Wind Chimes in the Window

Memories ...1940 ... Canada goes to war.

The night was cloudless. The kind of night where darkness is hell bent on absorbing lamp lights struggling hopelessly to illuminate city streets. Shrinking in defeat, small auras puddle weakly beneath each base. Sound changes in this kind of atmosphere. Street noises muffle, fading from awareness. Even the backyard dogs stop barking.

I held my father’s hand tightly, telling myself I was safe, but the smell of whisky and the rollie glowing like an evil eye between his forefinger and thumb hinted otherwise. We don’t speak. The darkness seems to forbid it. Even my empty belly protested in silence, spasming as we walked, and although I was not particularly cold, I shivered. Hard times were upon us. I could feel it in the tension of my father’s calloused hand.

Crossing the street, we slipped down an alleyway. Here the darkness was even denser, seeming to bear down and deaden footsteps. The alley was cluttered with debris and something banged my leg skinning my knee. In the cast-off gloom of this place I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. None-the-less my father strode forth without missing a beat; my short legs stumbling along in protest.

Suddenly we stopped and my father turned. My outstretched hand brushed against the roughness of a brick wall, touching a door frame hidden in the recesses of an alcove.  I heard a soft knock and before I could even count to three, the door was flung open and I was temporarily blinded by the sudden light. As my eyes adjusted, I could see several men in the room. My father shook their hands and patted their backs and in turn they each gave me a quick nod. The room smelled of body odour and beer. Grabbing a bottle, my father sat down and took a long pull, then wiping his mouth with his rolled up sleeve he announced, “I’m signing up … which of you lazy b******s is going with me?” 

In one motion they jumped up, holding their drinks high. It was 1940 and Canada was going to war. Amidst the shouting and tinkling refrains of glass hitting glass, I sat there confused and helpless. I was instinctively aware that my life would never be the same. Six weeks later he was shipped overseas and I never saw my father again.

Tonight a soft wind rustles through the meshed screened window where I like to sit. All is quiet in the nursing home, save for the tinkling music of wind chimes swaying in the breeze. My daughter hung them there for me saying they would keep evil spirits at bay. That made me smile and everytime I hear them tinkle, I recall that dark and fateful night so many years ago …

Reviews

[Stan Lee]

Brilliant descriptions! I could absolutely see every scene in this short story.
I'm very impressed with your writing style and the way you "show" using imagery and metaphors rather than "telling". E.g. "the rollie glowing like an evil eye ".
Thanks for sharing this. Stay inspired! :)

[felioness]

Thanks for the read and your encouraging comment! You made my day!