He carried the smile

A story written over the last couple of days after reading an article in class about how a single mother was coping.

The last weeks of summer had been arduous and cold filled with cloudy skies and explicit thunderstorms. Karen sat on the patio under the large umbrella, alone, as she had done since the weather had turned bitter. It was late: the world around her was dark, darker than usual. She shivered and stared at the empty chair opposite.

            They had been vibrant and outgoing people when they first met in their youth. Fairgrounds were a fond place to roll around in the grass, cinemas were the perfect place to quietly give in to their hormonal urges and garden parties were a great place to frolic in paddling pools and drink to good times with whatever alcohol was available, regardless if it was flat.

            Wherever they were, they were always smiling. He had a power over her: a brilliantly timed bad pun, a gentle brush of his hand against her cheek or a simple loving compliment. She was never unhappy in his company. Never is a strong word, but it was true. She was never unhappy with him.

            They parted only once in their lives when he went to University to study accountancy. She would have followed if it wasn’t for her mother taking a turn for the worst. Without a father, she was the only one that could tend to her mother’s bedside. As her mother’s health deteriorated, so did her smile. She became thinner and depressed, unable to make it through most days without feeling warm tears roll down her soft cheeks, the ones he used to touch delicately: a touch she craved and needed.

He did stay in contact, but the letters and phone calls were few and far between. Their communication became difficult: he would write of amazing parties and talk of the brilliant new things he had learnt in a lecture, while all she respond with was who had visited the house to give her a break from her mother. Sadly, she grew to resent him. She no longer lusted or ached over the arrival of a new letter or phone call, but came to dread them. Dreading...how could she dread the one she loved? Alas, it wasn’t him he dreaded. It was herself.

She had much time to think when her mother was asleep, sitting alone in the living room with the black and white fuzz of the television shining in her eyes. Being up on her feet all day meant she was always drowsy without energy. God forbid to think what she may have done if she could have dragged herself to the kitchen, pulled the draw open and pressed a sharp knife against her cold, untouched chest. No, instead she only had the energy to quietly whimper to sleep, suffering in silence.

Three years later, he returned from University with his degree in hand and the sun in his smile. He warmed to all his old friends he passed on the street and finally he reached her house. Yet she wasn’t warmed by his presence, for she was drowning in the icy cold recesses of her lonely mind. As if by fate, maybe coincidence, her mother had died the night before. He found her rocking in the corner of a dusty and dirty room, ragged curtains only just warding off the fantasy of the outside world. Surely it couldn’t be true that a world with only happiness existed. That was a world he had taken away when he left and now, as he peered down upon her tired face and her hands which were worn to the bone, it was a world he was determined to bring back to her.

Time was something they had plenty of. The first thing he did was clean her up: he bathed her and washed the cobwebs from her hair, the dirt from under her finger nails and renewed her subtle aroma of jasmine. He dried her off and there was a remnant of her youth, the free spirited girl that would smile because it took fewer muscles to do so than a frown. There was, however, a long way to go.

She spent a month more without leaving the house. In that time, her mother’s body was removed and the funeral took place, but she had no strength to go. Besides, she had been almost dead for the last three years. He had gone in her place and he was bombarded with questions about her whereabouts. He answered with clarity and confidence that she was resting and coping.

When he returned, she was asleep in the new bed they had bought. Her eyes were heavy with bags and her lips were pursed tight together as if she was trying to hold it together in her sleep. He lay down next to her, drew her in close and cried. What had he done to his sweetheart?

Towards the end of the week they were huddled up on the sofa watching images flicker on the screen. Who knew what they were watching? She was lost down the dark alleys of the empty streets of her mind and he was wondering how much longer it would be until she realised they had no income and no money. She shuffled and shut her eyes. Her forehead crinkled as she searched. She found something.

“I want to go to the park tomorrow,” she whispered softly, weakly. He wasn’t sure she had said anything. His eyes flickered downwards at the broken angel and he saw something he hadn’t seen in 3 years: her smile.

“I want to go to the park tomorrow,” she repeated, gazing into his eyes. He was shocked, almost brought to tears at the revived lease of life he saw within her eyes.

“Okay,” he replied, finding it difficult to say anymore, “We’ll go to the park tomorrow.”

The weather was fair. At times the sun cracked a ray through the silver-lined clouds, but for the most part it was dull. To a normal couple, their day to the park would have been perceived as dull. To them, sitting on a park bench and feeding old bread to the ducks all day was delightful. Old couples said hello and complimented their love for the simpler things in life. She was cautious and slowly integrated into conversation. When the old couple left, she was buzzing and in her excitement kissed him. And he kissed back.

They rushed home and rekindled their love. They were officially reunited.

There was no more turmoil, no more sadness after that. He got a job at a local accountancy firm while she mused the days away in the midst of making her late mother’s house into their new home. He would tell boring stories over dinner about the antics of work colleagues during the day and she would politely nod and laugh in the right places. They took weekends out to go to fairgrounds where they would lie in the grass and watch the world revolve around them; they would go to the cinema and actually know how the film ended and as they merged back into society they became the life of garden parties, sipping at wine they loved the taste of. Their family became complete when they were blessed with two children, the eldest a boy and the youngest a girl. In the evenings, they would sit together around the table on the patio, drinking to the beautiful weather and the wonderful gift of love.

He had done it. He had brought that world which was once a fantasy. A world of happiness. Yet, of no fault of his own, he took it away from her again. The grey clouds encumbered the ocean blue skies of early summer and the thunder rumbled through the sky. This time, he wasn’t coming back.

Karen had grown very ill and distant. Despite the desperate pleads of her son, Tyson, and her daughter, Cissy, she refused to see a doctor. She had lost all belief in anyone that wasn’t him.

“Mum,” said Tyson feebly, “Come inside.”

“Not yet,” she said, pulling her cardigan tight around her, “It’s still lovely and warm.”

“Mum...”

She ignored him and hugged her legs, pretending it was someone.

Tyson went back indoors and went upstairs to his sister’s bedroom. Cissy’s eyes were bloodshot and her mascara was running down her cheeks like black pain filled streams. He took her in his arms and tried to calm her down, but all she did was cry. That’s all she did these days.

Before, there was a world where only happiness existed and that world had been taken away when he had left. Now, he was determined to bring it back to her.

Author's Note

Usual comments and anything on grammar and spelling mistakes: haven't had a chance to edit it yet :)

Reviews

[Omar Fendri]

This story begins with a delicate capillary description of an unusual summer which gives the reader such downcast images that he can relate to it. How sadness embraces her abandoned soul thrilled me as well ...'She became thinner and depressed, unable to make it through most days without feeling warm tears roll down her soft cheeks, the ones he used to touch delicately: a touch she craved and needed'...
There are some creative images which are totally well-written, as ' sitting alone in the living room with the black and white fuzz of the television shining in her eyes'.
'Yet she wasn’t warmed by his presence, for she was drowning in the icy cold recesses of her lonely mind.'
He owned her soul and was able to bring her to life and annihilate her in the blink of an eye. That's 'pure love'
The end's so cheerless and lamentable. 'mascara was running down her cheeks like black pain filled streams'. AMAZING

[Emily Rae]

this is an incredibly moving write. you capture weariness, heartbreak, rebirth, and hope so beautifully. it brought me to tears--thank you.

[Groovy]

very deep and emotional. there is a wave of magical flow in these beautiful lines.

[Axel Wright]

Like it, its neatly written, the story's quite nice too.

[MyInkyPen]

This is amazing, really! I love it. Again, the imagery is outstanding ad I was gripped all the way through, feeling sympathy for both characters throughout. I loved the ending as well. Although I can relate to your poems, i feel that there is more passion and feeling in your stories.

[dreaming dame]

aww, I love it! Sad, but so sweet. :]

[Yina]

That is soo sad:') I love it though. Wonderful story there! Keep writing your wonderful stuff:)

[Josefin]

First of I really like the way you write, very striking :) The story I thought was very sad and I think that many can recognize themselves in how the characters felt. Keep up the good job!

[Lanke Doll]

Oh, that is very well writen. I am in my math class and well, that made me cry. I can very easily relate to this. Very sad, sweet and I just love it. Good job.