A Journey

A short story of loss and peace

It seemed like as skyscraper, towering above me. The steps were too far apart, my legs too small. I climbed the mountain and stood, gasping, enjoying the view. "What can you see?" Pa called from far below. "Everything!" I hollered back down at him. I decided to come down. The top of the slide was still wet from the previous night's rain, but I didn't care. I was having far too much fun to worry about damp clothes. 3...2...1 I counted down in my head. I pushed off, getting faster and faster, until I landed in Pa's arms.

The glass lay smashed on the floor, the photograph torn and blurred. How long had I knelt, unseeing, yet still gazing at the picture? A bloody finger stroked Pa's face, swept away the remnants of the frame. A silent tear tattooed a trail down my cheek and dropped hesitantly onto the picture. A ragged breath escaped my lips, breaking the silence.

I found myself on my feet, almost at the door, when I remembered to pick it up - the photo. It showed a happy place, a happy time. I was just turning four, and Pa had taken me to the playground. How naive I was then! At the time, it seemed like Pa just enjoyed going to the park, but as I grew up I realised what he was trying to do; he was trying to keep me safe. Safe from home. Safe from Dad. Safe from hurt. In the end all of them caught up with me.

My footsteps seemed too loud in the hallway, disturbing the empty space. I dragged my fingers across the faded wallpaper, staining the flowers. The door loomed up before me, black and cold. Laughter echoed in my ears as I stepped outside, the door swinging open behind me. I rubbed the stone cat's ears as I always had done, and felt myself slipping away.

Sunlight bathed the market square, dispelling pools of shadow, soaking up puddles. I skipped along in my wellies, tugging at Pa's hand. I was impatient - I wanted clouds of candyfloss and the biggest gobstopper I could find.The market stalls were spread out under the church; brightly coloured canopies poking fun at the stern brick walls. Pa kept stopping to buy groceries, and he walked so slowly! "Come on! I want to see what Aunt has on her stall." She wasn't really my aunt, but I - like everybody else - had always called her that. "Well you run on then. We aren't all eight years old."

When he caught up, Pa found me transfixed by a pale stone cat. I had never had a pet. Aunt lent over and asked me if I wanted it, but I hardly heard her. I held out some coins, I didn't know how much it cost, and proudly presented it to Pa.

"For you."

The clock chimed, shouting out to the empty house, proclaiming the time for all who'd listen. I grinned at the cat, a taut smile stretched across my face. Abruptly, I closed the door, slamming out the noise. The path didn't feel right, the gate didn't swing, the pavement was too dark. It was all wrong. They tell you, before they go, that it'll be okay, you'll grieve, but it'll be alright in the end. Nobody tells you about the hollowness, the implosion. None of my scars are bigger than the one Pa left, not one of Dad's.

Bright green apples caught my eye. They stood out in the sea of grey. I wonder why that is, until I remember the juggling.

My face hurt. It was burning, the red blood was burning my cheeks. I stared up at Dad, swaying slightly as my head whirled. Pa ran in and pulled me out of the house before Dad could take another drunken swipe. Tears streamed out of his bright blue eyes. "Come on. We're going to Mr.Mortensen's. He was a doctor. He'll...he'll fix you up. It's going to be fine."

"Why would he do that Pa? I thought... I thought..."

Pa just shook his head.

We reached the house next to the grocer's, Mr Mortensen's. He hurried out, coat flapping out behind him. A silent question and a quick nod were exchanged, as his wife rushed towards me with a first-aid kit. Hot, salty tears mingled with the blood. Passers-by started to gather, nervous voices swelling the street. Suddenly, Pa picked up six green apples from the grocer's stall and began juggle them ferociously. I smiled up at him, lost in the movement. The pain faded as I watched, the burning ceased.

I heard the grocer call out to me, and gave a generic reply. Absentmindedly I touched the scar under my left eye, that had been given to me as a birthday present. A special twelfth birthday present, courtesy of Dad. It had been two years, but the pain still lingered.

I was almost where I wanted to be, almost at the park. It wasn't too far. I wove through the trees and flower beds until I found the bench. Our bench. I hadn't been here in so long. I knelt on the gravel, digging my fingers into the earth beneath. My cheek rested on the warm wood, my eyes closed. Soft rain caressed my eyelids, cooling my body. Tears began to run, matching the rain. They soon stopped, but the thrumming of the weather continued. At long last, the sun dribbled through the clouds.

A final tear fell.

Reviews

[Marie]

A sad but sweet story of love and protection. I love the part about the juggling as "Pa" tries to make the chid feel better. I have two suggestions:

I grinned at the cat, a taught(TAUT) smile stretched across my face.
The(THEY) faded as I watched, the burning ceased.

[ExLibrum]

Thanks for the corrections! I will rectify them a.s.a.p.