The Deal

The Back Door

                  

There is a cross dug into the ground at the base of a telephone pole in the field next to my Nana's shop.

It's been there for as long as I've had memories, the navy blue paint always looking fresh and crisp despite the years that weather it. At the base there are always an array of fresh flowers –red tulips for undying love- never a single day of wilting passes before a new batch is placed there.

It's as if the spirits tend to the cross every night in secret, though it is most likely a lonely soul mourning for someone long passed in that very spot.

Though, I have never actually seen them. Just see the well-kept shrine every day I pass it to and from work.

But, just as I do every time I pass by, I kneel at the base of the monument, my hand digging in my leather messenger bag and pulling out some crystals I know my nana slipped in when I wasn't looking.

Small square shaped crystals that are supposed be clear, but are just foggy enough to hide my reflection.

Clear Calcite balances emotions, calms the mind, and strengthens the ability to overcome setbacks. Aids spiritual development and intellect. Strengthens bones and joints, eliminates fear, and elongated toxins.

Oh, Nana. Always looking out for me.

Although the cross is a mere symbol of the spirit that died here I leave it at the base of the cross next to the crisp red tulips.

Not only so the spirit can rest easy, but also for the soul who tends to this shrine so ferociously.

May both of their souls find peace.

I pocket one of the crystals to uphold my Nana's good will and continue my journey to the small house on the cliff. The home I grew up in -the home that was once always filled with laughter and light, but now remains empty and haunted.

Nana sleep over when she knows the silence becomes too deafening, but she mostly keeps to herself -choosing to sleep in the reading room above the shop.

She says that the voices become too loud in her head so she needs enough space and silence for them to fill a room and be heard.

But, I have voices of my own too. The voice of my mother echoing inside of my head constant and harrowing. Her ghost walking through the halls of our empty halls, her face staring back at me in the mirror.

All of the sage and salt in the world could not silence her spirit.

And although she has been absent for most of the day, as soon as I unlock our chipped red door, I feel her at my back, breathing down my neck simply because she can.

A deep chill washes over my skin, making my hairs stand up, but I know she won't be here for long. She always disappears when he is near me.

Where she goes, though, I don't know.

I ignore her, as always, and step into the small foyer, setting my keys down on the small table next to my plotted herbs and spices.

Although this is the home I grew up in, it looks nothing like it used to when I lived here with my parents.

Family photos and creepy ceramic horses have been replaced with ferns hanging from the ceiling and lining the staircase, flowers gracing every windowsill, and all of my herbs on every other surface in the home.

Each one serving one purpose or the other –whether it be plain luck, spiritual protection, or prosperous wealth.

Some would think this was a jungle, not a home.