My sister looks at me, tugging on my sleeve.
“It’s getting dark.”
I feel her hands shaking in mine. I see the last rays of daylight trickling through the dull shroud of trees. I see the trail ahead curving into a thicket, out of sight. It’s been seven hours since we left, and we have so much more walking to do. With every move I make, weight pulls my body to the ground – weight of food, water, and wishes of my parents. My sister is hardly prepared, wearing shiny mary-janes and her favorite blue dress. I’m hardly prepared, only seventeen and yet responsible for the safety of the both of us. I want her to feel safe and happy, but I don’t know if I even feel that. The air around us hangs heavily with the smell of smoke and dogwood. She twists her fingers in my hand, familiar eyes meeting mine, and I gently brush her shoulders.
“We’ll be alright,” I remark, but her eyes well with tears. She grabs my blue jeans and jumps to hang from my side. In response, I rest my hand on her back,“You’re going to be just fine.”
The wind whistles through the wood, alerting a murder of crows that explodes out of a faraway tree. They caw together in a cacophony of madness as they disappear behind the horizon. A distant howl pierces through their chant. The first day of our journey is ending.
“How much days ‘till we get there?” she asks.
I’m not quite sure – at this pace it could be weeks until we see the town. But I answer, to calm her down, “Three days. We’ll be there soon.”
“You said we’d be there by now.” Hot tears stream down her face and I flinch. Another broken promise.
I’m sorry. But I don’t say that to her. I simply stare into the distance and slow my breathing. The air is colder, biting my nose as I inhale. Out of the silence emerges a single chirp, which is soon followed by another. A chorus of insects starts to sing, their rattling voices crescendo in harmony. Soon, the forest is engulfed in music. I hear a shrill scream from beside me.
“What is it? Are you ok?” I demand, and crouch down to her level.
“This thing landed on me!”
“Let me see.”
She points to a spindly brown body on the hem of her dress. I take it and cup it in my hands. It has beady red eyes and six spiky arms. Not anything to scream about, but I would have reacted the same at her age.
“Don’t worry,” I say, and lower the creature towards her. She hesitantly peeks at it through her fingers, and holds back her gag reflex. The creature lets out a chirp.
“This is a Cicada,” I tell her, “He’s singing with his friends tonight. Can you hear them?”
She nods and wipes tears from her eyes. The cicada rubs its wings together, chirping again.
I continue, “Isn’t his voice so pretty?”
She wavers, “It’s scary.”
I sigh and shake my head, but I know she’s just a kid.
“Let me tell you a story,” I say, “They spend their entire early life alone, underground.”
“That’s so sad!”
“I know.” I add, “But after seventeen years of growing, when they finally reach adulthood, they emerge one summer night and see the world for the first time. And then they sing.”
She loosens her shoulder and reaches her hand out to the creature.
“Be careful,” I warn, “He’s fragile.”
She frowns and puts her arm back to her side.
“Do you think they’re scared?” she asks me.
“Scared about what?”
“Coming up to see the world, for the first time.”
I consider it, “Maybe they are.”
I watch as the sky darkens, as the very last shred of light sinks below the horizon. I see stars reveal in cloudy bands. The cicadas continue their song and I notice layers of harmonies within it. I wonder how they’ve coordinated everything, how they know exactly what to do when they finally reach adulthood. Maybe they were scared, at least at first. But they had to come up, just as every other cicada had to. And everything ended up just fine.
I turn my attention back to my sister, and I notice she’s pacing in circles around me.
I crouch and point at the sky, “Look, can you see the stars?”
She stares up, “Wow! There are so many!”
She doesn’t seem to be afraid anymore, so why am I still so anxious? I take a deep breath, attempting to focus on my surroundings. As the wind rustles through the grass, a cloud of fireflies starts to twinkle. The night is fully here, and although it’s cold, it feels refreshing.
“They need to be brave!” she exclaims, out of the blue.
“Who does?” I ask, knotting my brows together.
“The cicadas! If they’re too scared to leave the ground, they’ll never see the stars!”
“You’re right,” I respond, then look down to the creature in my hand, “Let’s let our little friend go.”
I place the cicada onto a leaf, surrounded by others of its kind. The music swells with no clear melody, yet it seems to be perfectly composed. I look at the trail and see that she’s getting far ahead of me. I ask, “Why are you walking so fast?”
She whirls around, her voice sing-songey, “Because now I’m ready to keep going. Are you?”
I nod, “Yeah, I think so.”
“Good. It’s so pretty out here.”
Seed pods fall from the canopy arched above my head. Cool air rushes forwards from behind my back. I smile, then take a step into the night.