18 June 2013

Short Story number 8

Short Story number 8: Inspired by the song «You will become» by Glen Hansard from the solo album Rhythm and Repose.

The summer sun had just initiated the temporary descent from its glorious throne, leaving behind its majestic luminous mantle, until it finally faded beyond the visible horizon. The brightness and splendor of daylight began to slowly subside into an explosion of colours, tingeing every surface with an almost ethereal golden glow of yellowish and reddish tones, scattering its softness everywhere, revealing a new perspective of the ordinary or unveiling hidden details of the common, unexpectedly painting a surprising portrait of the usual.
            As nature took its course, creating an infinity of magic moments, that unfolded, only before the eyes of those willing to see, the shadows generated by the last rays of sun paved the wood floor of the hallway, with a succession of never-ending and ever changing patterns and shapes.
Suddenly, the sound of her energetic footsteps filled the air, disturbing the peace of the enchanted atmosphere. It was laundry day and as a mother of two, she briskly went through every room in the house, submitting to the scrutiny of her critical eye, every doubtful item of clothing or similar, which having failed to meet her strict cleaning standards, was efficiently subtracted from its functions and collected into the basket she carried along with her.
Ever since she could remember, she has always been quite fond of executing all the daily chores required to maintain a flawless functioning of the household. As, the sometimes hard journey of self knowledge taught her, in order to maintain her sanity, she needed to, now and then, during the course of the day, let her mind and thoughts roam free from the constraints and shackles of all the worries, insecurities and little tragedies that are part of the essence of being human. She discovered that a temporary relief from all the pressure was easily obtained, by a diligent engagement of all her senses in the execution of the daily activities, which are often disregarded by some and utterly avoided by others.
She was absorbed in that particular mind-set, where the purest thoughts dwell, when suddenly, she found herself facing the door to her oldest son’s bedroom. Even though her attention was engaged in a specific action and directed to a specific purpose, she felt, for a split nanosecond, that her instinct was trying to whisper something to her in its peculiar and sometimes undecipherable language. Those messages, which are sent to us by whoever or whatever entity that rules the universe, can come to us assuming a myriad of manifestations. Still all of them, if correctly perceived can provide us with valuable information that allow us to stir our life in the right direction.
Although her son’s bedroom was no longer part of the cleaning spree circuit, since he recently moved away to his own house, she was still not able to break the pattern and resist the temptation of conducting a weekly inspection of its hygienic conditions. She could not exactly pinpoint what it was, but this time, something made her hesitate before opening the bedroom’s door. So, she stood there, on the empty hallway, surrounded by the last fading shadows, which lingered behind as reminiscences of another day that had just come to an end. In the midst of the silence that reigned in the house, she could not help thinking that behind that closed door, once existed, a kind of magical territory, inside which, a new life, her son’s life, slowly bloomed. It was within the boundaries of that secluded and protected realm that the first steps toward his emancipation were taken. It was there where he gradually unveiled the secrets and wonders of life and, where he safely returned when his heart was broken by his first love or needed to lick his wounds after a lost battle.
She raised her hand and touched the wooden door. Then she leaned her head against the door’s surface as if she was trying to hear something from the other side. She closed her eyes and listened carefully. On the other side of that threshold, where the past and present intertwined, she could still hear the echoes of his voice while he sang, countless times, his favourite song, like a mantra to the universe. 
Downstairs, the sound of the keys turning on the door’s lock pulled her away from the sweet memories. Her youngest child was returning home from school.
At that point she decided not to open the bedroom’s door. It was time that she set him free and let him find his own path. She was sure that wherever life will take him, he would be safe, because he carried her love in his heart and for that reason, he would know, that she would always be there for him, if he needed.
She tucked in the last item of clothing on basket and smiled. A strong sense of gratitude invaded her heart and she felt blessed for having been able to witness one the most amazing miracles in life: the growth and transformation of a precious human being.

                                                                                                                     by Raquel R.

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