Instrumental Emmett
Instrumental
Emmett
Emmett feels the pull of the caves long before they reach them.
They’re more stone than skin now, their body heavier, slower, tiring more easily.
They had been eerily lucky to find a ride after only a few miles of stiff, plodding steps away from where they left Delilah.
A battered, dirt-dusted SUV of cheerful hikers on their way to Sandstone Canyon had been willing enough to stop at a trail drop-off a few miles away.
Emmett uses what’s left of the transformation energy they can muster to smooth away the patches of stone creeping up their neck and across one cheek, to be as unremarkable—as forgettable—as they can manage.
“What’s another twenty minutes, right?” the driver, a bright-eyed young man who reminds Emmett almost overwhelmingly of Noah, says with a grin. “Are you sure you’re dressed for it, though? You’re looking a little under the weather. We could drop you somewhere a little more civilized.”
“No, that’s okay.” Emmett musters a smile from somewhere, putting all their strength into making sure their face is still only a face, glad that they’ve pulled the collar of their jacket up to cover as much of their neck as they can. “This is where I need to go.”
The driver shrugs. “Suit yourself,” he says. “Just don’t turn up on the news in a few weeks as a dead body, all right?”
Emmett laughs. “I won’t,” they say, and they’re glad to know that it still feels true.
The hikers are in good spirits, happy enough to have Emmett in the back seat next to their golden retriever, who seems delighted to have a companion. Emmett scratches the dog’s ears, grateful to be spending at least some of their last few hours giving this simple affection.
They’re playing music that Emmett mostly doesn’t recognize, but they do their best to relax into it.
At one point, one of Delilah and Sam’s songs comes on.
Delilah’s voice sounds different like this, singing background harmony, the other singer’s voice nowhere near as powerful.
Emmett wants to reach into the speakers, to tune the music until her voice is right again, front and center and true, the way it always should be.
Instead, they tip their head against the dog’s fur and look out the window, trying to feel only gratitude, to brace themself for the remaining miles they’ll have to walk, to watch the sky for as long as they can.
The driver lets Emmett out of the car with a friendly wave, wishing them luck, and doesn’t stay to watch them set off again. Emmett is grateful; they’ve had enough goodbyes to last a lifetime.
If Noah or Ruth had been with them, Emmett would have taken time to point out the position of the sun, made sure they understood how to orient their direction without the need of a GPS.
But they’re alone. There’s no one to show or to teach, so they adjust the strap of their backpack, take a few moments while they still have cellphone service to make a last phone call, and then set off down the sandy road.
It’s long past sunset by the time they arrive at the caves, the first few miles of slow, unsteady steps eventually giving way to a smoother, almost urgent gait as the pull grew stronger and stronger.
It calls to them now, like a siren, like part of their own soul reaching out across the desert, summoning them home.
The pain and stiffness ease away, leaving behind a relief that buoys them every time they falter or think of turning back.
The sky is clear, the moon full and heavy.
Between the glow of moonlight, Emmett’s own night vision, and the seductive pull ahead, Emmett doesn’t need the flashlight in their backpack to find their way.
Each step brings them closer, closer, until the space in front of them opens up into utter darkness.
Emmett stops, looking down. The air drifting from the mouth is cool and ancient. The wind whistles around them, tossing their hair, but they don’t shiver. The chill they haven’t been able to shake for the past few days has given way to something syrupy and warm.
They turn, looking back up at the sky. The stars are endless, brilliant swirls of light and color, distant galaxies and stellar nurseries, breathing life into the newest stars.
Emmett thinks about another night sky, just as beautiful as this one; about the warmth of a body curled against theirs and the scent of jasmine shampoo; about a ready smile and a voice like honey and a capacity for both kindness and despair that still makes them dizzy to think about.
About what it had been like, however briefly, to feel like someone real.
About what it was like to lose that and become just a thing once more.
Emmett catches that memory—the confusion, the bewilderment, the cracking of a heart they weren’t even sure they had—and holds it tight, using it to block out everything else: Joyce and Megan’s kindness and Phil and Lee’s stories; the kiss from the bookshop girl in Philadelphia and the glittering laughter of the drag queens in Pittsburgh; a roomful of strangers creating magic in Cleveland; the gentle murmur of a distant friend through Roscoe’s speakers, spinning a history of love and connection across space and time and impossibility.
Ruth’s first steps and Noah’s wild grin.
Miriam’s soft voice, always kind to them, for all that their presence in her home probably never made sense.
Jacob’s quiet wisdom, in those few moments he’d been willing to share it.
Delilah’s laugh, and Delilah’s music, and Delilah’s temper, and Delilah’s courage, and Delilah’s mouth. Delilah’s smile.
They close their eyes.
“Enough,” they murmur. The wind carries the word away from them, whisking out into the universe like a prayer. “Enough now.”
Emmett steps into the caves, and there’s no more light.
“Ruthie—Hi. It’s Emmett.
I’m not…I’m not really sure why I called.
I probably shouldn’t have. Ja—your dad wouldn’t have wanted me to.
But it was so good to hear your voice the other night, and I…
I just want you to know that I love you.
I don’t think your father thought he made me with the ability to do that.
But I love you, so much. I’m so proud of you.
And of Noah, whether or not he forgives me for not being…
who he thought I was. What he thought I was. I hope you’ll tell him that from me.
You’re going to be okay, love. I know that. I believe that more than anything. I love you, and you’re going to be okay.”
Your hands shaped and made me,
Then destroyed every part of me.
Remember that You sculpted me like clay;
Will You then turn me back into dust?
—Job 10:8-9