• Like A Cicada By: Buboi-Licious

    It was raining when my brother disappeared.
    The rain cascaded upon the roof like millions of needles and I could hear the tiny splash of every drop. All together, it sounded like a chorus of rattlesnakes. It was a cold and wretched sound to me. The sound of emptiness and grief.
    The shadows on the walls had stopped dancing. They were now as lifeless as the darkness itself. All things seemed to have paused in a sudden shower of thoughts and lies. All pleasant and joyful feelings seemed to have been sucked dry by what was once the beginning of hope.
    I sat quietly on the bedside in my bleak and colorless room, a handwritten note in my cold hands. I stared at it, emotionless. It was from my brother, written the day before he had disappeared. The light handwriting was recognizably his. Every letter had a small curled tail that was a hint darker than the rest of the letter. They were his signature marks. No one else had the same kind of handwriting. Every word was straightened and perfected. There were no mistakes, no dirty eraser markings, no letters that were bigger than another. It was flawless and absolute just as he was.

    I’m so sorry. I can’t stay here any longer. Please don’t look for me. I wish you the best, Sis. I hope we can meet again someday and maybe we just might. You know I’ll always love you, wherever I am. Even when you can’t see me, I’ll be there.
    Your brother,

    August

    The neatness of the paper was ruined as my tear fell onto the carefully written words, making the blue ink run. The blue inked tear slid down the paper onto my jeans.
    I knew why August had left. I knew why he had gone and told no one else about it other than me. He hated his life. He hated our parents. And mostly, he hated himself. He felt bound into a world that was not suited for him. He felt as if he was imprisoned in his own body. I knew he wouldn’t want to stay like this. I could have seen this coming but I couldn’t figure out why I was so surprised.
    I gripped his leaving note tightly, squeezing my eyes shut so that fresh tears poured out onto my cheeks. I lifted an arm and wiped the tears off my face onto my already wet sleeve. I slid the note under my pillow where it would lay undisturbed until the last of the blue ink faded away.
    It was evening. My mother and father sat silently at the dining table, eating what sat on the plate placed before them. They had disregardful looks on their pale faces. I moved the objects around in my plate with a fork as I glared into their careless expressions. They didn’t seem to even notice August was gone. But then I realized it was because they didn’t care.
    “So he left.” my father had said, coldly the other night. It was the night that they discovered August was gone, “Why should we give a damn about how that kid wants to live his stinking life?”
    I hated him for saying those words. I hated my mother for not screaming at him in tears, telling him he was wrong. I hated them for not calling the police and not feeling a hint of remorse. But I knew it was not their faults. August never showed a sign of gratitude or love towards our parents. Maybe it was because he never got any back. He never felt that he belonged to this family. I couldn’t blame him for that either. I felt sorry for all of them as I did for myself.
    It was still raining that night. I lay restless in my bed, listening to the rain patter onto the glass of the window. The clock on the wall said twelve forty six but it was ten minutes later than the regular time. August had set it that way last winter so I wouldn’t ever be late for school. I shifted my position in bed and closed my eyes. I thought about August. An almost faded memory appeared in my mind of us nine years ago.
    It was midsummer. August and I were playing in the river running behind our house. We called it the Cicada River because of the many trees around it that bore families of Cicadas that would chirp noisily when the summer became hot. I saw August in the river, his eyes twinkled blue of the sunlight reflecting on the water. His smile was as wide as an ocean. I could hear our laughter. His was short like heh heh heh. The sun sparkled the water that he splashed at me. His wild, brown hair was soaked and matted on his head.
    A faint and almost forgotten memory flashed into my mind. August was standing in front of me. He was holding something with two of his hands, cupped together as if it was fragile. He lowered his hands down so I could see. I peered into them cautiously. Sitting in the center of his hands was a cicada shell. My eyes widened in amazement. It was the exact shape. Nothing was broken or chipped off.
    “Isn’t it cool?” he said to me, “It’s a cicada shell! The cicada babies come out of it when they’re good and ready to start a brand new life.”
    I stared in wonder at him then at the cicada. But suddenly, his smile faded and he looked away from me.
    “Some cicadas will die when they try to come out. They aren’t strong enough, April. They won’t live to see how glorious life feels like,” he said.
    He paused for a moment. I glanced into his deep blue eyes. There was a tint of grey in them. He then abruptly turned his head my way and his smile stretched.
    “I want to be like a cicada, April!” August exclaimed, “I want to come out from my shell and fly free into the world!”
    I giggled when he said that. He gave me a wink and took my hand.
    “Let’s fly free together, April,” he said, lifting our hands into the air, “We can both be like cicadas and fly free!”
    Back in my hot, humid bedroom, I opened my eyes and the memory faded like rain clouds suddenly blocking the sunlight. I bit my lip as warm tears rolled down my cheeks. He had promised me we would fly like cicadas together. He had promised to be with me when we come out from our shells. My eyes filled with more and more tears that streamed down my face. I pulled up my blanket to wipe the tears away but fresh ones took their place.
    I understood now. I finally understood the note he had written for me. “Even when you can’t see me, I’ll be there.”
    I could never see him again. That was why he had written those words.
    I cried for myself, I cried for him.
    Even with the steamy summer heat wrapping me, I felt cold. My heart was as cold as ice. I shivered and cried. Thinking about August, I cried myself to sleep.
    Morning came almost instantly. The sun’s rays beamed through my window, striking on my wrinkled bed sheets. I peaked slowly out from under the covers and the sunlight blinded me. I shielded my eyes as I rose up from bed. My eyes were puffy and red from crying. It was only six thirty on a Saturday morning. My parents weren’t going to be up until eight forty five. This was my alone time. I got up from bed and grabbed my jeans and t-shirt from on top of my dresser. I sat down on the side of the bed to pull up my jeans. My elbow brushed on something sitting on my unkempt blanket. I turned my head and saw that it was August’s leaving note. I paused then reached to pick it up. I scanned the small piece of paper with its smudge where my tear fell, reading it over and over again. “I wish you the best, Sis. I hope we can meet again someday and maybe we just might.”
    I read those two sentences over and over until its meaning almost vanished from my mind. August wanted to see me again. He wanted me to be the best that I can. He wanted me to fly. The thoughts danced around in my head. Maybe August didn’t mean to leave me behind in the world to fend for myself. He might even be here with me right now.
    I stood up from the bed, pulling up my jeans and zipping the fly. I slipped on my bright red t-shirt August had gotten me from an amusement park we had gone to for my 15th birthday. It felt so familiar and comfortable. I folded up August’s leaving note and slid it genteelly into my jean pocket. I looked back to my room as I walked out the door into the hallway. The shadows on the wall all looked at me. They wanted to dance again. A small hint of a smile appeared on my face as I took the doorknob and softly closed the door. I knew what I was going to do. August would help me.
    I walked down the stairs, not making a sound. The living room was bright with sunlight that shone through the curtains. The arranged furniture stood in their rightful places. The places where August once sat, once ate, once napped. They suddenly gave me a warm feeling. The darkness and sadness of my life was being ripped off of me by August himself. He was doing it right now, right beside me.
    I walked past all the places where August had walked past and stopped at the front door. I unlocked the door and turned the doorknob, opening just a small gap. Sunlight glistened in through that small crack of the opening. It illuminated the carpet floor. I swung the door open to let all the warm sunlight glaze me. A cool summer’s morning breeze blew at my face. I took a step outside, feeling the summer’s atmosphere as I walked down the porch steps. I stepped onto the cool grass that was slightly damp with morning dew. The strands slipped through my toes and I relaxed. A slightly stronger breeze blew back my dark brown hair from my face. I closed my eyes as I headed to the tranquil haven of Cicada River.
    Cicada River flowed peacefully despite its considerable size. I looked at its beauty, gleaming with rays of sunlight. The rippling water splashed on the rocks lying at the river banks. I thought I saw August by the river’s edge. He glanced up at me and smiled his ocean wide smile, then vanished. I walked towards to river’s edge, my toes touching the cold water. I felt the gentle rush of the river through my toes. I knew that August would lead me here. He knew Cicada River was going to lead me to him, lead me home. I took a step, following the water’s current. I understand that I will never to be able to see August again. I know he’s in a better place now.
    My walking pace quickened as each step splashed the water.
    August would have wanted me to become a cicada. He would have wanted me to be free and I knew he was helping me. Every step that I took was his doing. He was supporting me. The darkness and grief of my life is my cicada shell. I would break free from it instead of letting it kill me like it did to him.
    My walk became a light jog as the water soaked into my jeans.
    I must uncoil my crimpled, wet wings. I was going to do my best for August. Cicada River will be my guide to him and it will be my guide to myself. I see it now. I see all the shadows on the walls dancing again. I see August playing with me in Cicada River, splashing water into my face. It is time.
    My jog turned into a run.
    It’s time to spread my wings.
    I felt the wind rushing through my hair as my wings spread open. I have left the gloom of my shell and now, right now, I will fly into the free, blue sky, just like a cicada.