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The grass swayed with a gentle breeze. Henry paused for a moment, taking in the distant sounds of birds chirping. A sound once so comforting, familiar, but only existing to remind him of what no longer exists before him.
The sound of his wife’s laughter. The sound of her greeting him on the phone. The way her hands fit perfectly within his. How she would bring him granola once in a blue moon as a treat for when he had a rough day. The way her eyes lit up when he finally picked out his birkenstocks after a playful debate of ethical consumption under capitalism. The way she cried holding their baby, the way she squeezed him when they embraced. The way she gave up everything to save him. The way she gave up everything. Everything. Herself. For him.
The sound of Darryl speaking jolted him back to reality, as Henry forgot he even asked if his friend wanted to share any words.
Darryl began, “Carol, I'm doing this just to move on, because you're not dead, and we're going to fix this, and I love you, and I know you love me, and I promise I'm going to protect our kid like you asked, and... I don't even know why I'm talking right now, because you're okay and you're going to be okay, and we're going to get through this .”
Not dead, Henry thought. Not dead , he reminded himself. Not dead. Not dead. Not dead. Not dead. Not dead. Not dead yet . He stepped closer to the spot in which Mercedes rested. “Mercedes, this is such a strange world we find ourselves in, and I don't know if this version of you is real, or if it's still going to exist once we've done this, but the fact still remains that you did do this, and I will never forget it. I will never forget how brave you were, and all the pain you went through to try and save us, and I'm going to do everything I can to make sure this doesn't happen again.”
He remembered a park they once walked, how the river bubbled. He remembered the autumn leaves descending like feathers into the water, and he remembered Mercedes smiling at the array of colors that dotted the landscape. She found some beautiful rocks lining the shore, and she told Henry about a crystal collection she had as a child. She began to describe the properties of each one, and he remembers the immense joy she found in this recollection. He could not help but smile too.
A gust of wind brought Henry back to the others, and he glanced in sorrow towards Samantha. “And Samantha, I just want to say that Ron's really scared right now but he loves you so much, and we're looking after him and we're going to fight with him, and we're going to make sure this all goes back to the way it was. And I know that deep down he loves you and he wishes he could be here right now to say that.”
He recalled, abruptly, a poem he once heard. He knew that even in death, Mercedes must be wandering steadfast to whatever waited her beyond.
Córdoba.
Far away, and lonely.
Full moon, black pony,
olives against my saddle.
Though I know all the roadways
I'll never get to Córdoba.
Through the breezes, through the valley,
red moon, black pony.
Death is looking at me
from the towers of Córdoba.
Ay, how long the road is!
Ay, my brave pony!
Ay, death is waiting for me,
before I get to Córdoba.
Córdoba.
Far away, and lonely.
Lonely. For her, hours must have been but the blink of an eye, while for him they were minutes and days and weeks and years. He looked back towards his wife’s resting place. This surely had to be wrong, they confirmed it. Then why did it feel so real? Why did it hurt so fucking bad? Tears welled in his eyes but he did not let the others see. He only stared at the grave. Grave. Grave. Grave. Mercedes, mi amor. If no parent should have to bury their child, why did this world let him suffer the pain of having to bury his wife. His partner, his best friend, his supporter. His lioness. The light in his world.
“ Descanse en paz, mi amor.”
And the birth of thousands of plants emerged before them. Flowers of stunning colors adored the graves of their beloved wives, their partners. The energy gone from the wonderful women that once stood before them channeled into the stems of new life. If they could no longer have their wives in this timeline, in this universe, at least Henry could grant new life to something that could leave the world just a little bit more beautiful, the way Mercedes did for him.
Poem reference: “Song of the Rider” by Federico García Lorca (English Translation)