by Madison Cavicchia

Winter

Joy got up early every Christmas morning to watch the sunrise. This year wasn’t any
different, except Joy didn’t wake up today because she had never gone to sleep. When the
nightmares started, she vowed to keep her body awake as long as she possibly could. She didn’t
want to see everything go dark behind her eyelids and worry about when they would decide to
open again, if they did decide to open again. She wasn’t sure if anyone had control over that
anymore — when they awoke and when they became droopy and fell, wilted as a sunflower
plucked from the earth too soon. And what happens after the fall?

There was no smiling sun to greet her today, nor her parents, usually up by 6 am and
brewing coffee beans, the scent tiptoeing across floorboards and into her bedroom. They were
still upstairs, brooding opposite their daughter — asleep. This season came thirsty for blood
and drained the life from their bones, finding Joy and biting her, too. If she closed her eyes too
long, she could still see the outline of gnawing teeth marks, glowing red.

It never used to be this way.

Joy peered out the living room bay window. What was left of the chilled December air
had swept itself into a cloudy grey mess, making the snow-covered ground look extra frosted
and bitter. She shivered; even inside and underneath her pajamas and robe, Joy still felt cold.

She stepped away from the front window of her parent’ss’ living room. Her neck felt
stiff, and she had a slight headache. It was strange to be back in her childhood home after
several years of college and occupations across the country, but she was going to have to get
used to the jolting change in scenery. At least, she must get used to it for a little while — until
the dust settled and everything went back to normal. Maybe not normal and maybe not back;
just until all of this went. . . somewhere.

Joy glanced at the piano beside her. The lack of outdoor sunshine made it appear as
though the instrument was grey and decaying. This Christmas, the house would be silent. Even
though the flowered wallpaper and old family photographs in picture frames cried out for
music, there would be none today. Her eyes darted, fixating on the lamp fixture beside the
couch, an object of distraction, feeding her recent inclination toward numbness. For a brief
moment, Joy was entranced, feet planted to the floor and brain floating upward toward light
static — oblivion.

She couldn’t help it. Joy glanced over at the piano again; she told him to be careful,
driving so late at night.

Why didn’t he listen?

Spring

Joy took one quick look around the kitchen —  empty shelves, little white take-out
boxes decorating the countertops, dishes piled into ceramic mountains — and volunteered to
go grocery shopping this week. Her parents didn’t object. She knew they were tired, too, and
she wanted to help, give them some kind of relief, take something (no matter how small) off of
their plate. Her parents were grateful yet surprised by the offer; Joy hadn’t left the house
in weeks.

The automatic double doors opened to a building bustling with mazes of people all
zipping and pushing their carts in different directions, faces glued to their grocery lists. Feeling
overwhelmed, Joy looked down at her own list and read aloud the first item written in her
mother’s shaky cursive:

“Strawberries.”

She took a deep breath and migrated past the bakery items toward the fresh produce
section. There were several options to choose from. Thinking of her father, Joy decided on the
cheapest brand. She touched the plastic carton and felt dizzy, her mind transporting her to a
memory at her grandmother’s house twelve years ago.

“Be back before lunchtime!” Joy heard her grandmother’s voice echo from the front
porch, as she and her younger brother Cyrus waddled down the hillside, small metal pails in
each hand. Their grandmother lived on a modest farm in southern California, and near the end
of every April, Joy and Cyrus had the delicious task of picking strawberries to be baked into a
golden pie.

“I bet I can pick more strawberries than you can,” Joy teased.

Cyrus shook his head. “Not true! Last year I filled my buckets up way before you did.”

Joy always admired that about him. Cyrus had never shied away from a challenge; until
the end, he believed in himself without abandon.

After this banter, the two decided the only way to crown the best berry picker was to
make it a competition. Grandmother was the judge. She would count each individual
strawberry and decide on the winner. The winner, of course, would get the largest slice
of pie for dessert.

The siblings arrived at the strawberry patch and parted ways, eager to prove the other
wrong. The air smelt of earthy dirt and sweet mint wafting from the next field over. Joy began
to inspect each berry, grabbing only the largest, hoping to fill her buckets fast. She left the little
buds that were not yet developed, still white and waiting to be pollinated. Her short brown hair
gleamed in the midday sun. Joy’s mother had just cut it a few days prior. She was unsure if she
liked the feeling of keratin ends tickling her neck and shoulders, but Cyrus thought it looked
almost magical, the way it was free to bounce and blow in the wind, no longer weighed down
or tied back in braids.

Where was Cyrus? She hadn’t seen him in a while, and there were only so many hiding
spots in this area. Joy wandered up and down lines of strawberry plants when she heard a
rustling sound behind her. She turned around and squinted her eyes until she saw Cyrus sitting
on the ground, nestled in between two bushes, munching on the tart berries.

“Does this mean I won?” Joy asked, startling Cyrus. He scrunched his nose.

“Actually, I changed the rules.” Cyrus had a smug expression on his face. “Whoever
eats the most strawberries is the winner now.”

Joy smiled. “Let’s call a truce.”

“Okay,” he replied, taking another bite of fruit.

Joy sat down next to her brother and began to tuck into her own strawberry stash.
Then they made the trek back up the hill, returning to their grandmother with half-empty
buckets and red-stained smiles.

“Ma’am, are you alright?”

Joy blinked as she left her trance-like state. Her eyes burned from the fluorescent store
lights. Her ears were ringing. She looked over her left shoulder and saw an older gentleman in
a plaid, buttoned shirt staring at her, a look of concern cast over his face.

“Are you alright?” He asked again. “You’ve been standing here for quite some time. Did you need help —”

“No, I’m okay,” Joy interrupted. “Just a little distracted, that’s all. Sorry. I’ll get out of
your way.” She snatched the strawberry carton to put in her cart and scurried to a different
aisle, leaving the confused man standing amongst the produce.

Summer

Joy’s parents had gone back to work. Bored, Joy felt a sudden urge to clean. She tied
back the dark hair that now cascaded toward her abdomen and began in the living room,
picking up a pair of brown chunky sandals and placing them with the rest of her shoes,
underneath the entryway bench by the front door in the living room. She wore them on a date
with Charlie last week. She noticed him while she was out walking around the neighborhood,
and they talked for a while, catching up. They hadn’t seen each other since Joy graduated from
high school. Charlie used to sit next to her in algebra, and she had to lend him pencils almost
every class. She knew she’d never get them back.

Charlie asked her to dinner, and — caught off guard — Joy said yes. They went to a
small restaurant on the other side of town and continued to converse. When he mentioned
Cyrus, she stood up and left.

Joy grabbed the duster from the kitchen pantry and walked back into the living room
to gloss over end tables and the fireplace mantle, stopping at the piano hidden in the corner.
She pondered whether she could even touch it again, let alone spend time wiping away the
grime from its wooden exterior.

Cyrus took lessons because of her. When they were younger, Joy begged her mother to
let her play an instrument for months, and eventually, she gave in, coming home from work
one afternoon with a small keyboard. Joy marveled at the opportunity that lay in her eight-
year-old hands and brought it upstairs to her bedroom. As she began to play a few scattered
notes, a little face appeared in the doorway.

“What’s that?” Cyrus asked his older sister, curiosity piqued.

“It’s a little piano. Isn’t that cool?” Joy said. She showed off the newfound prized
possession and then turned back around, banging more keys.

“Yeah,” Cyrus responded. His big brown eyes grew even wider, as he continued to
watch her play.

A stout and kind-hearted woman from church named Miss Carol would come over
every Wednesday at 4 pm to teach Joy scales and chords and little songs. She looked forward
to seeing the silver car pull into the driveway each week. After a few lessons, Joy’s mother saw
that her daughter appeared serious about her musical venture. She invested in a larger, wooden
piano, the same instrument that Joy now stood in front of, duster in hand. As Joy’s time with
Miss Carol continued, they began to notice a visitor watching them from afar. When his
mother wasn’t looking, Cyrus would sneak into the living room to listen to his sister play. One
day, Miss Carol caught him peering from the hallway and asked if he’d like to join.

“You’re gonna take up all of my time with Miss Carol!” Joy protested.

Miss Carol replied in a patient tone, “Joy, dear, we can still share plenty of time
together. I’m not going anywhere. In fact, if your brother wants to learn to play too, I’m sure I
could extend my visits here,” she winked at Cyrus. Joy huffed but conceded, hiding her
excitement that Miss Carol would get to stay at her house even longer now.

So, Cyrus began lessons too, and Joy learned to cherish the time they spent sitting
together on the piano bench, bonding them even closer than they already were. Eventually,
Joy’s ambition fizzled out, and she quit. But Cyrus continued to soar. She beamed with pride in
every recital audience watching her little brother’s passion and talent unfold. Sometimes at
home, he would convince Joy to play songs with him again — late at night, when nobody else
was listening.

Maybe I should call her, Joy pondered, still thinking about Miss Carol. The last time she
saw her was at Cyrus’s funeral about seven months ago. She recalled her warm embrace and
her soft, tearful voice whispering, “It’s a real shame; he was such a light,” into Joy’s ear. He was
such a light. Joy felt her chest tighten and tried to take long, slow breaths, something she learned
to do in moments like these from her therapist. She decided against the phone call, walking
away from the untouched instrument to clean the window sills.

Fall

Joy stood in front of the bathroom mirror, holding an old pair of red craft scissors in
her right hand. She already had her hair parted into two pigtails, bound by pink elastic ties. She
raised her shaky hand so the blade sat just above her left shoulder and stared, concentrating on
making sure the line she cut would be as straight as possible. In quick motions, the scissors
opened and closed, creating muffled crunching sounds from the metallic against each dark
strand. Joy found the noise oddly satisfying and continued chopping until she cut all the way
through. She paused for a moment, looking at her lopsided self in the mirror before moving
on to continue her work on the other side of her face, severing the final ponytail with gusto. It
fell from her scalp like dead weight, and Joy witnessed it all go down in clumps decorating the
marbled sink.

Her head felt lighter. Everything felt lighter.

Winter

Embers spat and popped from the dwindling fire, and twinkling lights decorated a
large pine tree displayed in the living room. It was Christmas again, and Joy and her parents
had spent the day lounging and preparing for a small dinner feast. Joy and her mother crafted a
delicious spread of side dishes: golden roasted potatoes, fresh green beans sautéed in garlic and
butter, and a rich gravy sauce for the turkey Joy’s father broiled that morning. With the table
set, they dug into their plates in comfortable silence. For dessert, they shared slices of
strawberry pie, Cyrus’s favorite.

Hours had passed since the meal, and Joy’s parents had gone off to bed early, still tired.
Joy was left to sit alone in the living room. She found herself staring at the piano.

She stared for so long that her eyes forced her to go back in time. Joy saw herself and
Cyrus on the first Christmas since the two began piano lessons. They had been so proud to
show off their newfound skill, begging Miss Carol to find a festive duet to play for their
parents. Miss Carol picked “Silent Night.” Joy could almost hear her and her brother’s small
hands stumble through the first few notes while they sat next to each other on the piano stool.
She blinked and was thrust back into the present moment. Her fingers ached.

Joy stood up and walked over to the instrument. She sat down and pried open the
dusty key lid, listening to it creak as she pushed it up and away from herself. She traced her
fingers over the keys, careful not to touch them with too much force. Joy culminated the
courage to press down on a white key: C. The note resonated throughout the living room
followed by a moment of silence. Then, Joy played another tender note, and another, filling the
space with noise. Eventually, these sounds took intrinsic shape, molding into “Silent Night.”
Joy played the song over and over again, waking up the piano. She closed her eyes and held
them shut for a long time. Then, she opened them. The gnawing marks were still there; they
would always be. These scratches that cradled past heartache had faded to permanent scars,
but their red glow was beginning to subside, looking almost pink.

She felt like she could finally breathe again.

Outside, a sunset peaked into the window beside the piano, warming up the black and
white keys and Joy’s skin. It glossed over the atmosphere, reflecting soft pastel hues in each
individual crystal of peaceful white snow that lay outside in the blistering cold; earth’s cozy
blanket from heaven. As the dark of midnight enveloped the sky, Joy continued to play.