Ephemeris

5 : Trail of Garlic Powder

A busy week passed, and Daniel went madly eager to do strenuous physical work. But today, there was nothing to clean. Indeed, the boy wished for this empty day without anything to sweep. He'd be hunky-dory for the rest of the day. It was a stress-free holiday to mollycoddle his exhausted self, but it was not precisely what he had planned. His list of planned treats was all made just after the minute hand ticked midday.

Early in the morning, he had a delicious breakfast, a milky macaroni soup to warm their shriveled stomach. It was a miracle that his mother didn't fuss after his presence infringed on her silence inside her dreary room. Her ears didn't mind the intruding knocks on the wooden door and his shuffling feet on the floor, breaking the quietude of her desolation. Her life had been in constant turmoil, but today, it was serene, although a little off.

Daniel felt awkward when he met her eyes. Her gaze was blank. He saw that she was warily watching his movements. Maybe, she noticed him at last, discreetly commending his warm care and love for her. Or maybe, she was disgusted by his effort, judging in silence that his labors were mere sycophantic attention to get her trust back. She shifted her eyes, following his motions, observing him walking across the room as he maneuvered his thin arms, fixing her breakfast and medicine.

Daniel knew that fortitude and tolerance were his ammunition to save his mother stranded in the middle of chaos, grief, and loss. He beckoned credence that his mother would someday hug him snugly and affectionately, shielding him from injury, burns, or frostbites.

The boy glanced back, dragging the knob, and saw his mom peeling the blanket off her legs. Mom's trying her best, he thought. His lips formed a shy smile erasing the creases of his pale face.

Exactly nine o'clock, a breeze flinging the gauzy curtains let plenty of light through the living room, but the wind brought no respite from the heat. A resonant voice echoed somewhere in the house, a tune of progressing deep and pleasing sound, a joyful harmony, a soulful song.

Daniel was singing under the pure crystal stream of water, adding effects to his made-up little concert. Clutched in his right hand was a bottle of body wash, pretending as a microphone to modulate his vocals. He was belting like an alto tiptoeing when he tried hitting a few high notes. He closed his eyes, feeling the song's emotion like a soulful singer evoking the money notes.

His left hand swung in every direction, rising when he sustained a particular complex falsetto in the chorus and lowering when his breathy undertones effortlessly flowed through his teeth during the refrain. Turning the shower off, he cupped his hand to his ear, relishing the amplified screams of his imaginary crowd, a show-off to satisfy his fans. The noise was electrifying and overwhelming. His irises glistened, pricking with tears of pleasure. His heart stopped, unable to utter a single word of gratitude. He screamed hoarsely, thanking his fans, and sang his final song.

After the breathtaking performance, he exhibited his unforgettable last act for the viewers. He grabbed the shampoo bottle, sniffed its fruity aroma, poured a generous amount upon his palm, and massaged his scalp. He turned the shower on, allowing the needle-like stream to cascade over his shoulders, sanctifying his innocent body as he held his face up to the welcoming torrent, baptizing the lather off his cherubic fontanel. The dirty soapsuds crawled down to his legs, purging them to the vortex of the drainage.

The imaginary crowd let out a cheer, for it was quite a show.

Daniel placed one foot slightly behind the other and then took a bow, showing submission that his little concert would not be successful without them. The rainfall of the stream stopped cueing the ending of his musical. He climbed out of the shower and dried himself with a towel. He was done with another planned treat. My concert is over. My fans have gone home, but the critics are still in the pub. So what's next? Think of anything, brain! Please, he thought. And the steam dispersed, uncovering his way out of the bathroom.