{"id":1283,"date":"2012-10-04T01:41:46","date_gmt":"2012-10-04T01:41:46","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/?p=1283"},"modified":"2023-11-04T15:06:31","modified_gmt":"2023-11-04T15:06:31","slug":"a-land-of-deepest-shade","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/?p=1283","title":{"rendered":"A Land of Deepest Shade"},"content":{"rendered":"

It looked like you were pretending, like you could just open your eyes and get up off that table and come home with me. It didn\u2019t show that your back was broken in three places and the rear of your skull was crushed. Get up, Tommy! Stop teasing. Don\u2019t make this be real. Don\u2019t let me hear what they\u2019re trying to tell me.<\/em> But you weren\u2019t teasing and I did hear.<\/p>\n

First minutes after they said you were gone, all I could think of was never ever laughing with you again, never again laying with my forehead pressed against yours, my arms around you, your hands traveling down, and me whispering, \u201cStop! What if Cammie or Jesse wake up?\u201d Funny. First it\u2019s parents we gotta be careful not to wake, then it\u2019s kids. <\/p>\n

But then other thoughts came creeping in. What do I do now? How\u2019s my one job gonna keep a roof over me and the kids\u2019 heads, when you and me couldn\u2019t keep up when we had your job as well? Your two jobs. <\/p>\n

Damn that second job. If you hadn\u2019t of taken that job, maybe you\u2019d still be here. Just until we get out of debt<\/em>, you said. Then I\u2019ll quit<\/em>.<\/p>\n

I love that about you, that you\u2019re honorable like that. But nobody can work day and night and day and night without something giving. Just saying you can do it don\u2019t make it so! Work evenings at Catalano\u2019s and then go out roofing with Nick and Hatim in the morning? No problem, piece of cake!<\/em> You smiled as you said that, but it wore you down, and being tired can be as bad as being drunk. It can make you misstep. Make you fall. <\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do I do now?\u201d <\/p>\n

I said the words out loud. They just kind of fell out of my mouth and into the emergency room. <\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ll need to do an autopsy, and once that\u2019s complete, we can give you a death certificate and you can contact a funeral home,\u201d said the one nurse who was still in the room. <\/p>\n

\u201cA funeral home? I can\u2019t even pay for the ambulance. How can I pay for a funeral?\u201d <\/p>\n

The tears started spilling out of my eyes again. You just can\u2019t be dead, Tommy. It takes way more money to die than we have.<\/em><\/p>\n

The lady gave me a thin blue box of tissues and patted me on the back. \u201cI\u2019m very sorry for your loss, Ms. Macy. You know, the county does have an indigent burial program, at the cemetery on Green Street, if you\u2019re truly without means. You\u2019d have to fill out some forms, and there\u2019s an income check.\u201d She said more stuff, but I wasn\u2019t listening, just caught at the end that she\u2019d be back with more information for me and some papers to sign. Then she left me alone with you. <\/p>\n

You ever been by that cemetery on Green Street? It\u2019s got a chain-link fence around it, and it\u2019s all gravel and weeds in there. No gravestones or statues or nothing like that, just homemade crosses and fake flowers, like people put by the side of the road where somebody\u2019s died in a car crash. All your hard work–and that\u2019s what you come to in the end?<\/p>\n

\u201cDoesn\u2019t seem right, does it.\u201d <\/p>\n

It was an older guy, all dressed up, shiny shoes and a suit jacket. He stuck out a hand.
\n
\n\u201cEverett Mear, Mear Funeral Parlor.\u201d<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t offer mine. He sure showed up fast<\/em>, I was thinking. Does a bell go off in his office every time someone\u2019s pronounced dead?<\/em> I didn\u2019t even have the death certificate yet.<\/p>\n

\u201cI heard what the nurse was saying to you,\u201d he continued. He shook his head. \u201cNo one wants an indigent burial; it\u2019s like throwing away the dead. I can tell by your face that you loved your husband; you don\u2019t want him disposed of like so much rubbish. And it doesn\u2019t have to be like that. Some funeral homes do pro bono work–I do, for instance. I can take care of burial costs for you and see your husband buried with dignity, Mrs. . .?\u201d <\/p>\n

\u201cMacy. I\u2019m Janelle Macy.\u201d I did shake his hand, then. <\/p>\n

\u201cWell, Mrs. Macy, what would you say to burial for your husband in a mahogany casket, in the cemetery on Chestnut Hill, along with transportation from the house of worship of your choice to the burial site–or from my establishment, if you prefer a nonreligious memorial service?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAll that? For free?\u201d <\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s right,\u201d Mr. Mear said. \u201cI can\u2019t make the offer for every unknown decedent or abandoned body, but in the case of a young family in difficult financial circumstances, it seems like the right thing to do. It feels good to be able to bring at least this small comfort at such a hard time.\u201d <\/p>\n

I know I should of been wondering about the catch, but saving you from Green Street, seeing you laid to rest in a pretty place like Chestnut Hill, it seemed like the one thing, the only thing, that I could do for you.<\/p>\n

Mr. Mear was all smiles when he had my answer, and he hurried off to make arrangements with the nurse, leaving me alone with you again. Soon Tommy\u2019ll be gone from me for good. No seeing him ever again, no touching him<\/em>. I couldn\u2019t bear the thought. In the end, what I did was pull out some strands of my hair and some of yours, and I made them both into loops. I put yours on my finger and mine on yours. Just little wisps of hair, not even as much as we clipped from Cammie and Jesse for their baby books, but it was something of you that I could touch, and something of me to sleep with you, forever. <\/p>\n

Couple of days later, Mr. Mear showed me a catalogue of coffins and caskets, and I chose you a fine casket, wood the color of fox fur, with sides as smooth as a mirror. And then it was time to lay you to rest.<\/p>\n

Could you see us, that evening at Chestnut Hill? The place was beautiful, on a slope and facing west, so the shadows of the trees down below pointed right up at where we were gathered, getting longer and longer as the sun went down, like they were longing to touch you too. <\/p>\n

I wanted a few minutes alone by your grave, so your mother took the kids and went on ahead to the reception. Mine shooed the people from Mr. Mear\u2019s funeral parlor away and told them she\u2019d drive me back. That was when the first strange thing happened. This woman came up to me, nobody I knew, a black woman maybe a couple years younger than me, I guess, with hair cut real close to her head. She wore a silver cross round her neck, lots of silver bracelets on her wrists, and an embroidered bag on a long strap hung from her shoulder. She looked at the rectangle of earth beside me and didn\u2019t say nothing for a minute. Then,<\/p>\n

\u201cYour husband?\u201d<\/p>\n

I nodded. <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry.\u201d She took a deep breath, like she was about to say something else, but then she just pressed her lips together real tight and was quiet a while more. Finally, she sighed and said,<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you . . . if you find yourself having trouble sleeping, maybe you want to call me.\u201d She reached into her bag, pulled out a card and pen, scribbled something on the card, then handed it to me. \u201cFairchild School of Dance\u201d was printed on the card, and underneath, \u201cLaurette Sanon, junior instructor.\u201d She\u2019d written in a number under her name.<\/p>\n

By now Ma was glancing at the car, and I knew I had to go. <\/p>\n

\u201cOkay,\u201d I said. \u201cThanks.\u201d Ma opened the passenger-side door, and I climbed in.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can call anytime,\u201d Laurette called, as Ma started the engine and slowly pulled onto the cemetery road. In the rearview mirror I could see Laurette still standing there, getting smaller as the car picked up speed.<\/p>\n

Trouble sleeping? Of course I\u2019ll have trouble sleeping, now that Tommy\u2019s gone,<\/em> I thought, but I\u2019m not gonna call a dance teacher about it<\/em>. But I didn\u2019t throw the card away. I stuck it to the fridge with the bluebird magnet you gave me last spring.<\/p>\n

That night the second strange thing happened. But this part you already know, don\u2019t you. I was laying in bed, just thinking, thinking, when I heard you calling, like you had locked yourself out and needed me to let you in. I turned off the window fan and listened, waiting to hear your voice again, but I didn\u2019t hear nothing more.<\/p>\n

Next night, same thing. I pulled the fan right out of the window, pushed the windowsill up as far as it would go, and stared out at the traffic light at the corner. Green . . . yellow . . . red . . . green. The street was empty. The traffic light was just talking to itself, and you didn\u2019t call again. <\/p>\n

Third night I didn\u2019t go to bed. I took my pillow into the front room, propped it up next to the apartment door, and leaned back against it. I guess eventually I must of started to drift off, but then came your voice, calling. I jumped up, unbolted the door, and rushed down the stairs and out into the street. <\/p>\n

\u201cWhere are you?\u201d I shouted. And suddenly there you were, as real as life, right in front of me.<\/p>\n

\u201cFound you,\u201d you whispered. You grabbed my left hand with a strong, cold grip, and my head started spinning and my breath came uneven, as if it was my neck and not my hand you squeezed. You ran your finger over the ring of your hair that I\u2019d kept right by my wedding band. <\/p>\n

\u201cWhy\u2019d you do it?\u201d you asked me. \u201cWhy?\u201d The look in your eyes! It filled my stomach with ice cubes. Do what? What did I do?<\/em> Before I could say a word, you looked over your shoulder, hearing something I couldn\u2019t hear, and then the empty air just folded around you, and you were gone.<\/p>\n

\u201cMommy?\u201d<\/p>\n

It was Cammie. I must of woken her when I ran out of the apartment, or maybe when I shouted. She was standing there at the front door blinking and squinting, a frown on her face.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey sweetie. Let\u2019s go back inside. I was just having trouble sleeping, that\u2019s all…\u201d <\/p>\n

That moment, I decided I\u2019d call Laurette after all. I went to her place after work. She sat me down and poured us both diet Cokes. There was a bowl of grapes on the table, and little statue of Our Lady holding baby Jesus, both dark skinned, like Laurette, and wearing golden crowns. On the wall was a calendar with a picture of flamingos standing in some water. It was sunset in the picture, and the water was as pink as the birds.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s pretty,\u201d I said. <\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s L\u2019\u00e9tang Saum\u00e2tre,\u201d Laurette said, sitting down across from me. \u201cA lake, a large lake in Haiti. It\u2019s where I come from.\u201d She broke off a couple clusters of grapes and handed me one. \u201cYou been hearing your husband call to you, yeah?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n

I nodded. \u201cAnd he . . . he came to me.\u201d Her eyebrows lifted when I said that. \u201cHe grabbed my hand real tight\u201d–I grabbed hers, to show her–\u201cand then he disappeared.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her eyes lit on the ring of your hair.<\/p>\n

\u201cHis?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n

I nodded and told her how I made them for both of us. She smiled at that.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re smart,\u201d she said. \u201cGood instinct–makes things much easier. You can go directly to him; no need to deal with Mr. Mear at all.\u201d The poison in her voice when she said his name! <\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s Mr. Mear got to do with it?\u201d <\/p>\n

\u201cMr. Mear stole away your husband\u2019s body. That grave at Chestnut Hill is empty. That\u2019s why your husband\u2019s calling you, coming to you–he has no place to rest.\u201d<\/p>\n

It was like a punch in the chest. <\/p>\n

\u201cHe blames me,\u201d I said, feeling sick. \u201cBut I didn\u2019t know! How was I supposed to know? I just wanted- I just didn\u2019t want Tommy to end up in Green Street.\u201d I could feel tears starting to prick in my eyes, so I gulped down some of the Coke. <\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s Mr. Mear want. . .\u201d I couldn\u2019t bring myself to finish the question. A person only steals dead bodies for horrible things.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe heard ghosts make good workers,\u201d Laurette said, voice still poison laced. \u201cThey can work from sundown to sunrise without stopping, and they don\u2019t need no food, no water. What he want workers for, though, I don\u2019t know.\u201d <\/p>\n

\u201cMr. Mear can make them work for him? Make Tommy work for him?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe can\u2019t force them. But the restless dead, trapped between this world and the next? They got nothing but their longing, and they long for so many things. One sip of cool water? A ghost would slave for that. And they\u2019ll work longer and harder for a taste of beer. In Haiti they crave rum. Here, some want whiskey and some want tequila and some want neat gin. And that\u2019s just drink. So if Mr. Mear comes along, knowing just what to offer, how many do you think will turn him down?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s good with his offers, that\u2019s for sure,\u201d I muttered.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, he is,\u201d Laurette said, and her tone made me look up.<\/p>\n

\u201cDid you- Did he offer- Did you lose someone?\u201d I been so focused on me, and us, that I hadn\u2019t stopped to think about Laurette\u2019s story at all. She nodded.<\/p>\n

\u201cLike you. My husband. Mr. Mear\u2019s daughter takes lessons at the studio where I work. When I started teaching, I told the students a little about myself, about where I come from, traditions in Haiti, about dancing . . . Well, some time after that, Mr. Mear come after class, asking to speak to me, asking roundabout questions, very roundabout, but I understood what he really wanted: he was hoping to learn about spirits, ghosts, magic, all that. <\/p>\n

\u201cAnd he says to me, \u2018Anyone back home having trouble coming to the states? Maybe you need help with immigration?\u2019 I don\u2019t know how he knew. Maybe wicked people are just clever at finding weakness. Or maybe he figured that everyone who makes it here has someone they\u2019d like to bring over. But that was our deal. I teach him what I know about ghosts and how to handle them, and he speak to his friends, get them to pull strings, move along on my husband\u2019s application.<\/p>\n

\u201cI waited to hear from lawyers, waited for paperwork . . . finally I asked him, what\u2019s happening? What\u2019s the news? \u2018Oh, bureaucracy, you know, the paperwork\u2019s so complicated, it\u2019s hard after the earthquake, documents lost, INS is incompetent,\u2019 he says. \u2018Tell you what, though: I know someone down south who\u2019s got a boat\u2014we\u2019ll bring your husband here that way and sort out his status later.\u2019\u201d Laurette shook her head. \u201cI knew that was a bad plan, but I was impatient, and Christophe was impatient too.\u201d <\/p>\n

\u201cWhat happened?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cChristophe went to the dock on the arranged day. He had all his money on him, everything for starting a new life here, and thieves jumped him. Where was the man he was supposed to meet? Where was the boat? Delayed, Mr. Mear told me, later. Delayed! Too late for my husband. My mother-in-law called me from the hospital the next day. Christophe died from his injuries. At least he\u2019s safely buried, though. Not a ghost slave for a wicked man.<\/p>\n

\u201cI wanted to kill Mr. Mear,\u201d Laurette said, practically spitting out the words. \u201cBut he was quick and cunning. He took me to court, showed them letters he claimed I sent him, said I made threatening phone calls. The court granted him a restraining order. You see? So if anything happen to him, the police will come to me first. I would have taken revenge anyway,\u201d she added in a low voice, \u201cbut too many depend on me back home. Without the money I send back . . .\u201d She heaved a deep sigh. <\/p>\n

\u201cSo I just watched and waited. Saw him so nobly help two families after car crashes. Another after a drowning, then another–a murder. And I suspect he steals bodies of others, ones who die young and strong, whose families ask for cremation. Easy to hand over ashes–any ashes, who will know?–and keep the bodies. I watched and saw what I saw, but there was never a person I thought I could speak to, until you.\u201d <\/p>\n

She looked straight at me, very serious. \u201cIf I help you put your husband to rest, will you bring down Mr. Mear for me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDamn straight I will.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAll right. First thing is for you to go to your husband, find out what Mr. Mear has set him to do, and where. But you can\u2019t go to him as you are now; you need to go like a ghost yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cReally?\u201d Doubt fluttered up in me.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow else you think you\u2019re going to find him? Say you call him and he come to you, like last night. But then he vanish. How will you follow if you\u2019re not a spirit? Or say you call him, and he don\u2019t answer? As a spirit, you can listen for the echo from your own self, wrapped around his finger.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow about I just go to Chestnut Hill and tell them Tommy\u2019s grave\u2019s empty, get them to dig it up for me? When they find out Mr. Mear\u2019s burying empty caskets, that oughta get him in trouble fast enough.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd how you intend to make them believe you? You going to tell them your husband\u2019s ghost been haunting you? \u2018Poor woman, she\u2019s mad with grief,\u2019\u201d Laurette said, making her voice sound just like the nurse\u2019s at the hospital, like our landlady\u2019s, like Krista and Sandy at work.<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay, then,\u201d I said, swallowing. \u201cHow do I go as a spirit?\u201d She left the room a minute and came back with a little wooden box.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis has poisons in it,\u201d Laurette said, opening it. There were dried bits and pieces inside, shriveled things, flakes of things. \u201cNightshade, wolfsbane, hemlock, destroying angel. Put a pinch in oil and rub it just below your nose before you go to sleep. The scent of the poisons will open the doors of death for your spirit, so it can fly out of your body. So long as you don\u2019t swallow the ointment, the doors will stay open, so your spirit can return again.\u201d Then she unfastened her silver cross and handed it to me.<\/p>\n

\u201cSleep with this around your neck, with the cross right on your lips. When the light of morning hits it, it\u2019ll call to your spirit, reminding it of the resurrection, and you\u2019ll wake.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know about using a cross for magic,\u201d I said, but Laurette just folded her arms and looked at me like I was a kindergartener refusing to get on the school bus.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe Good Lord wants you to rise up every day that\u2019s given to you, and to rise up again at the end of days. You rather find some other way to call your spirit home?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI . . . I guess not.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJust remember two things,\u201d Laurette said, pacing now. \u201cOne, keep your bedroom door shut when your spirit\u2019s traveling. Your body will seem cold and dead, and it won\u2019t do for your children or anyone else to see you like that. Two, if you meet up with Mr. Mear, don\u2019t speak to him. He\u2019s a snake; he\u2019ll strike you. But once you find where he\u2019s keeping the bodies of your husband and the others, then you can crush him with the law. The police won\u2019t listen to me, but they\u2019ll listen to you.\u201d<\/p>\n

For the rest of the day, half of me was trying to push the sun down and the kids into bed, so I could get started with finding you, and the other half was thinking things like Don\u2019t do it<\/em> and What the hell place am I rushing off to, anyway?<\/em> But that was the thing: whatever the hell place it was, it was one I stuck you into. So now I\u2019m gonna pull you out.<\/em> When the strong part of me thought that, the weak part shut right up.<\/p>\n

I locked our bedroom door and lay down on my back on the bed. Some of Laurette\u2019s poison was soaking in cooking oil in a mug on the night table. I rested the cross on my lips, smeared some oily drops under my nose, and breathed deep.<\/p>\n

It felt like someone had poured cement down my windpipe and filled up my lungs with it. I couldn\u2019t take a breath, couldn\u2019t scream, couldn\u2019t lift a finger, though my heart was pounding fit to power a racecar. I struggled with all my might to get up–and then suddenly staggered forward, gasping. A knife blade pain moved from my shoulders down my arms and through my ribs. The marrow in every bone in my body had been replaced with hot coals. I guess you know the feeling; I guess you know it way better than me. I didn\u2019t know it hurt so much to be caught between the land of the living and the sleep of the dead.<\/p>\n

I ran my finger along the ring of your hair and called to you. I heard my own voice come back to me, from faraway, just like Laurette said.<\/p>\n

I started walking in that direction, not out the door or through the window, but somehow into the space between wherever our bedroom is, in the whole wide universe, and where you were laboring.<\/p>\n

First thing I was aware of was someone singing, chain-gang style:<\/p>\n

Tired in my bones but I can\u2019t rest long
\nHow many my crimes that I still ain\u2019t free?
\nWhere\u2019s the green pasture promised me?
\nLord, what\u2019s the devil done to me?
<\/em><\/p>\n

And then my eyes caught up with my ears, and I saw you all, looked to be about twenty of you, all told, ankle deep in mud, working with shovels. They sloshed when they sliced into the ground. I noticed other sounds, too–frogs, some chirping like birds and some with real deep voices, and also bugs, jinglebell crickets and maraca katydids. Behind you, inky black water snaked in and out between little spiky, grass-covered humps and lumps and the thin silhouettes of trees.<\/p>\n

\u201cTommy!\u201d I called again, and you turned.<\/p>\n

\u201cJanelle!\u201d <\/p>\n

There was joy in your face, but it disappeared in an eyeblink. \u201cWhat happened to you? Why are you here?\u201d<\/p>\n

The others had stopped work too and were coming closer.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe the one that put you here?\u201d asked a big guy, fixing me with a stare that made me take a step backward. I was glad you came and stood between us. But the pain when you put your arm around me! I flinched and you recoiled.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not like huggin\u2019 a living girl,\u201d said a skinny guy, laughing a little. \u201cEmbracin\u2019 the dead makes the death pains worse instead of better. But at least you can kiss her all you want without pullin\u2019 the life outta her, seein\u2019 as she\u2019s already here. If you don\u2019t mind the pain, that is. Go ahead. You gonna? I would, if I was you.\u201d<\/p>\n

I would of smacked the leer right off his face, but you were looking so sad, I knew I needed to reassure you, first.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not dead. It\u2019s just temporary. It\u2019s so I can rescue you from all this.\u201d I waved an arm at wherever we were. Some miserable swamp. \u201cWhatever Mr. Mear said, don\u2019t believe it. You don\u2019t gotta work for him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh yes you do,\u201d said the deep-voiced singer. \u201cYou don\u2019t pull your weight, there\u2019s no way we\u2019ll get enough of this done for some gambling. No gambling, no winnings. No winnings, and I\u2019ll spend the first hours of the next shift making you feel some real pain.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s Harrison,\u201d you said. \u201cHe\u2019s the foreman.\u201d<\/p>\n

You took up your shovel and started digging again. I looked around for an extra one, but there weren\u2019t none spare, so I reached down and grabbed up some of that waterlogged mud with my hands and slapped it down where you all were putting what you dug up.<\/p>\n

\u201cMr. Mear can\u2019t really make you work for him,\u201d I said, low, so Harrison and the others wouldn\u2019t hear. \u201cI\u2019m gonna find out where he\u2019s got your body, and then I\u2019ll have you buried for real, and then you won\u2019t be restless like this.\u201d <\/p>\n

\u201cI gotta, Janelle; I signed a contract. He said you owed him six thousand dollars for my casket and funeral, and he could either chase after you with debt collectors or I could work it off.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s a cheating liar,\u201d I said, flinging down another handful of muck. \u201cHe told me he was giving me those things for free.\u201d<\/p>\n

You straightened up, one of those teasing smiles on your face, and said,<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen\u2019s anything like that ever free?\u201d <\/p>\n

\u201cBut he didn\u2019t even really bury you! He stole you!\u201d And then I nearly laughed, because were we actually bickering? Next thing I knew, we were in each other\u2019s arms, clinging to each other, never mind the fire that flared down every nerve when we touched. <\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s see the spade moving, loverboy,\u201d said Harrison, and back to work we went.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is this work, anyway?\u201d I asked. I couldn\u2019t do much without a shovel\u2014more stuff slipped through my fingers than made it to the mound of dirt.<\/p>\n

\u201cDraining a swamp,\u201d you said with a grunt.<\/p>\n

\u201c\u2018Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be brought low,\u2019\u201d said Harrison.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd every stinking swamp\u2019ll become prime real estate,\u201d said one of the others. After that no one talked much; there was just the sound of the shovels and the frogs, and sometimes Harrison, singing, until much later, when the skinny one shouted and pointed. A pale-bright light, like fireflies make, shone in the distance.<\/p>\n

\u201cMr. Mear\u2019s callin\u2019! Let\u2019s go!\u201d All the shovels fell with wet thuds.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey gamble with Mr. Mear,\u201d you said, following after. \u201cHe puts in whiskey shots and they put in time. Everyone loses more than they win. They\u2019ll end up working for him forever, but they don\u2019t care. They think it\u2019s worth it.\u201d <\/p>\n

\u201cYou look like you do, too.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m telling you, Janelle, if I gotta exist like this, it might be. A drink takes the phantom pain away, like the touch of the living does. But he said he\u2019d release me once I paid off the funeral costs, and I don\u2019t want to be stuck here forever. So far I only played once, and that was to win time to see you.\u201d<\/p>\n

We\u2019d come to an open door, a rectangle glowing with the softest light I ever seen. At one end of the room through the door, behind a table, was a shimmering man, beautiful and a little frightening, like I always imagined an angel would be. Two frowning figures, white as chalk, stood on either side of him, arms crossed. <\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s Mr. Mear,\u201d you said. <\/p>\n

I thought I would choke.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat? That\u2019s Mr. Mear? No!\u201d <\/p>\n

But when you said it, I could see it. It was Mr. Mear, but transformed, as if all the power and glory of heaven had dropped down onto his shoulders.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not right! He\u2019s a wicked man, an evil man. How\u2019d he get to be so, so. . . \u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s just cause he\u2019s alive, Janelle. That\u2019s all. All the living look that way. You looked like that, when I saw you by the apartment, only better. You looked a thousand times better than him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTonight\u2019s game is roulette, boys,\u201d Mr. Mear was saying. \u201cEach chip\u2019s worth an hour, and I\u2019ll pay out in bourbon–Keep back, Grady; that\u2019s close enough.\u201d<\/p>\n

Grady–I recognized him as the menacing big guy–had leaned a little too far forward over the table, and the figure on Mr. Mear\u2019s left thrust a bone-white arm between Mr. Mear and him. It glinted in Mr. Mear\u2019s glow, and Grady shrank back.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe won\u2019t let us get too near him,\u201d you whispered. \u201cDoesn\u2019t want us to pull him down to join us. Those bodyguards he got, they\u2019re made of salt. No dead thing can cross them.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMacy, you in?\u201d Mr. Mear asked. \u201cYou want to win another visit with your sweet wife?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNah, I don\u2019t think I\u2019ll be doing that again,\u201d you said, and I did a double take, cause your voice sounded as bitter as on the night you came to the apartment.<\/p>\n

\u201cThen come play to forget about her,\u201d Mr. Mear coaxed. <\/p>\n

\u201cS\u2019okay Mr. Mear. I\u2019m good,\u201d you said, and Mr. Mear\u2019s bright face darkened a little.<\/p>\n

Seemed like no more than three spins of the wheel later that Mr. Mear was clapping his hands and saying it was time to call it a night. He took a step to the left, and I could see a thick, ugly door of rough boards there behind him.<\/p>\n

\u201cSun\u2019ll be up soon,\u201d Mr. Mear said. \u201cTime to rest.\u201d He threw open that door, and out came a horrible smell of spoiled meat so strong I thought I\u2019d puke. And you all started walking toward it.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t go!\u201d I cried, not even thinking of Mr. Mear and whether he would see or hear me. \u201cNot into that!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI have to,\u201d you said, but your voice was so thin, it was barely there. You were barely there.<\/p>\n

And I was barely there. There was a cold blade against my lips. No, not a blade. My eyes opened. The first light of morning was shining through our window, onto Laurette\u2019s cross.<\/p>\n

\u201cMom? Mom?\u201d Jesse\u2019s anxious voice on the other side of the bedroom door. I swung my feet to the floor and stumbled over, opened it. <\/p>\n

\u201cCammie came into my bed,\u201d he said. \u201cShe had bad dreams and called for you, but you didn\u2019t come.\u201d He looked up at me. \u201cAre you okay? You won\u2019t get sick, will you? You look like maybe you\u2019re getting sick.\u201d <\/p>\n

I wrapped my arms around him.<\/p>\n

\u201cI won\u2019t get sick, buddy. I\u2019m here for you.\u201d I squeezed him tight.<\/p>\n

After work, I headed straight to city hall, to the Conservation Commission. Think you can make a fortune off some drained swampland, Mr. Mear? Cause I don\u2019t think so. Tommy\u2019s told me how the developers and contractors gripe about wetlands laws. Those would be the laws you\u2019re breaking, with the labor of my husband and the rest of your ghost slaves. You just wait till I find what wetlands you own. I\u2019ll go straight to the police, and I\u2019ll have not one, but two things to get you for: keeping dead bodies on your property without burying them, and destroying wetlands.<\/em> What a fierce pleasure it was to think on that. You feel it coming, Mr. Mear? It\u2019s your punishment<\/em>.<\/p>\n

It was hard to settle the kids that night. Cammie kept saying she wanted to sleep in my bed, and I ended up snapping at her, saying I needed peace and quiet. She gave me a look that just tore my heart, but what could I do?<\/p>\n

\u201cYou let her come sleep with you again if she\u2019s fretful, okay?\u201d I said to Jesse, and he nodded.<\/p>\n

Alone in the bedroom, I rubbed the poison ointment on and waited for the pangs of death to take hold. Then I went through the between space to where you and the others were. I wrapped my arms around you and you pulled me close, a white-hot razor wire hug. Then we staggered apart, and I showed you the spade that I bought on my way back from city hall and the police station.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m gonna help you,\u201d I said. \u201cWe\u2019ll work side by side, every night, till the police come and shut Mr. Mear down–which won\u2019t be too long, after what I told them today.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJanelle . . .\u201d<\/p>\n

Why\u2019d you look so sad? It was worse than the look Cammie gave me.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t want you to come here.\u201d<\/p>\n

You don\u2019t mean that. Didn\u2019t you just hold me as tight as I held you?<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m worried you\u2019re gonna wear yourself out. I don\u2019t know how you found a way to be here like this, but it can\u2019t be good for you. And I don\u2019t like seeing you like, like . . .\u201d you waved your hand at the others, at yourself. \u201cI\u2019d rather see you alive.\u201d <\/p>\n

\u201cWhat, is she<\/em> back again?\u201d It was Grady, slouching over with narrowed eyes and a sneer.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s it to you? I brought a shovel; I\u2019ll help you dig your stupid ditch,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe more workers, the more progress, and the more time we\u2019ll get to play,\u201d piped up someone else, and Harrison just gave me a silent nod. So we worked, side by side, until Mr. Mear\u2019s light called from what the maps in the Conservation Commission offices said was a hunting cabin.<\/p>\n

This time it was blackjack, and Mr. Mear invited you to play again, and he peered back in our direction when you didn\u2019t come forward.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019re you hiding back there, Macy?\u201d he asked. \u201cOr who<\/em>?\u201d And he actually stepped out from behind his table, the salt guards flanking him.<\/p>\n

\u201cNothing. Nobody. I\u2019ll play,\u201d you said, pushing me out the cabin door. <\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t you come back here tomorrow,\u201d you said to me, voice low and words quick. \u201cI\u2019ll win some time tonight and I\u2019ll come to you. It\u2019ll work out; odds are good with blackjack.\u201d You shut the door and left me to keep the frogs and mosquitoes company until the sun on Laurette\u2019s silver cross called me back to the living.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy do you lock the bedroom door?\u201d Jesse asked me in the morning, though I couldn\u2019t hardly make out the words–he had his face pressed against my stomach and arms wrapped tight around me.<\/p>\n

\u201cI won\u2019t lock it tonight,\u201d I said, and I didn\u2019t: I let the kids climb into bed with me, and when they were asleep, I slipped out to sleep on the couch, to wait for you. But the hours went by, and first the birds started singing and then the early-morning trucks started rumbling past, and you still didn\u2019t come, and then the sun came up and there wasn\u2019t no point in waiting no more.<\/p>\n

I left a message at the police station before going in to work that morning. I wanted to hear if they had investigated that cabin and found you and the others. I wanted to hear if they seen the ditches you all were digging to draw the water out of the swamp. <\/p>\n

All morning I was jumpy and distracted, hoping for a call back. I got a talking to from the manager after lunch break, but still I couldn\u2019t focus on work. Two thoughts kept chasing around in my head: why haven\u2019t the police called back, and why didn\u2019t you come last night? Maybe Mr. Mear found out I been to the police, and he took it out on Tommy<\/em>. But how? What could Mr. Mear do to you? Can a living man harm a dead one? Laurette would know. I texted her, but she didn\u2019t answer. <\/p>\n

Maybe it\u2019s not so bad. Maybe Tommy just didn\u2019t get a winning hand, and that\u2019s why he couldn\u2019t come<\/em>. And that was the way the day crawled by, my thoughts tumbling over each other, and that was why, after dinner, I told the kids I needed to sleep alone again. <\/p>\n

But before I lay down and locked the door, a idea came to me. If it was drink Mr. Mear was using as a lure and a chain, what if I brought everyone some? Maybe I could launch a ghost strike, give Mr. Mear some grief in the spirit world, until the police caught up with him in the waking one. At least I could take away everybody\u2019s phantom pain. I grabbed a couple bottles of vodka from our sin cupboard, then shut myself up in the bedroom. I smeared on the poison, let the cement fill my lungs. Soon I was at your side, but you weren\u2019t in the mood for hugs. <\/p>\n

\u201cJanelle, you shouldn\u2019t be here; you gotta get outta here,\u201d you said, casting glances at the others. Grady was watching us, arms crossed, and the rest were staring too. You pulled me away from the ditch and behind a swamp maple.<\/p>\n

\u201cYesterday, when Mr. Mear was dealing the cards, Grady told him about you coming here. Harrison stuck up for you, said you took up a spade alongside the rest of us, but Mr. Mear didn\u2019t even hear him, just turned to me and said, \u2018It\u2019s your wife, then, that\u2019s been trying to make trouble for me. I can\u2019t have that.\u2019 He was steamed. You gotta leave–I don\u2019t want him to find you here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo he\u2019s steamed, so what? What\u2019s he gonna do to me? Or you, or any of the others here? If he tries to touch you, it\u2019s him that gets hurt, right? That\u2019s what he\u2019s got those bodyguards for, I thought.\u201d<\/p>\n

A deep laugh interrupted me. It was Harrison. Him and the others had come over; they were standing in a half circle around the swamp maple.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not what he might do; it\u2019s what he might not do. He might decide never to let them rest,\u201d Harrison said, with a nod toward everyone else. \u201cHe might just let\u2019m rot out here, leave them stranded here. Forever.\u201d <\/p>\n

\u201cThem? What do you mean them<\/em>? You different?\u201d Just asking the question filled me with dread.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, I am different, little girl. I met my death in this swamp long before you was born. Been wandering here ever since. I ain\u2019t never gonna rest now–who knows where my bones lie? Not even me. But you know who\u2019s offered me relief? Mr. Mear. I came up to him when he set the first three boys to work. Asked him to take me too, said I\u2019d keep the boys in line if he\u2019d share a couple sips of that bright fire water.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI got some of that stuff,\u201d I said, seizing my chance. \u201cAnd I\u2019ll share it with you. With everyone. Here.\u201d I held out the bottles, and the others drew nearer, moths to a flame. Harrison took a swig from one and sighed a sigh like chains falling to the ground.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s not all,\u201d I continued, talking fast, \u201cI know where Mr. Mear\u2019s got everyone\u2019s bodies, in the waking world. I\u2019m gonna make sure everyone\u2019s buried the way they should be, so they can rest in peace. So you see, no one needs to do nothing for Mr. Mear if they don\u2019t want to.\u201d<\/p>\n

Cheers went up, but I couldn\u2019t tell whether it was for the promise of getting free of Mr. Mear or just for the drink. Harrison still looked long faced, though. Of course: what\u2019s one night\u2019s celebration to him? What happens after this? Everyone else laid to rest, and him still left wandering here.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll make the police search the swamp for your body, too,\u201d I said to him. \u201cAnd if they can\u2019t find it, I\u2019ll save up money until I can buy a stone for you, and even though it\u2019s trespassing, I\u2019ll find a way to put it here. I won\u2019t let you be forgotten.\u201d It was all I could offer, but it was enough to make Harrison smile.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have a fine wife, Macy,\u201d he said. He started humming a tune, then singing the words, and soon everyone was joining in for the chorus.<\/p>\n


\nCome swift the hour of freedom and release
\nDelight my aching heart, my joy increase.<\/em><\/p>\n

With a swallow of vodka I could kiss you and there was no pain at all. We could touch like we did in the living world; we could dance. It was better than my wildest hope–I never thought I was gonna bring you back to the living, but for those hours, it was like I had. And it wasn\u2019t just you. The others seemed this close<\/em> to alive again, too, as if even the rising sun couldn\u2019t force you all back to the prisons of your rotting bodies.<\/p>\n

But if drink was all it took to raise the dead, there wouldn\u2019t be nobody left sleeping in graveyards. There came a moment when the carousing stopped and everyone\u2019s smiles faded.<\/p>\n

\u201cJanelle . . .\u201d Your voice was a choked whisper, and your eyes looked right past me.<\/p>\n

I turned round. It was Mr. Mear, coming toward us from the hunting cabin, a bodyguard on either side. <\/p>\n

\u201cMrs. Macy. I thought I might find you here. You sure do have your heart set on plaguing me, don\u2019t you,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd this after the nice funeral I gave your husband. I guess it\u2019s like they always say: no good deed goes unpunished. Here, Alvarez, I\u2019ll take that.\u201d<\/p>\n

The guy holding the remaining bottle of vodka handed it to him. Mr. Mear took a sip and made a face.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is garbage; is this what you\u2019re offering?\u201d He emptied what was left onto the ground. \u201cDon\u2019t fret, boys. I have much better stuff for you. You stick by me; I\u2019ll stick by you. Hell, I\u2019ll even offer you some, Mrs. Macy, if you apologize for the headache you caused me and ask nicely.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHell to you too, Mr. Mear. I hope I give you more than headaches; I hope I give you jail time.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo I gathered from Dick at the Conservation Commission. \u2018Everett,\u2019 he says to me, \u2018You\u2019re not thinking of tampering with that land of yours, are you? You know it\u2019s illegal to drain wetlands.\u2019 <\/p>\n

\u201c\u2018Come on, Dick, what do you take me for?\u2019 I said. \u2018Even if I were fool enough to entertain the idea, have you seen the road to the hunting cabin? It\u2019s barely more than a track for quads. You couldn\u2019t get equipment up there without some serious clearing–or do you imagine I\u2019d try tackling the job with my bare hands?\u2019 We both had a good laugh.\u201d He paused, and his eyes lingered on the ditches you guys been working on, and the mounds of earth. <\/p>\n

\u201cWhen I get done here,\u201d he said softly, \u201cand I finally do call people in to do a field survey, they\u2019ll realize that the old assessments must have been mistaken.\u201d He glanced my way.<\/p>\n

\u201cDick told me some woman had been by, saying I was breaking the law. \u2018Who, that Haitian girl? Cause she\u2019s just crazy,\u2019 I said. And he said no, and described you. And all I can say is, it\u2019s a shame you came to this end. Your poor children.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSave your sympathy. I\u2019m not dead just yet, thank you very much. I\u2019ll be rising up at first light.\u201d<\/p>\n

He shook his head.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, I don\u2019t think so. I took the liberty of dropping by your place this evening, before coming here. I wanted to chat with you about your visit to the Conservation Commission. Your little boy buzzed me in. Such solemn eyes on someone so young! He said you\u2019d locked your bedroom door, and that you didn\u2019t answer, even when he banged real hard on it. I got the door open and we found you, still and cold, a mug of something nasty on the night table beside you. We called the ambulance, but it was too late.\u201d<\/p>\n

Panic whirlwinded up in me, fanning the phantom pain to white hot; I could barely stand.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. No, you\u2019re wrong. It\u2019s only temporary. I–\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSure looked permanent to me, and to the paramedics. In any case, if it\u2019s not now, it will be when the medical examiner gets in and takes a knife to you for the autopsy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll wake up before that.\u201d So hard for me to get the words out, with fear constricting my heart and turning my tongue to sand in my mouth. \u201cAt dawn–the light on the silver cross\u2019ll–\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThis silver cross?\u201d He pulled Laurette\u2019s cross from his pocket.<\/p>\n

My legs gave out on me. I was down on my knees in the mud, tears rising in my eyes and a sob rising in my throat–for our babies, for you and me, for how wrong it is that the Mr. Mears of the world prosper while the Tommys and Laurettes and Janelles are left to struggle and weep. Guess it was all too much for you, too: I heard you roar, felt you rush past me, trying to get your hands on Mr. Mear, but of course those salt guards pushed you away, and right back against the swamp maple, pinning you there with their crystal hands, and at their touch you writhed and screamed. All the other guys shrank well back–scared, helpless ghosts. <\/p>\n

\u201cTry something like that again, Macy, and I\u2019ll dump your stinking corpse someplace so godforsaken that you\u2019ll never find another soul to haunt,\u201d Mr. Mear said. <\/p>\n

I pulled myself to my feet, feeling nothing but flames and fire. <\/p>\n

Mr. Mear turned his radiance my way.<\/p>\n

\u201cI want you both to understand something,\u201d he said. \u201cYou can try my patience to the breaking point, but you can\u2019t actually do anything to me, whereas I have the power to make your waking hours torture, or\u201d–he waved the bodyguards back, and you crumpled down at the base of the swamp maple–\u201cif you promise to behave, I can be generous. I won\u2019t hold a grudge. I\u2019ll let you work here, both of you, so long as you stay in line. Once I feel confident you won\u2019t act up, I can let you play for time to look in on your kids. How\u2019s that sound?\u201d<\/p>\n

I couldn\u2019t let him win. Even if he had.<\/p>\n

\u201cSounds like empty promises, seeing as you\u2019ll be as dead as us pretty soon, if you don\u2019t call 911,\u201d I said–a desperate lie.<\/p>\n

He just laughed. It was kerosene for my rage.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe vodka. You said it was garbage, but it\u2019s worse\u2019n that. It\u2019s poison. I put some of Laurette\u2019s special mixture in, cause I was hoping a greedy bastard like you might steal a swig. And see, the way that stuff works is, if you keep it on the outside of you, it won\u2019t kill you, but if you drink it, you\u2019re definitely gonna die.\u201d <\/p>\n

How I wished it was true! I wished so hard, I could almost remember pouring the oily mix into the mouths of the bottles.<\/p>\n

\u201cI spilled some on the bed,\u201d I said, \u201cbut most of it went in. That\u2019s why you found the mug nearly empty. That\u2019s why there\u2019s grease marks on the bottle labels.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t remember the mug being nearly empty,\u201d Mr. Mear muttered, turning the bottle round and squinting at the label. When his eyes met mine again, I could see a little seed of fear had sprouted in him.<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe if you call an ambulance, they can pump your stomach or something,\u201d I said. \u201cOf course, then they\u2019ll find the bodies you got stashed here.\u201d<\/p>\n

He flung the bottle down.<\/p>\n

\u201cI won\u2019t do that,\u201d he said though gritted teeth, but his hand strayed toward his pocket.<\/p>\n

The sky was getting pale, and the leaves of the trees were turning from shades and shadows to green, and you and the others started drifting toward the cabin. Me, I could feel myself tugged in a different direction.<\/p>\n

But something was flashing down beyond the cabin, blue and white lights, so bright, coming nearer. The police, after all? How?<\/p>\n

\u201cGuess you been found out anyway,\u201d I said to Mr. Mear, but I didn\u2019t have a chance to gloat. I was moving through nowhere space, back to where my body lay, and I knew without Laurette\u2019s cross to call me to waking, I\u2019d slip right into death, for permanent.<\/p>\n

So what\u2019s this thin, cold weight here on my lips? How are my eyes opening?<\/em><\/p>\n

Above me, I saw Laurette\u2019s face; behind her, the bags, tubes, and displays of hospital stuff. My hand went to my mouth, and my fingers closed round a silver cross.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut Mr. Mear had it,\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou think I have just one? I got your text yesterday, but by the time I was free to call, it was very late. Your mother answered. I could barely catch her words through her tears, but when I understood what happened, I called the police. They had to act–too strange for a woman who accuses a man of a crime to be found dead by him. Then I came here, and when I saw the cross been taken from you, I replaced it with the one I was wearing.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut the light of morning? There\u2019s no windows in here.\u201d<\/p>\n

She smiled and held out a compact mirror.<\/p>\n

\u201cI brought that, too. Every Sunday I catch the first light in my mirror. It\u2019s good medicine. Open up the compact, and the light shines out.\u201d<\/p>\n

I took a deep breath. Slowly in, slowly out. I pushed myself to sitting, felt my heart beating. <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d be dead if it wasn\u2019t for you. My babies would be orphans.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI was the one who put you in harm\u2019s way in the first place.\u201d<\/p>\n

I shook my head. \u201cYou helped me rescue my husband and the others.\u201d Harrison too<\/em>, I thought. I gotta tell the police about Harrison.<\/em> \u201cMr. Mear will go to jail, and the dead will rest in peace.\u201d <\/p>\n

My heart ached as I said that. No more meeting you, Tommy, not till my time really does come. I just gotta bear it. And maybe Green Street\u2019ll be your resting place, after all, but if it is, I gotta bear that, too. I\u2019ll plant flowers there, real ones, and water them. I\u2019ll make your patch of ground prettier than a garden, and I\u2019ll go there and sit in among the flowers, to be near to you.<\/p>\n

Laurette offered me a hand, and I hopped down from the table. She put an arm around my shoulders–so warm. <\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s go show the doctors this miracle, and then take you home to your mother and your children,\u201d she said. I wiped my eyes and nodded, and we headed out into the new day.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

It looked like you were pretending, like you could just open your eyes and get up off that table and come home with me. It didn\u2019t show that your back was broken in three places and the rear of your skull was crushed. Get up, Tommy! Stop teasing. Don\u2019t make this be real. Don\u2019t let …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":85,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[21,135],"tags":[1342,136],"class_list":["post-1283","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-slipstream","category-tcl-4-summer-2012","tag-slipstream","tag-the-colored-lens-4-summer-2012","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1283","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/85"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1283"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1283\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":139705,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1283\/revisions\/139705"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1283"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1283"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1283"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}