all for her mom, with her frail body, and greying hair. It was not her fault. It wasn’t her fault.

She pressed her lips into a thin line and grit her teeth against the anger bubbling in her chest. It kept pushing and pushing and–

I deserve better.

A scream erupted from her as she hit her hands against the steering wheel, beating it as every nerve in her body fired.

Abigail pulled into the parking lot of the overlook just as the sob tore from her lips. She rested her forehead against the steering wheel as her shoulders trembled and her stomach clenched.

“You’re okay,” she whispered through tumultuous waves that stirred every fragmented grieving piece of her. Her mother’s glassy eyes and still body flashed in front of here.

“You’re okay.“

The words were a lie. The force of her tears caused her to sputter a harsh and strangled cough. Snot ran from her nose to her upper lip and a salty taste coated her tongue. It was as if someone had spent hours winding her up like a jack-in-the-box and what sprung up was desperation. Desperation to feel better and to do better.

Each second felt like an agonizing minute; each minute felt like a torturous hour. By the time the tears slowed, her eyes were puffy and her cheeks were sore.

She stared ahead of her, bleary-eyed and with trembling lips, at the rolling mountains and at the city nestled in the heart of the valley. The moon had cast its cold, silver glow over every eerie tree limb. Her headlights illuminated an old, wooden bench that rested on the crest of the overlook.

With a tremendous amount of effort, Abigail released her white-knuckled grip on her steering wheel, straightened her spine, and stepped out of her car. The chilly night time air cut through her skin but it felt good on her neck and on her tear-stained cheeks. The flush from her fit abated, though the tightness in her chest remained coiled.

Her breath was misty in front of her as she stepped onto the wet grass. She wrapped her arms around herself as she sat down on the bench, propped her feet on it, and rested her chin on her knees. Her lips were still trembling.

Abigail kept turning the thoughts of her mother, sick in her bed, in her head. And of James, who had felt neglected, unloved, and manipulated. She spun it every which way, trying to figure out what more she could have done. She had spread herself as thin as possible to cover as much as she could but it still wasn’t enough.

She wasn’t enough.

Blonde hair acted as a curtain as she lowered her forehead onto her knees. The denim of her jeans was rough against her skin. If she sat there long enough the weight of her heart would pull her down, all the way down into damp soil that smelled of petrichor and she wouldn’t have to deal with this anymore. It would all go away.

The closing of a car door caused Abigail to lift her head. She hastily wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her cardigan as a man approached the bench.

“Is it okay if I sit here?” he asked. His voice was gentle and kind, like fallen autumnal leaves whispering in the wind. Abigail didn’t trust her voice not to waver. She simply nodded and managed to slightly lit the corners of her mouth despite the tightness in her face.

The air felt tense as he sat about two feet away from her. Abigail was hyper-aware of her disheveled appearance: the unwashed hair, the oily face, and the slight smell that comes with not showering in a couple of days. Disgust spread through her with its blighted spores. She squeezed her elbows as she shoulders rose to meet her ears. She couldn’t even shower properly.

The headlights rom her car were still on. Her shadow stretched in front of her, shorter than the man’s, but it felt darker.

“It’s beautiful up here, isn’t it?” he asked. She could feel his gaze on her. Her eyes didn’t flicker his way as she nodded. The grass was tall on the edge of the hill, at least a foot and a half long. It looked dead and brittle.

He continued, “It’s crazy to think that just a couple of months ago everything here was green.” He pointed to a spot a few feet away from them. “Just there, hyacinths bloom every April. Pink, purple, and blue.”

The area looked lifeless to her.

“There,” he said, changing the direction of his hand, “is a patch of moss that thrives year-round.”

Abigail shifted her eyes to where he was pointing. A vibrant, green area of moss looked velvety soft and rested there next to a slate grey rock.

“And if you follow that trail there, you find a pond that freezes over every winter. It’s incredible when it snows.”

He stretched his arms over his head, back arching off the bench as he yawned. “I wake up early every Wednesday to come up here before the sun rises. It just brings me peace to know that even if something looks dead, it’s still alive. Even if it’s cold, things come back.”

Abigail glanced at him then, at the stubble on his jaw and the shadows under his olive eyes. The light from her car highlighted his dirt-brown hair. He had it pulled back into a bun. His grin was brighter than the light reflecting off the moon.

“God doesn’t let what he created break in a way He won’t heal. You know?”

She blinked. The words, but God took my mother, danced on her tongue yet she bit them back. Her mouth was dry.

“You can see it in the winter when you go into the same woods you visited in the spring.” He sighed. “So incredible.”

She was sure confusion marred her face.

“Do you stay until the sun rises?” she asked. Her voice felt too loud in the stillness. It felt thick.

He shook his head as he said, “No. I have to go home before my little brother wakes up. It hasn’t been the same since my grandmother died, and our parents passed when we were little.”

So much loss. Did he feel the same weight?

The lines in his face showed he did but there was a lightness about him that she couldn’t wrap her head around. He didn’t have the same slump in his shoulders and he was able to smile with the brightness of light reflected off snow.

How?

His chest expanded as he drew in a deep breath and he closed his eyes as he let it out.

“Anyway,” he said, standing as he opened his eyes, “I should go, just in case he wakes up early. Have a great day. I’m sorry if I bothered you at all.”

“No, it’s fine.” Abigail said. She put her chin back on her knees as he walked away, leaves crunching underfoot. The sound o him driving away was a low rumble that matched the humming in her chest.

The sky began to lighten. It wasn’t much, but she knew the sun would be rising over the tops of the mountains soon and the city in front of her would come to life. Her shadow, now alone, didn’t seem as dark.

Abigail took a breath and found that it mostly filled her lungs. When she released it, some of the tension in her shoulders eased though her mind still felt like a ball of yarn an tenacious cat had gotten a hold of.

Yet, as she sat there, her puffy eyes caught on the moss and the spot the hyacinths would bloom in. Fragmented pieces started to drift together like a dully-colored mosaic amongst simmering waves as she watched the sky turn to a striking red.