The Phantom Heartbeat

Chapter 3: The Orpheus in me

I felt her head pressing on my arm as she lay beside me, her hands on my torso. It was silent as the low summer sun filled my room with a watery, orange light. I felt her presence, her warmth. Just like what it used to be - how it should be. I looked at her, her eyes already fixed on me.

For a while we just drowned in the gaze of the other. She broke the silence.

''Tell me that myth again'', she whispered excitedly. I frowned in confusion. ''Which one do you mean?'' I asked. ''Aw come on, you know, that Greek one? With the man who descends to the Underworld to get his wife back?'' ''Oooooh'', I mumbled, as I turned my head to face the ceiling. ''Yeah, of course I remember.'' ''Tell me.'' I looked at her again, at her puppy eyes, her eager smile. I answered her smile with one of my own. I shifted a bit towards her, she cuddled up to me, and I started to tell.

She was barely breathing as she listened to the increasingly more exciting story, captivating her even after thousands of years after it was written." ''Very well", said Hades, pushed by the words of his wife. "You can go back to the land of the living and she will follow you. Be warned, however. You can't look back at her to make sure she's coming after you - because if you do, she'll disappear to the Underworld forever'' ", I told with a low voice.

''Orpheus was overjoyed. He started to walk the long way back, through the fields, over the river Styx, and proceeded to climb up the endless stairs upwards, towards the daylight. At first it went well. He marched forwards with a steady pace, focusing on the steps before him. But then. . .'' I waited a bit, let the tension rise, teased her. ''And then? What happened then?'' she urged me. ''. . .then, Orpheus walked slower, and even slower. At one point, he completely stopped."

"He listened. There weren't any footsteps, no fluttering of her dress. Was she behind him? Did she follow him? She had to be. Right? Hades promised. . . Orpheus slowly walked on, repressing his urge to just look back. For a second, for a flash. Just. . . to make sure.''

She looked at me with her mouth a bit open. I could see the tension on her face. I smiled, continued: "He balled his fists, clenched his teeth - step by step, he inched forward. He heard the waterdrops falling on the stone deep below. He could hear the birds outside, he could see the sunrays falling over him, over the stairs. . . but he didn't hear her footsteps. Outside, a bird flew up from the tree next to the entrance.''

I stopped. I looked at her, tried to lean in - but she leaned backwards: she had to know how it ended first. ''Fine, fine'', I sighed, and looked at the ceiling again. She smiled triumphantly.

''He looked behind him, just a glance, just in the blink of an eye: but even in such a split second, he could just see the figure of his Eurydice, slowly vanishing with a stretched arm and a mouth opened in a silent scream. Then, she was gone.''

''Oh no. . .'' she whispered sadly.

''Orpheus' heart was broken. He travelled back to Thrace, and went to sit on the rock in the forest close to his palace. He took his lyre, sang and plucked on the strings: but the song was filled with sadness and regret, and the crops shriveled, the ground burst open and the rivers fell dryer and dryer with every passing week. The Thracians were suffering, crowded around Orpheus and for days begged him to stop. But he didn't. . .''

I looked at her. I couldn't feel her breath, as she lay beside me motionless. She clenched my shirt.

''The Thracians went away, but came back not long after. In their hands they had axes, swords, and spears. They begged him, one last time. But Orpheus didn't stop. So the people came closer and tore apart the Thracian king.'' I sighed. ''Moral of the story? Don't try to reverse things from the past. It will only hurt you more.''

I felt her breath against my lips again as I looked at her. She relaxed. ''That was so sad. . . but so immersive. Beautiful'', she said, as I placed my hand on her jaw. ''Nothing will ever be more beautiful than you are to me'', I murmured tenderly, and this time I managed to steal a kiss. I felt as if we were glowing and it could light up the entire room.

She looked at the clock. It was 10. ''I've got to go'', she said. She kissed me on the cheek as she got up and got ready to leave. I sat upright. ''Do I have to walk you to the bus stop?'' I asked.

She smiled at me. ''No, that's okay. I'll be fine.'' I looked at her as she opened the door. She stared at me intimately through the opening, when she finally closed the door and left me alone.

It was 12 o' clock. She still lay cuddled up against me, hand on my torso, steadily breathing against my neck with closed eyes. I stroked over the one leg wrapped around both of mine. I finished the story ages ago. The room was completely dark: back then she would've been gone a long time already. Weird.

''Shouldn't you get going?'' I asked carefully. ''Won't your parents be upset?'' She didn't answer. ''Don't worry'', she said eventually. ''Don't you worry, it's fine'', she tried to soothe me, as she shifted her head and leg a little.

Eventually, after an angry text from her mom, she left, and even then it took some time. This was not how I remembered her. . . Of course, I could just be overthinking it.

That was probably it.