“One can’t leave his shadow lying about and not miss it sooner or later.” – Peter Pan
Lyric knew how to save Grandpa Selah. Just like always, he had given her the solution and the courage to fix her predicament. He had prepared her for this with every story, with every talking to, with every word of affirmation. As much as she and her sister had rolled their eyes behind his back, his words had nestled their way deep inside her soul.
Whether fact or fiction, recounting Grandpa Selah’s stories was the spark she needed to light the fire inside. It was time for Grandpa Selah to get a taste of his own medicine, to get the love he’d always given. He’d been strong for everyone else, and now it was her turn to be there for him. No one knew what had started his decline, but there was no way she’d let him wither away without a fight. The shadows couldn’t have him.
She was no shrinking violet. She was no sunflower or wishflower, and she definitely wasn’t a snickerdoodle. She was a Selah, and the first step to saving her grandpa was to remind him who he was, too.
But she couldn’t do it alone.
When her mom and Louis returned armed with breakfast and drinks, she smiled at the warm snickerdoodle and the handcrafted beverage made just for her. There was a note scribbled in black marker on the side. It was hardly legible, but she thought it said something about miracles and mayhem and angels. Mel shook her head at the chicken scratch. “He needs to text that mess.”
She cleared her throat and took a long, deep sip of the tea, letting the gentle hint of warmth, citrus, and honey chase away her lingering nerves.
“That nice boy at the café made your grandpa a cup of tea,” their mother said, organizing the takeout food. “It was a nice gesture.”
Lyric took her grandpa’s drink from her mom. “I’ll take it to him.”
“And I’ll get his plate ready,” Mel offered.
Lyric drank more of her tea while her sister prepared a small saucer of food. It was his favorite meal from the brunch carryout spot, one of the few remaining local eateries left in Olde Glory East.
“If he doesn’t eat the steak and cheese eggs, it’s mine,” Mel said.
Lyric rolled her eyes before gathering his food and drink and climbing the stairs. Louis followed behind her, knocking politely on the door before opening it for her. “Good luck,” he whispered before retreating downstairs.
Lyric took a deep breath and inched her way forward. The old wood floor creaked under the weight of her feet. She could hear her own heavy, shuddered breathing as her arms ached from carrying the tray of food. Her hands were sweaty. Her heart pounded against the stillness of the dark room. She set the tray on her grandfather’s nightstand and took in the somber surroundings.
The room was as dark as it was silent. With the floor lamp leaning and unplugged, only a slither of light peaked through the barrier of closed curtains. Grandpa Selah sat upright in his bed like a weathered stone. There was little to no movement beyond the rise and fall of his chest. His face was ashen and hard, freshly shaved only thanks to her mother’s care. “I brought you something to eat,” she said.
He grimaced. “I’ll get to it,” he said, his voice no more than a tenored whisper.
“Peter sent you some tea,” she countered, reaching for the cup and handing it to him. He took it begrudgingly, cradling it in his strong, wrinkled hands.
Lyric slowly nudged the curtains open. “We’ve been trying not to disturb you, you know. Tiptoeing around the house. Which is crazy because these floorboards are always so whiny.” Her chuckles were met with a weary sigh, but she didn’t let it discourage her. “I think we’ve been going about this the wrong way. You don’t need peace and quiet. You have enough of that when we aren’t here. And maybe that’s the problem?”
“I’m old, is the problem. Tired,” he said. “I just want to be alone.”
“No,” she said, opening his window so some fresh air could circulate through the musty room. “No one wants to be alone.”
When he didn’t respond, she sat on the large chest at the foot of his bed. “I think Mom and Dad are getting a divorce.”
Grandpa Selah shuffled in his bed, but didn’t respond. So she continued. “Mel’s leaving for her summer theater program in two weeks.”
“That’s nice,” he said, but there was no feeling behind his words.
“I got a response from one of my favorite performers. It was a rejection, but she responded. She said my song was beautiful. It made her cry because she wished she could sing it. But it’s not for her.”
She told him about the open mic event, how she managed to sing that song. Then she found herself humming some of the melody. She looked out the window at the blue sky, but caught movement from the corner of her eye. She paused, knowing that movement wasn’t Grandpa Selah. It was coming from his bedside. From underneath the bed. She scrambled to her feet in time to see the shadows snake up in smoky tendrils, expanding into a thick cloud-like mass. It stretched and pulsed, as if it was breathing, filling more of the room with every moment.
The shadows surrounded the sides of the bed, to the ceilings, and stretched out along the walls. Grandpa Selah’s voice broke through her paralysis. “Run!”
She wanted to run, but her back was against the open window and the shadows covered the perimeter of the room, still expanding. Lyric dropped to the floor, holding her knees to her chest as the shadows hovered, a sharp contrast against the sunny sky behind her. Some of the light penetrated the shadows, creating a dusted, less corporeal form.
The shadows were persistent. They were hungry. She could feel them licking, biting at her, amplifying every dark and painful part of her life. Every negative thought, all her disappointment, every sad memory sharp and so distinct she thought her heart would break.
Tears flowed freely, stinging her eyes. Her head ached from the sobbing, and still the shadows pushed, dimming down the burgeoning hope, shredding the little bit of confidence she had mustered. She was no match for its visceral nature.
Her song wasn’t enough.
But then, she wasn’t alone. Grandpa Selah was right there with her. If she couldn’t save him from the shadows, maybe they could save each other. And if that wasn’t enough …
No. It was enough. Love was always enough. Love was her family’s secret weapon, the special ingredient to their impossible feats. Love gave her ancestors the courage to fight their way out of oppression. Love helped them create something beautiful when the world was nothing but ugliness and chaos, and love would give her strength now.
She didn’t have her headphones to drown out the fear of hearing her own voice, but she didn’t need it. The shadows had amplified every dark thing, like a roaring sea of despair drowning her in a wave of infinite and unyielding sorrow. But she pushed through the tears, she pushed through the pain, and she sang her heart out.
The shadows might consume her, but she wouldn’t go without a fight.
She couldn’t form words. She couldn’t think beyond the deluge of pain and anguish. So she lifted her voice the only way she knew how. She sang a note in a range she’d never touched before with a clarity and a purity she’d never imagined. It came out so strong and clear it jolted her out of the shadow’s hold.
The shadows recoiled, but they didn’t run as they had before. But she didn’t want them to run. She wanted to destroy them. For Peter. For Grandpa Selah. For her family rushing up the stairs, even as she fought. For the neighborhood. For herself. Her mother and Mel burst into the room and the shadows turned their attention, swirling and stretching, not sure who to latch on to.
“Use that Selah gift,” her grandpa urged.
And so she did. She lifted her voice without apology. The shadows drew back. Her grandpa joined after a moment, harmonizing with her. Soon her whole family was singing, their voices rising above the shadow’s assault until that oppressive cloud shriveled into a fleeting vapor of dust.
Grandpa Selah coughed, his throat dry from singing. “I think I’ll have that tea now,” he said, sounding more like himself.
Lyric wanted to laugh, but just as the laughter came, the tears poured out harder.
Her voice was raw from exertion, her vocal cords stretched and burning, which only made her cry more. Louis ran to her, crashing into her legs and wrapping his arms around her waist. Mel followed, and soon they were all crying and hugging one another. The shadows were gone.