Abbigale ~ The non~existent writer

The Gentle Smile

I asked my daughter if she wanted to share anything in this book, three days later, this was on my desk in my home office.

"Today is June 4th, my birthday. People say time flies... i see it as dragging through a cluttered room.

This is one of my favourite days of the year... and least favourites.

My father doesn't enjoy my company, he once used the words,"demon spawn". He makes this especially apparent on my birthday... saying fatherly things like,"why didn't you just die in her belly?" And, his taunts."Maybe today will be the day. Woudn't that be ironic?" The smirk he would give always made my sweet mothers face stale in colour.

Tonight hurt... the sight of my mother, that tortured.

Before he came home, my mother gave me my gifts. She repetitively apologised for the lack of monetary value it had costed her. I reminded her,"price is what someone will pay for it mommy". I hugged her tight and she knew my appreciation.

She bought me a new A5 notebook, leather bounded, signed by my favourite author. 'Jack.J.Johnson. Shoot through the darkness kid. If the first bullet brings no light, shoot again. What do you have if you never shoot? Darkness and a loaded gun waiting to be cocked and shot.'

I kept asking over and over again..."how did you get this?"

She smiled, truly smiled and said every time I elected to ask,"I'd scurry the moons of Jupiter to see you smile."

Later, after she told me to hide the notebook from her husband, we cuddled... just sat in the dark, closed mouthed, and cuddled. She held me so tight.

After 5 minutes of a silent host, my mother disrupted the quiet with her smooth voice, a quiet whisper.

"Did mommy ever tell you about a boy she met in college?"

I shook my head, not wanting my voice to disrupt my comfort in my mothers arms.

I looked up, knowing a story was imminent. She was smiling. A sweet, gentle smile. A smile that I thought spoke more words than speech ever could.

"This boy wasn't a student."

"Professor?"

She softly brushed her hands against my hair as she told her tale.

"He was..." she inhaled before she spoke another word. "He was a guest speaker. His poems were being recognised by the national papers as worldclass, some advised tissues to be sold with copies of his work."

"He sounds amazing. What's his pen name mommy?" I asked.

She smiled so brightly at that moment. She seemed... to have lost all her worries at that moment. After a few seconds of savouring her gentle smile, the lines absorbed by her sunken cheeks, I nudged her. She, leaving her dream state, ventured to ignore my question for a time.

"I'll tell you another time sweetheart."

I nodded, respecting her choice.

She looked down at me and smiled. I asked her why. She responded," you'll be like him one day, I know you will. You remind me of him... you have his big brown eyes. He always loved the name Abbigale. " she smiled and nodded, shedding a small tear," you're going to be like him."

She held me tight, and kissed and kissed and kissed. She held me so tight.