Flight

When Grandma Juney jumped through a plate glass window and fell two stories into father’s beloved azalea bush below, Cassidy was too young to remember much. Other than an image of father shaking his head at the millions of little glass shards decorating the crumpled, pink flowers, the incident existed in her mind only from countless retellings. Sometimes, Cassidy would ask, “Why did she jump?”

The response was always the same, “Your grandmother was sick.”

“Like cancer?” she’d ask.

“No, not like cancer.”

Cassidy usually reserved these questions for father; mother had taken to sitting in Grandma Juney’s second floor sitting room, staring out the same window from which her mother had leapt to her death. By the time Cassidy turned 16, mother rarely left the sitting room, taking all her meals from a blue, overstuffed armchair in the middle of the dusty room. Cassidy would sometimes join mother and sit silently at the foot of the chair, feeling anxious and scared. Once, after working up her nerve for over a month, Cassidy reached up to place her hand on mother’s and asked, “Do you ever think about jumping out the window?”

A smile crept across mother’s face and she said, “Yes, I guess I do sometimes.”

The next week, Cassidy came home from school to see a large, white van with flashing lights in her driveway. She watched as two men in black loaded a stretcher covered with a white sheet into the back of the van. Father knelt by his azaleas, picking pieces of glass out the pink blooms. Later, she watched as he snapped the door to the second floor sitting room shut and locked it with an old, clunky key. He turned to Cassidy and said, “Stay out.”

The door remained locked until father’s death. The night Cassidy returned to the family home with her husband and daughter in tow, she opened father’s bedside drawer and felt around until her hand struck something cold and heavy. She executed a series of pushes, jiggles, and pulls until she heard a dull thud as the key turned over in the lock. Moonlight poured into the room, casting branching shadows across the worn carpet. Cassidy felt the blue, overstuffed armchair calling out to her to sit, and so she crossed the room and sunk into its warmth. As she sat, staring out the plate glass window, footsteps approached.

“Mommy,” said a small voice. Cassidy turned and motioned to her daughter to come near. The child knelt on the floor beside the armchair. They sat in silence for some time until the child reached up to place her hand on top of Cassidy’s and asked, “Are you going to jump out the window?”

Cassidy looked down at her daughter’s face and felt a sense of calm wash over her. She wiped a strand of hair off the child’s forehead, smiled, and said, “Someday.”

© 2017 Melanie Dickens Sharp

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Stan Lee

Hmmmmm. I wonder why they jumped out the window. Was that blue armchair metaphorical for the blues I wonder. I love your writing style. It kept me entertained and made me think with your skillful use of showing rather than outright telling. I especially liked this part. ather knelt by his azaleas, picking pieces of glass out the pink blooms. Thanks for sharing this piece. Great writing. :)

Posted 7 Years Ago

1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

7 Years Ago

Thank you for the review and ind words.

Reviews

Kaliope

Hi Melanie, I've been a fan of your uncle's writing for quite a while and thus quite eager to rip your attempts to follow in his footsteps apart... :-D nah, just kidding! Welcome to the Writer's Cafe community! We'll give our best to provide constructive and helpful cristicism :-)
And... honestly. I loved your story! The mystery left ample of room for interpretation-... a cursed building, room, family... it's the kind of mystery that keeps us wondering and enjoying the ride, even though it might not get a resolution. Very well done! A very enjoyable read!