The Hybrid (6 page)

Gertrude hadn’t seen her father’s grave since last year
when she had visited her grandparents for a week during
the summer. Her grandmother had brought fresh flowers,
and a small porcelain cherub to place next to his headstone. Tru hadn’t said a word, but she knew she should
have.

The car ride was silent, except for the occasional noise
of Maggie clearing her throat. When they first got into the
Buick, Maggie had made a suggestion about fresh flowers,
but when Tru hadn’t responded, Maggie drove straight to
the graveyard, without stopping.

Tru looked out at the trees along the highway as they
passed by. The cemetery was only about twenty minutes
outside of town, but as they grew closer, Gertrude slightly
regretted the decision she had made, and secretly wished
her grandmother would turn the car around. But when
she didn’t, Gertrude took a deep breath and continued
looking out the window.

Five minutes later, the car was driving up a long and
narrow gravel road lined with tall birch trees on either
side that hung so low that they skidded along the top of
the car. They were so close that Tru could have reached
her hand out of the window and touched one if she wanted to.

As the car came to a small clearing at the end of the
road, Gertrude could see the headstones popping out of
the lush, grass-covered ground like small grey and white
clouds on a bleak horizon. And even though the cemetery
was small, there were enough stones to exceed the number of people in town.

Maggie pulled the car off to the side of the road as
much as she could without stopping on the grass. And
when she turned off the car, she turned and watched Gertrude as she stepped out of the car, and began zigzagging
her way through the maze of cement plaques and marble
stones.

Gertrude knew exactly where she was headed
⎯ she
didn’t have to read each beautifully engraved name one at
a time, looking for the right one. Maggie followed behind
her, but gave her enough space to where Tru wouldn’t feel
too crowded and uncomfortable.

The small grey marble headstone sat back away from
the rest of the other graves under the shade of a small oak
tree. A small wrought iron bench sat nearby. Gertrude
remembered sitting there quietly on the day of her father’s funeral, watching her family as they each threw a
small white rose bud onto his casket as it was slowly lowered into the ground. Tears began to well in her eyes as
she looked down at his stone.

Benjamin Mason Jr.
Beloved Son, Husband, Father

Gertrude knelt to the ground as she looked at the cherub resting next to the stone. And sitting next to the cherub was the small bouquet of dried roses her grandmother
had placed there last year.
It’s still here
.

Maggie watched from a few feet behind Gertrude as
she leaned over the stone and wiped away the loose pieces
of freshly cut grass. She then watched as she pulled back,
and folded her hands over her knees as they rest in the
damp lawn. Gertrude bowed her head slightly, reaching a
hand to her mouth, and then to the stone. And as she
drew her hand back, Maggie turned around, and made
the short walk back to her car.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Tru said as she closed her eyes. “I’m
sorry I haven’t been back. I’m sorry for everything.” She
tilted her head toward the ground as a single tear ran
down her cheek. “I’m sorry that Mom and I can’t get
along.” She wiped away the tear with her fingers before it
could drip off of her chin. “I miss you so much, Dad. You
have no idea. I wish you were here.” More tears rolled
from her eyes, much too quickly to wipe them away this
time. She slowly hunched her shoulders, and lowered her
head to the ground, sobbing loudly.

Maggie looked in her direction as she stood next to the
car, but knew that she couldn’t run to her granddaughter.
She knew that Tru needed to vent. She knew that Tru
needed to be alone, no matter how much she wanted to be
by her side, hugging and cradling her like she had when
she was a baby.

Tru sat with her head on the ground for about twenty
minutes before she opened her eyes again. When she was
finished wiping the tears from her face, she rose from the
ground and turned to look at her grandmother. Maggie
was now seated on a different wrought iron bench, close
to the car. When she saw Tru walking toward her, she
stood, and placed her hands in the pockets of her jacket,
instantly fiddling with the keys inside.

“Thank you,” Tru said when she reached Maggie’s side.
But Maggie didn’t say a word. Instead, she placed a
hand on Gertrude’s shoulder and continued walking silently beside her.

When they arrived back home, Gertrude exited the car
quietly, and made her way back inside the house. She
looked at the ground as she slumped her way through the
entryway, and the family room, and into her bedroom,
shutting the door quickly behind her. Maggie slowly entered the house behind her, catching a glimpse of the
shutting door as she walked into the kitchen to remove
her jacket. When she was finished hanging the coat in the
laundry room, as she always did, and walked back into
the kitchen, her husband was standing in front of her.

“How did it go?” Ben asked, following his wife over to
the sink.
Maggie grabbed a clear glass from the cupboard and
filled it with water from the tap as she spoke. “Fine. I
think she needed that.” She handed Ben the cup.
Tru’s grandfather took the cup from her hands and set
it on the counter without taking a sip. “Did she say anything?”
“She just said ‘thank you.’”
“To you? Or to him?” Ben grabbed the cup on the
counter and began walking over to the kitchen table.
“To me.”
Ben looked at the front page of the newspaper sitting
on the table, and then turned to look back at Maggie.
“You don’t think she remembers anything do you?”
Maggie sighed, and then turned back to the sink. “She
hardly talks to me anymore. I used to know her so well,
Ben. I don’t know anything about her, now. I feel like
she’s slowly slipping away from us.”
“She’ll open up again, Maggie. Just give it some time.
Gail hasn’t even called once since the girl has been here.
That has to be tough on her.” Ben looked at Maggie before
giving her a quick hug. “She loves you. Just like she always has. We just need to give her some time.”
“I know, Ben. I just wish I knew more.”
Maggie looked up at the clock hanging on the wall as
she released her husband. Lunch was still a few short
hours away, but she decided it wouldn’t hurt to start preparing everything early. And as she turned to open the
refrigerator door, she could hear the faint sound of another door opening and closing. She turned her head toward the doorway between the hall and the kitchen, and
caught a glance of the back of Gertrude’s black jacket as
she quietly moved to the sliding glass door in the family
room.
“You’re not going to stop her?” Ben asked, looking at
his wife.
“Not today. Like you said, she needs time. If the meadow is the only place she feels comfortable right now, then
I don’t want to be the one to take that away from her.”
Maggie knew where her granddaughter was headed, but
she did nothing to stop her this time. She knew she wasn’t
going far, and if she needed her, she could find her easily.

As Tru walked closer and closer to the forest, she began to have second thoughts.
What will happen to me if the myth is true? What if
the
voices
I heard
are
dangerous
people?
Will
I be
tricked into the forest? Will the fairies even be brave
enough to face me during the day?
Tru stopped. The trees were just inches from her, but
she couldn’t make her feet move. Her mind wanted to
continue, but her feet and legs wouldn’t budge. It was like
they were cemented to the ground.
“Do not move.” A young man’s voice rang out, echoing
through the treetops above her.
Tru wanted to look around, to see where the voice had
come from, but she resisted the urge, fearful of what
would happen if she did move.
“Who’s there?” she
whispered,
wondering
if
her
grandma happened to be watching her standing there ⎯
still as a statue⎯ from the window.
“I bind your feet to the earth where you stand. I cannot
be seen now, only heard.” There was a rustling in the
trees near Tru’s left side. She slowly turned her head,
barely an inch, but enough so she could look toward the
direction of the sound.
“What’s your name?” she asked quietly, remaining perfectly still.

No answer.

“Who are you?” Tru waited, continuing to look up into
the trees.
Another rustling sound came from above her head. It
sounded as though something was jumping from branch
to branch, but it moved much too quickly for her to see
any part of it. And then after a few seconds, everything
went quiet.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” she replied to the silence.
Tru almost thought she was imagining things again.
Is the voice I’m hearing just the thoughts of my mind
wandering? Was the rustling in the trees just the wind
sweeping through the leaves and branches? Maybe, I am
daydreaming, hoping for something better.
Suddenly, Gertrude could feel her feet move beneath
her, jerking awake as if they wanted to take a step forward, causing her to momentarily lose her balance. She
was no longer bound to the muddy soil. Compelled by her
urge to know the truth, Tru travelled forward into the
forest, in the familiar direction of the clearing. It was
slowly becoming her home away from home.
She hurriedly bolted through the same path she had
walked almost everyday since her arrival, clambering over
fallen trees, splashing through the muddy puddles, and
tearing through thorny bushes. When Tru finally saw the
open sky peeking through the trees, she began sprinting
even faster. She didn’t know why, but she had the strange
feeling something was waiting for her there.
The meadow was quiet, almost too quiet. There was no
wind, no sign of any animals, not even a single bird chirping, and definitely no voices. It gave Tru a kind of eerie
feeling, like something was watching her, waiting for her
next move. The soft grass was still covered in a light mist
from the small amount of rain that had fallen sometime
during the middle of the night. Gertrude knew that it
would probably stay that way for a while if the sun continued to hide behind the thick layer of clouds that covered the sky.
Slowly, Tru walked to the center of the small field. Her
eyes followed the trees along the perimeter of the meadow as she pivoted her body in a complete circle. When she
finished turning, now facing back towards the spot where
she had entered the meadow, she saw something small
lying on the ground.
As she walked closer, squinting her eyes to focus in on
the small lump, Tru could see that it was a petite bouquet
of
wild
flowers,
banded
together
by
a
single
leafless,
dried-out stem wrapped tightly around them. They lay
delicately on the grass, like someone had bent down and
placed them there. When she had walked through the
trees just moments before, there had been nothing on the
ground but grass. Tru strolled closer, looking at the blue
flax and yellow buttercup flowers, dazed by their simple,
yet flawless beauty, and how neatly they had been arranged.
Strange.
Tru looked around again, but still, nothing was there.
No one
was there.
She picked up the little bouquet, smelling the freshly
cut flowers as she pressed them up to her nose.
Suddenly, a rush of wind blew through the forest. The
trees shook furiously. The leaves, from the few birch trees
that were scattered among the pine, slowly tumbled to the
ground. As Tru looked around at the irritated trees, she
could feel small pricks of ice against her face. But it was
not snowing, nor was it raining. Quickly, Tru wiped a
hand against her cheek, worried that her face had been
pricked by one of the icy daggers. But when she looked
down at her hand, there was nothing there, not even the
faint watery remnants of a raindrop.

Instantly, Tru dropped to the ground
⎯ as if her legs
couldn’t support her anymore ⎯ letting the flowers fall
out of her hand, and pulled her knees into her chest. Tru
then placed her head between her knees in an effort to
shield her face from the stinging blades of ice, and from
whatever was possibly about to happen.

Then, the wind stopped.
But Tru was too afraid to open her eyes.
As she sat there, she could hear a familiar sound, the

sound of flying birds. But this time, it didn’t sound like a
swarm. This one was alone.

The humming slowed to a mere lull, a rhythmic beat. It
sounded as though it was right next to Tru’s ear. She was
tempted to look up. But in that moment, her muscles
tensed, sending a shock all the way down her spine and a
twitch in her foot.

Then, the fluttering vanished.

With her knees still crammed tightly against her chest,
and her eyes still firmly shut, Tru slowly raised her head.
In an instant, she thought of all the things that could possibly happen by committing the simple action of opening
her eyelids.

Option one
⎯ Tru would look up and see nothing in
the field. She would tell herself she was dreaming. She
would then stand up, walk back through the forest, and
head to the house. She would forget anything ever happened. And she would never return to the field again.

Option two
⎯ Tru would look up, see nothing, wait all
day for something to happen, go home when it got dark,
and return every day until she had seen what she had
originally hoped to see.

Option three
⎯ which was much different from the
first two ⎯ Tru would raise her head and find herself
looking into the eyes of a fairy. She would be so startled at
first that she wouldn’t know what to do. Tru would try to
say something ⎯ probably something stupid ⎯ and the
fairy would get scared and fly away.