I find myself looking at a dark and gloomy morning. I guess the weather finally decided to reflect my feelings. For the past week –since my mother’s funeral – the sky has been nothing but sun, mocking me. The autopsy reports said that she died a normal death, despite her young enough age. A death from natural causes. I can’t and won’t believe that. Her last breath always echoes in my mind. As her already weak grasp steadily loosened, she said four letters. C,J,S, and E. Then her hand dropped, and my tears fell.
Slouching away from the window, I use every ounce of my energy to try and put something decent on. I try to visit her grave every week. It’s really the least I can do at this point. I leave my room and close the bedroom door behind me. I walk down the hallway, passing a room locked with memories. My eyes water as I stop in front of her door. I rest my hand gently on the ice cold doorknob. Knowing I have to get this done sooner or later, I close my eyes and push.
The air inside the room is cold and dusty. The open window lets light in and shows a path of floating dust particles. I walk to the window, I need to close it. I close the drapes and the door closes behind me. Unconsciously, I jump at the sound. Goosebumps form on my skin as I survey the area. Once I convince myself that it’s only me in the room, I allow myself to breathe again. It must have been a draft, if anything at all. There are no windows in the hallway. I push the thought to the back of my head.
I walk slowly to her ever messy dresser, filled with scattered jewelry and cosmetics. I allow a tear to slip down my cheek. I know I miss her, but I can’t let myself think about this now. I find myself laughing at the messiness in an attempt to distract myself. I start to pick up her favorite perfume, then allow myself to drop it once more. The memory of her asking me to buy her a new one with a smile crashes back to me. I get up and move away from the dresser. I can’t clean it. If I do, another part of her is gone too.
My vision shifts to her bed, the only thing she kept relatively clean, is unkempt. I sit down on it, grabbing a pillow, and resting my head on it. I breathe it in, her familiar scent. I allow myself to smile. I imagine her right beside me, as if she never left.
“Why did you leave me?”
I whisper the question, a question whose answer will never come. Out of the corner of my eye, something twinkles. From where I am, it looks like a ring. I reach for it and instantly remember what it is. The ring my mom wore once a month, dressed fully in black. She never told me where it was, and I never inquired. Now holding the ring in my Hand, I never quite realized its size. The ring itself, judging by its weight, is gold. It also holds a white opaque stone. I peer at it closely, I think I seem some sort of engravings on it. It isn’t in English it seems, the script is illegible. I put the ring down gently and leave the room.
As I close the door of my house, I look back at its entirety. The medium sized frame resembles a cottage. A rather old cottage. I remember how creepy it looks at night and it brings a smile to my face. My mother said that the seclusion is what made her choose this house. She said that she didn’t know why, but it just spoke to her.
I pass my car and start on the path to the bus stop. The walk towards the bus stop is usually a pleasant one. The way the lone path cuts right through the forest causes me to embrace the beautiful colors which encompass my every being. I usually stare towards the sky, bask in the view and quickly become oblivious to the world. I learned this from my mother from a young age. She would do the same, as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Nature, the beauty of it is astounding, something I won’t ever give up. The bus makes it way around the corner. Well, here we go.
Traveling on the bus is an everyday occurrence. Driving is slower so the sooner I get there, the better. It calls me to it. As I gaze out of the window and look onto the cobblestoned streets, I see happy people. I have learnt to loathe happy people. Smiling people, little girls skipping, atrocious boys doing trickery, the sight of them sends disgust to my brain. It also makes me remember the memories. Those I wish to forget. The ones I’m not sure of. The one that have no correlation to me. The ones that can be labeled as visions.
