“On the Other Side, 12”

by Brianna G. Harte

Soaring through the air, worries drifted away. Boundless houses and cars swept by underneath of us, one by one. Mama avoided all people. She seemed scared to phase through them, but that didn’t make sense. It doesn’t hurt. The feeling of having the parts of our being shift around those of the objects was weird, though I didn’t suppose that it could be bad enough to purposely swerve away from anything.

Seeing as I had no idea where our house was, my eyes turned to my mama, wanting to remember whole. The memories she shared helped a lot to fill in some gaps, and yet it was still feeling empty. I wish I died with pictures or something nearby so I could feel more grounded, so to speak, like Mama. Then again, it didn’t seem like anyone knew where I died or even that I died. At least her hair matched the memories. Her jovial face too. I couldn’t remember her white shirt. Maybe she didn’t wear it all that often, but I would think that it would stick in my mind if it was so white.

Wait, pure white. It no longer had blood stains on it, even though I could swear that she was covered in them when she appeared at the hospital. Could it be that she could wash her clothes? Why didn’t she wash them before if she could? Was it . . . because she met me? Why couldn’t my clothes be clean then? Not that I wanted them clean. If I was like all the other human kids, I probably liked getting dirty. Whatever they played looked fun. Anyway, I just couldn’t get why Mama’s shirt whitened. Come to think of it, her hair was much more tangled and messy before too, except now it had a gleam to it. Hairs collected together smoothly as though recently brushed.

“Mama? Why -”

“We’re here, Harrison.”

We glided down toward a pale yellow house beholding a neat lawn. All of the toys from the memories weren’t there. The grass seemed freshly cut with mulch recently cast down along the house.

“Mama? Are you sure Daddy isn’t here?”

Copyright © 2015 Brianna G. Harte. All rights reserved.


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