The Pyre

“Go faster.” The order came tersely from the passenger seat.

“Absolutely not,” Sadie laughed. “We’ll get there before the opener even goes o-” Her voice drowned out under the rambunctious howls from the back of the car, singing out-of-tune to a road trip anthem.

“I don’t give a shit about Daytrader, this is for me. Go faster.” The passenger clicked the window button twice, starting the slow roll of the narrow glass into the door’s depths.

Sadie relented, toeing the gas pedal down, speeding up enough to hear the wind slip past the windowsill. “Emma, you better not hang out the fuckin’ window again, I swear to god.”

“Sadie, look at me.”

“I’m watchin’ the road.”

“Sadie, stare me down right now.” Relenting, Sadie turned to see hazel eyes glaring at her. Emma held her arm steady out the window, fingers horizontally aligned with the rearview mirror and her elbow firm against the wind.

“My arm,” Emma raised her hand into a ramp from the knuckles up, “is a dolphin!” Her arm caught the wind and flew above the roof, then swiftly forced itself back down.

The girls broke into hysterics, barely keeping the road in focus. The backseat layabouts rounded out their crying chorus, screaming that this town would be the downfall of them all.

#

A delicate, crystal haze sputters tobacco from the tail-end of a cigarette. Sadie grins, brushing a strand of ruby hair from her eye, taking the cigarette. “You never did get the hang of it, Em.” She takes a brisk drag from the filter and relaxes into the crimson slats of the venue. “Do you remember that ride?” Emma’s translucent figure sits on the wall as if it were a car seat, raising its hand at an incline angle.

Sadie strains out a chuckle, shifting her eyes from Emma’s faint outline to the beer-stained wood beneath her. She dodges the knots superstitiously while tracing an old band sticker with her high tops. “Didn’t we play with this band? I swear I saw this logo on our first tour.” Looking back for confirmation, Sadie finds the haze accompanying her is gone.

“Having a drag before the show? Isn’t that bad for your voice?” Clipboard in hand, with a pen tucked away behind her ear the same way she’s always lost them, Tori is at the door. She takes the cigarette out of Sadie’s hand, pulling it towards her own lips.

“Only if you sing pop. It makes the voice for punk actually,” Sadie mellowly replies as Tori takes a deep inhale and pushes smoke out her nostrils like a tired dragon.

“I thought you stopped smoking.”

Sadie laughs, “This place still has a bunch of old lighters they never sold. It felt fitting to use one.”

“Pre-show ritual right? I remember from those first few tours,” Tori says as she passes the cigarette back.

“Yeah.” Sadie holds the cigarette out to the air once more. Cool air brushes her fingers where Emma should have been, and she pulls it back. “Emma and I would always do a few hits beforehand. That was the extent she smoked.” Sadie flicks the cigarette and twirls her toe on the coughing embers.

“Guessing she was here a second ago?” Tori asks, looking over Sadie’s shoulder towards the empty wall near her.

“Damn, you can sense that?”

“You can sort of feel them. I don’t think I’ve seen a spirit since Justin faded though.”

Sadie folds her arms tight. “Emma’s the first I’ve ever held onto. It’s weird, I didn’t realize how much of her would really be there, ya know? It’s… hard to see her.”

Tori squeezes Sadie’s hand and says, “I feel Justin every now and then.” She leans closer with an impish smirk. “He’s usually floating around when I’m teaching, cause I’ll feel him egging on the class clowns. I’m pretty sure he’s the one scraping the white board too. He always joked he’d haunt me if he went first.”

Above her soft smile, Sadie’s eyes sink. “I can’t feel them. I never know when Emma’s here or not unless I can see her. You ever wonder if their spirits might run out?”

“Run out? I’m pretty sur-”

A sound tech opens the door and puts the two on alert, “We’re almost good to go. Equipment’s all set up and the crowd’s calling for you.”

“Thank you, we’ll be in soon,” Tori assures them. When the door shuts, she tells Sadie, “The only thing left on the checklist is whatever you have in mind for the fire.”

Sadie springs to near-salute, “Fuck, I forgot about the fire. Do we really need it?”

“I genuinely don’t know. It could be symbolic, but most cultures have a sort of fire to help carry the spirit. A lantern, a candle.”

The words make the hairs on Sadie’s neck stand up. “Emma deserves a damn Viking pyre.”

“Get ready, go on stage, I’ll handle the fire.” She goes towards the door, but stops, haphazardly glancing between her clipboard and hands, then feeling around her pockets. “Hey, have you seen my pen?” The faintest wisp appears near Tori’s ear then the pen falls onto her clipboard. “Thanks Justin.”

#

Sweat cascades into Sadie’s eyes like citrus on an open cut. The pit churns with bodies while the gentle giants along the walls sway to the rhythm. Her slightest movement kicks up years worth of dust.

“I can’t see all of you, but I know you’re all friends, family, loved ones. Thank you for such a warm welcome! It’s been a while since we’ve played here, and -” gesturing towards a mic stand nearby with no one at it, “Emma always wanted to come back.”

Bellowing cheers envelop Sadie at the mention of her friend. Staring at the mic stand, she holds for a full rest to see if Emma will rise to meet her call. Facing the crowd alone is new to her and the muscles twitching in her neck are begging her to wait longer. Pushing through her caught throat, she says, “Her spirit is the first I have the honor of holding. I know everyone says that we’re lucky, that we get chosen in their life to continue shining their light after it fades…” A stillness simmers, “This was actually where she got me to crowd surf for the first time in my life.”

#

The battered mess in a black tank top swayed towards Sadie from the front of the pit, screaming, “I saw the setlist! They’re playing Quicksand next!”

Playfully shoving Emma back towards the abyss of bodies, Sadie said, “I’m not doing it, I told you before.”

“You have to, you don’t get what it feels like to be up there.” The bassist struck a chord, fiddling with his tuning pegs.

“And I don’t need to, I’m fine rampaging in the pit.”

“Bullshit, you’re going up there and you’re doing a flip or something.” The vocalist pulled the mic off the stand and wrapped the cord around his right-hand.

“Absolutely not, I’ll end up one of the ghosts hanging around.” Emma’s pout turned to a snarl, and she pulled Sadie’s forehead to hers.

“You have two and a half minutes of pure, unadulterated anger — given form by a slap-happy drum kit and an angsty guitar — to get on that fucking stage and dive off it.” The electric guitar riff chimed in at breakneck pace and the drums started off with a stampede.

Sadie wrested her head from Emma’s thorny grasp, “Not a chance.”

“You’ll thank me one day.” Emma tapped the burly man ahead of her. She unfurled her index finger the way a witch would, “Up.” Shoving Sadie towards the man, Emma slipped away into the pit.

“Justin, no, don’t you dare!” Squatting down, his mind was absent from the task - too engulfed in singing with the rest of the crowd. He hoisted Sadie onto his shoulders like a sandbag.

“Help her up!” Justin called out. A sunflower patch of hands sprang to life, taking Sadie into their care. The chorus gusted across the venue like a summer wind. The crowd pushed her onward, placing her at the base of gales.

Sadie tried to find Emma or Justin in the moshpit, any semblance of her crew to head towards. Beyond the pit, near the back wall, there was a light-blue glow gesturing directly at her. Its hand curled inward, as if beckoning her. At the sight of the figure’s shirt, Sadie lurched forward. All she thought as she leapt from the edge of the stage was how much her dad loved the Ramones — then she was one with the gusts.

Surging past band tees running amok, Sadie raced to Emma’s wry smile. “Well?!” Emma screamed over the bass. “How was it?!”

Lightning fast, Emma’s arm was grabbed and held to the air. Sadie’s other arm was already tapping the shoulder of a stranger in front of them. With wild eyes, Sadie extended her finger to the heavens and demanded “Put us up!”

#

An airy note courses above the crowd as the song settles to its close. Sadie coughs aside the mic, the scratch in her throat crying for relief. “I’m glad to see everybody’s pretty amped tonight! I’m betting Emma’s loving this.” She reaches for the water bottle set by her. Taking two sips, she’s ready for what the setlist demands of her.

“We actually talked about what it’s like to carry someone with you after they're gone,” She rasps out. “I don’t know if Emma ever knew, but I felt like I fucked up that conversation.” She closes her eyes and holds the mic close once more, “So I wrote this song about that feeling.”

#

The bonfire washed the clearing in amber while Emma’s guitar strings danced and Justin nudged the vodka handle into her hand. Wordlessly, she set the guitar down and took a sip from the bottle.

Across the fire, Tori leaned forward and asked softly, “Do you need anything?”

Emma looked up with a scrunched face and sputtered, “Better shit than this.”

Sadie chimed in, “Alyssa loved Vladimir, so that’s what’s on tap tonight.”

“We couldn’t pour this into the dirt for her and get Corona for ourselves?” Emma asked.

Sadie reached across the fire and took the handle from Emma. She sniffed the rim, winced, then took a sip. Immediately, she spat it into the fire, which popped as the liquid hit it. “Jesus, this is jet fuel.” They all laughed as Sadie wiped her tongue with her sweater sleeve.

When the laughter subsided, Emma stood up, red-faced. “I’m gonna find a place to pee real quick,” she announced unconvincingly, heading off towards the treeline.

“Avoid poison ivy!” Justin offered his evergreen advice.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” she called back, disappearing into the twigs and brambles.

It was less than a minute before Sadie was on her feet, “I’m gonna go check on her.”

Loose sticks crackled as Sadie navigated the pine trees, dodging what little shady crooks she could see with the fire’s light. After two branches to the face and a toe stubbing, Emma’s voice finally ached out, “You can stop following me already.”

Huffing into the dirt by Emma, Sadie stated “Not a chance.”

“I didn’t even want to do this. Justin told me there needed to be a fire.” She stiffened her back along the tree. “To help Alyssa’s spirit move on.”

“Oh. I’m so-”

“She left me a carton of American Spirits.”

“What? But you don’t even smoke.”

“Apparently she wanted to have one with me before the first show. Had a note written out about making my voice more punk.”

“I mean, she’s not wrong. You do have that bubbly chirp.”

The whites of Emma’s eyes flared out at the notion, “Hey, people like that chirp!”

“I think Alyssa wanted a reason to spend an important moment with you.”

Emma’s eyes started to fill again. “I know this is supposed to be a celebration, where I share who she was to me, but I don’t know if I’m up for it.”

“Up for what exactly?”

“I don’t know! No one’s explained it to me in a way I understand.” Emma’s head sunk back into her knees as she muttered, “They all keep saying there’s no way to mess it up.”

“Do you see her often?”

“Not really. Last week it was all the time, now it’s less. Right now, she’s sitting at the bonfire laughing with us. It’s almost like she’s still here.”

“That’s creepy as hell.”

“No you don’t get it. It’s not haunting, it’s comforting in a way that hurts. Like her memory’s hugging my brain.” Sadie pulled Emma’s wavering head into the crook of her arm. “Everybody says the feeling comes in waves, but it’s more like a tsunami. She’s crashing into me, taking me down into the sand.”

“Maybe it’s only like that right now. You’re in the high tide and it feels like too much, but that’ll calm down. Then you’ll be able to walk the beach with her at low tide.”

Across the pines, Tori’s yelp whistled by the fire. Emma sat quiet, entranced. Sadie ran her hand through her friend’s hair. For a moment, she swore the strands lit up.

Breaking away from Sadie’s hold, Emma looked directly into her eyes, staring so deeply that Sadie believed she could bore a hole into her skull with the gaze. The teary giggle she let out confused Sadie more. Standing with a renewed vigor, Emma said, “Sometimes, you sound like her.”

Leaves kicked up at the edge of the treeline as Tori ran toward them screaming, “Holy shit, did you guys see those blue things?!”

#

“I’m not ready to let go of her spirit.” The cheers echo again as Sadie steels herself to finish. She glances at Emma’s usual spot. “Guess that’s not really up to me though, is it?”

Steadying herself on the mic stand, Sadie looks from the lurching pit to the drummer and nods. He hits the kick in return as she rips the mic free. She screams into it, “If Emma’s heart brought you here tonight, help me sing this next one!”

The first chord blooms out from the guitarist. Sadie barely creaks out the intro over the lump growing in her throat. Her knees waver, bringing her to heel. Words stutter from Sadie’s chest. “I’m sorry Emma, I couldn’t do it.”

The houselights dim as a cerulean radiance gathers around the lonely mic stand. Flickering flames spark up across the venue as Emma’s spirit effortlessly takes the chorus back. Her voice carries over the sea of lighters, fragments of her spirit breaking loose into the crowd. Each trace of her settles into the hearths they offer. The faint face remaining by the microphone glances towards Sadie and winks as she fades, leaving the room pitch dark.

A hand reaches out to rest on Sadie’s shoulder and her heaving stills. The faintest azure glow reaches the corner of her eye, and the flame sways like it's recovering from the mosh pit. The ember glides across her neck, pulling her head gently back up. The crowd roars to the paling hums of the 6-string and Sadie sees their eyes erupt with a familiar hazel gleam.

The blood vessels in Sadie’s legs rap against her skin. Using the mic stand like a steady lifeline, she pulls herself upright, bellowing, “It’s time for a proper celebration. Let’s play one of Em’s favorites, yeah?”

END

BIO: Victor Benito is a New York-based writer focusing on the connections people build with each other and the ways those relationships influence our spirit. When not writing, he can be found riding his bike across the boroughs, stopping into Mom & Pop game shops, and generally seeking mischief. His work has appeared in Twin Flame Literary, 6x8Press, and the Peace Corps China Rice Paper. He has released two poetry chapbooks, A Silence to Keep You Up at Night and Love, The God of Mischief.

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