Settle Grey Marks

One: Questions

I stared at the chestnut door, not realizing how out of breath I was. My legs ached for me to sit, but the run here wasn't long. Perhaps my legs were telling me how hard I was stepping on the ground with my low wedding heels. Thinking about the ache in my legs, I began to feel the pulsing on my feet, as well as the thumping in my chest. I placed a hand over my heart, feeling it trying its best to steady and calm itself. Beats of sweat tickled my temples, my body warming up as it cools down. I focused on the person that is right behind the door. I thought about if they were sleeping or laying awake with me in their thoughts? Did I upset the person I care deeply about when we both saw the greyness on my finger when the ring slipped on? I tried my best to stop my mind from racing to such thoughts, but still being frozen in front of the door, I couldn't help such negative thoughts.

Oh where is my husband when I need him? I thought nervously.

A part of my mind began to think of all the encouraging speeches he had given me, trying to find the right one for this very moment. However, the painted portrait hanging on the wall, to the side of the door made all of my thoughts and feelings go away. I stepped over in front of it, to get a better view. There in the picture, I stood underneath a tart, staying clear away from the pouring rain that was painted. I never understood the portrait since a smile was painted on me and I was holding a bouquet of purple flowers. I stared long and hard, still trying to understand the choice of such a portrait idea and the meaning behind it. I remember I was called to meet the painter and his helper. I had to smile for an hour just so the painter could get my smile just right, while his helper drew an outline of my body. Just remembering the smile, my jaw muscles tensed up at the memory.

I recalled asking my parents if they knew why the choice of an idea was called for. They simply stated that I would know when the time was right, that the portrait would make sense to me when it gives me permission to make sense of it. Even by what my parents told me, I was more confused than ever. Now being married and mature in age and mind, the portrait still makes no sense. I only hope that time is on my side, just so I can finally have an understanding of it. I shake my head at it before stepping back in front of the door. Now, standing back in front of it, I feel more at ease and my nerves have subsided for a bit. I reached out for the door handle and pushed it open, trying my best to be silent as I make my way in.

"(Whispering) Gran-Anne, I'm here! Please, you must tell me more."

Sounds of my grandmother's breathing filled her entire room as I closed the door behind me. I approached quietly, thanking that the rug silenced the tapping of my heels. Her room was cold, but by the looks of the mountain of blankets over her, it was no bother to her. I reached the side of the bed and hovered over her, making sure her head was resting on the pillows. I called out to her once more, removing the white strands of hair from her face. The hard, heavy breathing began to cease at the touch of my fingers on her aging face. Fragile eyes slowly fluster open. Dried lips parted, as her tongue emerged from behind her teeth to moist the center of the bottom lip. A strong cough from her sickness, caused her to jerk her head forward, moving strands of hair back to her face. My fingers reach out to move the strains from the hardened face again. My touch caused the strong woman to turn her head slightly to the right. Two broken, but wise, eyes beamed up at me. A small, hopeful smile appeared on her lips.

"(Softly) My child. You mustn't be here. The celebration awaits you."

A hidden smile grew on my lips, one that Gran-Anne knew too well of.

"What's wrong child?"

"Gran-Anne, I don't care for the celebration. What's there to celebrate if you can't attend it to celebrate with me?"