By Kayla Knight
Friends hang around, left over edges of the party. Smoke curls in ribbons from the ashes of their cigarettes.
“Honey, come over,” she pleads.
He sighs into the receiver on his end. She sees him, phone sandwiched between his ear and shoulder. He paces his room. He doesn’t answer with words.
“The party’s slowed down,” she presses. “You don’t have to drink. We know you—we know things have changed.”
Things. She doesn’t say “you.”
“I don’t know, Eurydice…”
I Am Whole while in Nature by Tereza Kleovoulou
“Orpheus.” Her tone softens. “I’ve been ready for you to come home. Please. Come.”
He’s silent a beat. “Okay. I’m on my way.”
And he’s true to his word. A little while later, his headlights flash as the tires of his Ford bounce through the ruts in the gravel drive. The lights surprise—almost blind— her.
Orpheus cuts the engine. Opens the driver’s side door. Closes it. Instead of immediately heading to her, he circles to the passenger side. Her heart seizes for a fraction of a breath. Surely he didn’t bring someone—
As he slams that door shut, she sees his guitar case slung over his shoulder. Eurydice closes the distance between them, dismissive of her bare feet on the dead, icy ground. Her fingers entwine in the curls at the nape of his neck. His beard scratches her cheeks. She presses her lips against in greeting for the first time in the months since he left.
Orpheus himself freezes in disbelief before welcoming the kiss and the embrace. Maybe the ghost had returned whole from Asphodel.
“Do you want something to drink?” asks Eurydice. She’s pulled back to see his face fully. His expression hardens like a statue.
“There’s orange juice in the kitchen,” she adds quickly.
Orpheus shakes his head. “No. Thank you, though.”
If he consumes anything in this underworld, he may never leave.
Eurydice leads him ahead by the hand to the small group of their old high school friends circled up in the garage. They exchange “Hey mans,” and “How you beens,” and the conversation then slips to their kids, their jobs, the election, the weather, the economy…
When every safe topic is exhausted, Orpheus unpacks the guitar, absently picking a melody out on the strings.
A voice hums along, and he stops to listen. A chord inside sings, awakening the rest of him. He looks to Eurydice then lets the note hang unfinished.
He waits until they are alone in the small, dark hours after midnight. Her tiny house is quiet, save the wind in the bony trees outside the kitchen window.
Orpheus holds the guitar still. His thread back out of this labyrinth.
“I’ve been following your adventures online,” Eurydice says. “How was playing Red Rocks?” She is thinking of a conversation not-so-long ago. Before. After two hits from their shared joint back then, and a swig—really more a glug—of cheap whiskey. He wanted to travel and sing. Live the life of a twenty-first-century troubadour.
“Everything I could’ve hoped for,” he says now.
“I’m glad you’re home,” she says now. Eurydice reaches for his hand. Her fingers are stiff and cold.
“You know why I’m here,” he says. “It’s not because of the warm and happy memories I have of home.”
“You haven’t been back since the wreck,” she says.
“I haven’t been back since I left for rehab after the wreck,” he corrects. “You know, her grave is on the way here?” Orpheus pauses. “I didn’t realize how many times I’ve driven by that cemetery on the way here until tonight.”
“It’s different when you know who’s there,” she says.
“I walked away without a scratch,” he says.
The conversation trails off and Orpheus plays something to fill the silent space. Eurydice sings. When the song ends, she looks at him one more time.
He answers the question she wants to ask. “I came back for you. You’re the only thing worth returning for in this dead place.”
“Okay,” she says.
“Just, okay?”
She shakes her head. “I’ll—I’m coming with you.”
Just like that.
They plan into the early hours between kissing and crying and singing. Dawn creeps up the eastern side of the house, through the window. Orpheus realizes he stayed longer than he meant. He’s got a show. He has to go.
“I love you,” he says.
“I’ll never let you go again,” she swears.
The next show is not far, but it’s in New York. After she promises. She’ll come after; pack up her stuff, deal with her lease, come to him after.
He pulls from the drive in a halo of golden sun. When he turns to look at her on the front porch, the sun is so bright he doesn’t see her. But Orpheus knows Eurydice will follow behind him.
After the show, a day passes. A week passes.
He sends a text: I can’t wait to see you!
The notification says “undelivered.”
He calls. The line is dead.
He goes to her profile to scroll through her pictures. See what’s going on. See her face.
She has vanished.
About the Author
Kayla Knight is a full-time high school English teacher, composition professor, and writer. She was born and raised in Florida. She received her BA in English and MFA in Creative Writing from Lindenwood University. Her work has previously appeared in Torrid Literary Journal, Fresh Words Magazine, and POETICA.
About the Artist
Tereza Kleovoulou is a photographer based in Cyprus. She explores philosophical and abstract ideas with her creative writing and photographs. She studied photography and media arts in the UK. She is working on philosophical and psychological matters and themes, ‘investigating’ aspects of herself and others and maybe ‘exhibiting’ some of her deepest emotions and thrills.