Time (short story)

   So many memories and yet so little…...

This is what she thought when she looked back on her life, wondering if she did the right thing.

   At the time it looked right but here she was, all on her own! And now it was too late to change it and reverting was impossible.

She felt old and worn, actually she was old and worn, it was not just the feeling, it was reality.

   To escape from reality, she often dozed off in her chair in front of the window; her head leaning on her skinny chest covered in lace and ribbons with the strong smell of roses and which faded over time from dark red and purple to pink; like the roses embroidered at her long skirt.

A good listener could hear her snoring, soft and gentle. Her hands with the veins like dark blue cords on top, showing her slow heart beat, lay still on her skirt. The fingers only moved when she was dreaming but at this age, even her dreams were scarce.

  A very long time ago, she could not even recall how long, she did have dreams. Too many, her mother said. “It is good to have dreams Rose-Mary, but don’t dream all day long and definitely don’t think all dreams come through!”

   But she refused to listen, particularly when she met Henry; the personification of every girls dream.

She was only 16 and Henry was 26 and ready to marry. Her parents refused to give permission for not just the reason that Henry was too old for Rose-Mary.

Although Henry fell in love with her the moment he laid eyes on her (she was indeed a rose that just opened her tender leaves to the warmth of Henry’s smile), he was also very down to earth and the parents knew as soon as the first amorousness would disappear, he needed a wife that could run a household and be an excellent hostess to his family and friends. And Rose-Mary was never going to be such a wife.

   Still they could not stop him from visiting her, hoping their love would slowly change in to normal friendship. But they never thought of a war ending this strange relationship!

   Like so many men, Henry too was called to fulfil his duties for his country. Rose-Mary was in tears and nothing could make her smile. She dreaded the day she had to say goodbye to the love of her life, not knowing if she would ever see him again.

The day of the last farewell was dramatic; Rose Mary rested in his arms and did not want him to go, she held on to him like a rambler rose to a wall in stormy weather. Her tears dripped on his coat, leaving a large wet spot of which Henry hoped it was never going to dry for this was the last memory of her for a very long time if not for ever.

   He begged her not to walk him to the gate as he could not bare to leave if she did.

Her parents left them in private for these last few minutes and Henry thanked them for their thoughtfulness.

Then it was time for him to leave, he walked out the door down the lane and never looked back.

    This was not only the day Rose-Mary lost Henry. No, it was also the day she lost reality too. She shut the door to the angry confused world and the war that was going on; she did not want to know of it. Instead she opened the door to her dreams and lived in this dream as Henry’s wife who was just waiting for him to come home for dinner.

Her parents thought this was only a temporary experience to be able to cope with the truth but it was not. They worried a lot but there was no one who could help Mary-Rose unless she was going to see a specialist but this is not what her parents wanted.

   They kept her at home and made life as comfortable as possible to her, not thinking about the future and what was going to happen when they were both too old to take care of her or to leave her alone.

The few friends that visited them during the first years, stayed away and they became more or less prisoners of their created little world.

Rose-Mary, still denying the war, never knew it ended after 5 long years. She never knew about the letter her parents received announcing the marriage of Henry who met a woman who was his equal. She never knew Henry got 3 sons. Even if her parents had told her, she would not have believed it.
No other men visited the once so beautiful Mary-Rose who more and more looked like an old wrinkly woman with the eyes of a child.

  Her parents passed away with 3 months in between. Mary-Rose kissed them goodbye, arranged the funeral but never left the house for the services.

Since that day, no one ever visited the house. She was only seen outdoors weeding the vegetable garden and feeding the chicken. The milkman left what was needed at the doorstep and collected the money from the small wooden box near the door.

Neighbours died or moved and soon she was only known as the strange woman next door.

Nobody knew her history and nobody knew about Henry. But also nobody knew that deep down her heart, she understood exactly what happened in her life. She knew she tried to shut the door to reality but never succeeded. But at this stage in life there was no reason to make changes and she decided to spend the last few years dreaming about her dream. Books became her best friends; she read them in the chair in front of the window where she had been waiting for Henry for over 60 years.

The chair in which she dozed off asking herself at the very last day of her life if she had done he right thing.

  

   The visitor of the house was surprised the door was not locked. Because no one came to see him after knocking the door, he let himself in calling “Hello?”

The sound of his voice muffled in the stillness of the house. His footsteps left prints in thick layers of dust and he understood by looking at them, he was the very first visitor for a long time.

The decaying smell of the forgotten house penetrated his nose. It was the smell of a long forgotten time, left furniture and old books that were held together by abandoned cobwebs gathering memories no one could recall.

Photo: @soul_mining (Instagram)

   On top of the books in the window sill lay a pair of old fashioned glasses, neatly folded in the open black case. The glasses called out to the man and when he walked over to take a look at them, he accidentally touched the lace curtains on which a delicate smell of roses filled the room.

   He stood still and looked at the glasses and the books for some time before his voice broke the silence in the room: “Mary-Rose, I am here to tell you my father has, despite his marriage, always loved you”.  


  

Word of thanks: the photo of @soul_mining (Instagram) inspired me to write this story and I was given permission to use the photo as an illustration for which I am very grateful. Thank you Dan!

Link: please visit the beautiful Instagram account of @soul_mining

Note: the story is (of course) pure fiction! A figment of my imagination!

Helen