Page 149 of Memories Like Fangs
My grandmother lay on a bed of rich blue carnation flowers on top of a pedestal made of branches. She was even more gorgeous than her picture above Mom’s nightstand. Her eyes were closed with her long, thick eyelashes fanning over her high cheekbones. She didn’t look like she was sleeping as I expected, instead appearing like she had closed her eyes to feel the sun on her dark amber skin. Grandma’s makeup dazzled with diamond and platinum and a deep red stain on her full lips. Her wet Georgia-clay-red locs were half-braided into a crown around her red antelope-like horns. Her arms were crossed over her chest. Layers of deep water blue with marbling of rusty clay reds and browns shimmered on her wings, strewn on either side of the pedestal underneath her. The patches of scales among the silver dust of glitter all along her body were the same dark blue with spots of red. Instead of being wrapped around her waist, her tail sat limp next to her legs. Grandma’s sapphire blue dress was the most stunning of all, despite being the simplest and most understated, mainly because of how beautifully it fit her curves. The layers of delicate gossamer shimmered with tiny flecks of sunstone and tiger’s eye laced in the threads that looked just like her wings. The long skirts cascaded down from the pedestal just like her wings. She was a spectacle just like Mom was, a star that only appeared in your orbit once in a lifetime before it was never seen again for generations.
Mom’s eyes never left her mother. Her focus was so hard and long that I wondered if she was trying to make it all go away with her sheer will alone. Like, she could make this into a nightmare if she just wanted it enough.
Mom and Sire Kaya stopped at the beginning of the aisle to allow everyone else to file into two lines. Each line alternated in viewing the body and paying their respects. Some patted her hands solemnly or gripped them in one final farewell. Some kissed their fingers to press them into her lips, cheek, or forehead. Some cried, some sobbed, some tried to hold it all in until they moved away from her as if to make sure she didn’t see them break down. Most simply looked at her and moved on. The children looked but said nothing, unsure what was happening yet understanding the severity and darkness of it. When the guests were done, they filled either side of the flowery aisle.
Then, it was Sire Kaya’s turn. She kissed my grandmother, softly and slowly and so sorrowfully that I started to cry. She took her time, cherishing one last time with her. She bent and whispered something into her ear. A promise perhaps? What does one say as their last words to someone they love? I couldn’t help but think about if that was Quinn, what would I say to her? Or, what would she say to me? What even made sense to encapsulate the emotion that came with that? Did such words even exist? When she was done, Sire Kaya stood up, smiled sadly, and walked on.
Then, it was Mom’s turn.
She stood frozen still at the end of the aisle. For a long moment, she didn’t move or breathe. The fire in her eyes had cooled to a simmer, but the grief continued to crack through her composure, leaking through the gaps.
Her knees buckled.
Sire Kaya was there in an instant, steadying her. Mom shook her head, her bottom lip trembling, her eyes never leaving the pedestal. If her head shake was to say she was fine or that she didn’t want to do this, I couldn’t tell. But Sire Kaya and everyone in attendance gave her all the time she needed. No one shuffled their feet. There were no murmurs amongst the crowd.There wasn’t even pity in their eyes. Most had just the sadness that comes with watching the world of someone you know fall apart. Some, though, had that look of experience, of sharing that collective toll of grief and welcoming a new unfortunate soul into the ranks. Regardless, time seemed to pause her petty pace as a mercy, like it knew that the ultimate cruelty had been done already.
With Sire Kaya at her side, she took a shaky step forward. Then, another. When Mom reached the pedestal, Sire Kaya slowly let her go and backed away. Mom’s shoulders shook once. Twice. She went to walk and ended up collapsing forward, pressing her forehead into her mother’s chest. Her fingers clenched the edges of the pedestal, as if trying to hold onto something, anything real, instead of floating adrift in a world suddenly dark and cruel and empty. A low, broken sob escaped her lips, muffled against the stillness of Grandma’s body.
“I wasn’t ready, Mama,” I heard Mom whisper, her voice hoarse and barely audible, but the magic of the dream amplifying it so I could hear her, “I wasn’t ready for you to leave me alone. I wasn’t ready to find a way to go on without you. I wasn’t ready to lose everything.”
Mom wept. She held nothing back, not the agony of watching her mother fade to sickness. Not the disappointment of no miracle coming to save her. Not the pain from realizing that she was about to be an orphan since Sire Kaya had nothing to hold onto now. Not the ache in her heart from already missing the home she was about to lose. Not the anger at the world for taking away her whole world. Not the fear of being alone. Not the guilt she would have for finding happiness without her mother. Not the anguish of words never said, laughter never shared, and dreams that her mother wouldn’t get to see her achieve. Her sorrow lay bare for all to witness. Her wails of mourning echoed not just throughout the mountainside but in every soul.
It could have been a few minutes that we stood as sacred sentinels to her grief, or it could have been eons, but we all gave no sign of restlessness or fatigue. This was the least we could do, the only solace we could provide. This was the only forgiveness the universe could offer. When Mom leaned up from Grandma’s body, she pressed a slow, tender, and trembling kiss to her forehead. Her lips lingered there like she was trying to memorize the warmth and feel of her beyond death.
Then, she stood back. She didn’t wipe her cheeks. She didn’t take her eyes off Grandma as she stepped backwards. Mom didn’t join the crowd, but stood just enough to the front of it to separate herself.
Sire Kaya solemnly took center stage then, her demeanor commanding everyone’s attention as much as her height and the power exuding from her. Her powerful wings trailing behind her were folded like the closing of a book. Her voice carried effortlessly, deep and unwavering.
“Welcome, my dragonborn family and friends, to the Homegoing of Sadie Pierce, mother of Doe Pierce, fated mate to me, the finest chef this enchantment has ever seen, Auntie to all, and the best of this enchantment. As biased as I am, I say that with no embellishment. My sweet torchlight lit the way for many with just her presence alone. Her passing is not the extinguishing of her fire, but the spreading of her warmth across us all. Today, we celebrate and honor the life of this firework of a woman as her body returns home to Nature, and her spirit and soul are released. As I say every homegoing,” Sire Kaya turned to Mom then, as if talking directly to her. “Grieve and miss the departed for they are out of touch, but know that no one is truly gone and out of reach, especially a life well-lived and loved.”
Then, a young dragon-shifter with small wings swirling with orange and bronze approached from the crowd. They drew in a deep breath and released a concentrated stream of fire beneaththe pedestal. The fire caught quickly. It licked up the twigs before wrapping around the pedestal like golden ribbons. Likely from some magic, the grass didn’t scorch and blacken under the pyre.
Someone came around to give everyone a small, soft blue paper lantern. Once everyone had theirs, they lit the candles inside either using their flame magic or by asking for help from a fire dragon. The hot air filled the lanterns, but everyone held tight to them.
Mom stroked the thin, glowing surface in her hands absentmindedly. The blue carnations turned violet under the heat before glowing bright white and orange as the edges of the petals curled inward. Mom didn’t take her eyes from the fire. She didn’t turn around to face the crowd as she cleared her throat.
“My mother,” she began, her voice clear, loud, and thick with emotion, the crackling of the pyre serving as a backdrop supporting her words rather than a distraction from them. “was often mistaken for an air or water dragon. Because of the deep blue of her scales, the way her voice roared like the wind or rippled like waves. But, she wasn’t water or air. She wasfire. Mama was a fire dragon who had blue fire magic. Fire is usually thought to be red, orange, and yellow, but blue is the hottest fire there is. It means the most complete and efficient combustion is present, that fuel and oxygen are burning at their maximum potential. It’s fitting. Mama was always authentic, giving her all to everything and everyone while being a fun, spitfire, but she was never what people expected. She was brighter, stronger, and more brilliant than anyone could imagine. The world mistook her at every turn, but she scorched through their expectations fiercely and beautifully. I hope to have gained a fraction of that light from her.”
The fire had fully engulfed the pedestal now. Mom watched as the flames began their ascent up the gossamer fabric. “Mamalived with passion. She celebrated freedom. She believed in living your truth and trusting yourself unequivocally. Mama instilled in me to never allow anyone to snuff out your inner fire. And, if I was ever unsure, she used to tell me to let the wind guide me, for it was nature’s compass. So, now…”
Mom held the lantern up into the sky.
“We let the wind carry her home.”
She let go.
Mom’s lantern floated upward. The lanterns of the others soon joined. They drifted higher and higher into the clouds, mist, and blue above. Their distant glow reminded me of how some stars in the night sky shine so brightly that you can still see their starlight even millions of light-years after their deaths.
No one is truly gone and out of reach from you, especially a life well-lived and loved.
As the lanterns became impossible to see, the crowd began to disperse. Some lingered and mingled about for a while. Some walked off wordlessly into the trees. Sire Kaya was the last to leave Mom and the pyre. She came close to Mom and kissed her softly on her forehead. Then, she, too, was gone, her wings unfurling like a curtain pulled back from a stage.
By the time the pyre was nothing more than ash, Mom stood alone. She hadn’t looked away from it once. Now, the strain on her face melted away for a fierce resolve to surface. Tears still flowed down her cheeks, but the tightness in her shoulders had eased. At some point, her hands had stopped turning her rings around and fallen to her sides. They were empty, open, and freer than they had been.
As the smoke shifted to gray, Mom ran toward the cliff. She leaped over the edge. Then, she unfurled her wings and allowed the wind to catch her. She flew straight through the rising smoke and into the sky. She didn’t look back.
Not until she stood beside me in her memory, her fiery, sard eyes older, sadder, and wiser.
“You never told me about her,” I whispered, my heart so heavy and full with so much more than I could name. “Or, Sire Kaya. Or, your enchantment. Why?”
