Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Storm Song
Mark always had such a crush on her.
Her name was Cassandra. I remember the first time we met, at some campus-sponsored party in college. It must have been some sort of themed party; I remember she had flowers in her hair. I thought she was pretty. Mark, on the other hand, was utterly smitten. He must have danced with her five, six times that night. I remember sitting out a frenetic Salsa dance and the two of them coming back to the table, laughing and out of breath. I didn’t fair so well that night, but seeing Mark so genuinely happy for the first time in months made my night; he talked about her the whole way home.
Of course, things weren’t perfect. She was already seeing someone, but Mark told me the idea of him dating another girl was impossible, even laughable. I shook my head and muttered under my breath every night I heard him on the phone with her into the wee hours, or when she’d come over to watch a movie and he’d sit a respectful distance away.
One night she came in with one eye purple and both full of tears. She went straight to Mark’s room. I found the two of them on the couch the next morning, asleep in each other’s arms. I shook my head for the last time, this time with a wry smile in place of the cynical mumbling.
I remember coming out of final exams during our senior year and running into the two of them. Or rather, the two of them and a ring. The engagement was no surprise; the wedding was a fairy tale, sunshine and smiling faces as far as the eye could see.
I went out West after that, trying to find my fortune in the City of
After I got back on my feet, I started spending time with Mark and Cassie again. Cassie was pregnant, too early to show. Mark was ecstatic, too excited to hide.
About a month later, Mark stopped being so energetic; he and Cassie both seemed downcast all of a sudden. They stopped talking about the baby altogether. I took Mark out to the bar and bought him a few rounds. I told him that these things happen, don’t worry, you’ll get another try.
Things were never quite the same after Cassie lost the baby. I guess that after something like that, they really can’t be. For starters, I never saw them fight before then.
Cassie went to live with her mother about a year later. Mark was crushed. He was still in love with the willowy brunette he’d married in that sun touched churchyard a few years before, and refused to accept that that wasn’t who Cassie was anymore.
About a week later a nasty storm hit across the lake. I don’t know where Cassie was going or why, but she left her mother’s house at nine and never got where she was going. There was a search, and the police found a hole in the guardrail by the causeway. It’s a tricky part of the road where it doesn’t line up with the span, so there’s a nasty turn right before the bridge starts. They dredged the lake and found her, still inside the red Cavalier her father had given her as a wedding present.
Mark’s brother and I started switching off at sleeping over Mark’s house after that, just so he wouldn’t be alone at night. Stuck in that house with nothing but memories to keep him company.
Mark had to stop three times to compose himself during the eulogy at Cassandra’s funeral. It was a day not unlike their wedding—warm, sunny, filled with friends and relatives dressed up in their best clothes.
I drop by Mark’s place from time to time. Whenever it’s raining I find him standing out front, letting it wash over him. He says he can feel her, as if she still lingers somewhere inside the storm that took her away for good.
One question that was never answered is what sent her into the lake. Since it was such a stormy night, it’s possible that she just lost control of her Cavalier. That’s what the coroner ruled. But I’ve driven that road a hundred times, a few of them in worse weather. The big question is if she might have done it on purpose.
Mark is the only one I know who’s been willing to ask. He’s begged an answer from the storms more times than he can count. He’s never gotten an answer, but he keeps hoping.
