fourth-year jeremy person

I haven’t been feeling anything again, so they put me in the machine for another trip this morning.

It starts up, and they tell me to think back. They say thinking about the past helps us remember lost dreams. They say it’s the forgetting that’s been hurting me lately. I am too proud to admit to them how much of the dream I can’t remember – something sappy on my mind.

It starts up, and I sleep again.

In my memory, the light obscures her face and her name, almost everything about her but the sound of her voice. She makes me smile even now. Her laugh moves up and down through her emotions, all the excitement and pain of living, and I realize I missed hearing her speak.

At the funeral, she takes care of everyone’s needs. Normally we joke that her compulsion to help people is her worst trait, and yet when there is mourning, it’s the thing that makes everyone feel at peace. She is the only reason anyone manages a genuine smile.

I know I cannot tell her to take a break (she will not listen), so I watch her for signs of exhaustion. When her hands start shaking, I gently ease her into a chair and occupy her with music.

As she rests, I step outside and breathe in the frigid air. I am bundled in a wool cloak that covers me head to toe, but still, I shiver. It’s growing dark, and I can hear something howling from the distant snowy mountains.

A lakeside cabin in the stillness of winter, surrounded by a forest of tall ceppermint wood – just like he would’ve wanted.

He was always fascinated by these trees. Their trunks and broad branches are a spiral of red and white, their needle-like leaves changing from pink and bright green in the spring to bloody red and a faded olive in the summer. They droop under the weight of winter frost, and the colors of their leaves all melt together in a spiral counter to their trunks.

Shouts come from inside; I peek through the window panes to see my love dancing with the children, warming the room with her laugh.

I smile. Now I can go to work.

Before I leave for the woods, I return inside and give my love a hug.

“You know how he is, always worried about appearances,” I say as I wave goodbye to everyone. Her hand lingers on mine, and she holds my head in her light.

I go behind the cabin to find the axe he left me. He wants a smooth casket, so I know I must trudge deep into the woods to find the perfect tree.

My love’s kiss lingers on my lips, and I am no longer cold.

When I wake, my face is wet with tears. They hold me and say, “it’s okay, it’s all okay. You remembered again.”

There’s a warmth in my chest and something sweet on my mind.

Ceppermint Wood