Daddy and I kept one
arm around each other's waists as we walked downstairs to the living
room. No one was there, but I could hear the quite murmur of voices
in the front entryway downstairs. If I listened hard, I could pick
out the voices of each person, if not the words. Each one seemed to
match their personality.
Four deep voices;
Jacob, warm and earthy; Emmet, big and booming; Jasper, calm and
serene with a subtle undercurrent of danger; Carlisle, gentle and
soothing. Two others, more feminine; Rosalie, soft and silky; Alice,
high pitched and excited. No one else. No Esme, with her voice as
smooth as the caramel her hair resembled. And no...
Momma.
I looked up at Daddy,
panic in my eyes. Where are they?
He
frowned. “I don't know. Your mother ran out as soon as she saw
Jacob, and Esme went after her. They could be anywhere by now.”
I
wondered why she had run away.
“I
don't know,” he said again. “She's always been a mystery to me.”
He
smiled softly, adoringly, his expression dreamy as he thought about
her. Seeing him so happy made me smile too.
His
grin widened. “Esme filmed your performance at Parent's Night.
They're watching it now.”
I
blushed and he chuckled.
“How
about we give them proper show?”
My
embarrassment deepened at the thought of singing in front of my
family, mixed-up with a little apprehension. I was unsure how they
would react; I had changed so much, and I worried that they would not
like the new me.
Daddy
scoffed and shook his head firmly. He took my hand and squeezed it in
an attempt to dispel my fears, then pulled me over to the piano and
sat on the bench, leaving me standing beside it, my hands resting on
the edge, facing him with my back to the stairs. He looked at me
questioningly. Still nervous, it took me a moment to come up with a
song I could sing, but when I did, I realised that it suited my mood
perfectly. Daddy nodded, indicating that he knew the song, and
settled his fingers over the piano keys, before beginning to softly
play the introduction. I closed my eyes to center myself, focusing
solely on the music, letting it calm me before I began to sing. When
I opened my mouth, the notes came soft but clear.
“I
dreamed at dream in time gone by,
When
hope was high and life worth living,
I
dreamed that love would never die,
I
dreamed that God would be forgiving.”
I
opened my eyes, and Daddy smiled encouragingly at me as I continued.
I sang a little louder as my confidence increased.
“Then
I was young and unafraid,
And
dreams were made and used and wasted,
There
was no ransom to be paid,
No
song unsung, no wine untasted.”
As
I sang the next verse, I was surprised to hear a high, melodic voice
sing the duet part, repeating the first line of each segment and
harmonising with the end. Still singing, I turned to find my whole
family standing behind me; Aunt Alice was the one singing along.
“But
the tigers come at night (but the tigers come at night),
With
their voices soft as thunder,
As
they tear your hope apart (as they tear your hope apart),
As
they turn your dreams to shame.”
I
was saddened by the continued absence of my mother, and I raised my
voice louder on the last verse, hoping, if I sang louder, she would
hear me and come back. I was almost in tears as I did so, but my
voice stayed strong; I pushed the emotion into my singing, as I had
learnt to do at my last school.
“And
still I dream she'll come to me,
That
we will live the years together,
But
there are dreams that cannot be,
And
there are storms we cannot weather.”
Lo
and behold, in the short instrumental between the third verse and the
last part of the song, Grandma Esme appeared, dragging Momma behind
her. Our eyes locked immediately. I couldn't look away, and the tears
threatened to spill as I sang the last lines.
“I
had a dream my life would be,
So
different from this hell I’m living,
So
different now from what it seemed,
Now
life has killed the dream,
I
dreamed.”
There
was utter silence as the final notes of the piano faded away. My
mother and I continued to stare at each other, our eyes taking in
every detail; every hair on the other's head, every plane of the
other's face, every inch of skin and stitch of clothing; all the
things that had changed and what was still the same.
She
looked exactly the same, of course, physically, but there were minute
changes I could see. Her clothes showed their designer origins more
obviously than before. Her face seemed at once more mature and more
youthful than I remembered. I realised that, as a child, I had only
ever seen her as a mom, my young mind and short stature making her
look older to me than she actually was. Now, several feet taller and
ten years more experienced, I saw my mother for the teenager she
really was; we could easily have been the same age. And yet she
looked older, because she too was ten years older, ten years wiser,
and we had both been through the same kind of heartbreak, the kind
that ages a person: the heartbreak of losing someone more important
to you than anything else in the world, through no fault of your own.
After
a long, agonizing silence, Momma moved. She took a step towards me,
slowly, cautiously, as if she were trying not to startle me. I felt a
nudge from behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder to find Daddy
right behind me, gently pushing me forward. He smiled encouragingly
and placed his hands on my shoulders, pushing me more firmly.
Deja-vu
washed over me as, slowly, one step at a time, we crossed the floor
until we stood face to face – exactly like the first time we met
all those years ago. Her hand reached out just as slowly as Daddy
retreated, letting us have our moment. She gently cupped my cheek in
her hand, and I leaned unconsciously into her palm.
“It's
really you.” she murmured. Her sweet, bell-like voice was exactly
as I remembered it, promising safety and security and home.
She sounded half choked by tears she would never shed, just like that
day in the clearing when we said goodbye.
I
smiled. “It's really you.”
I
lifted my hand so that it nestled over hers, my palm pressed against
the back of her hand, my thoughts showing her my utter euphoria at
our reunion. Her own blinding white smile split her face in two,
lighting up every part of it.
In
that instant, it was as if a dam had burst; we could no longer
contain our mutual joy. Her arms wrapped around me in the same
instant that I flung mine around her. We buried our faces in each
other's hair – easy to do, since we were the same height now –
inhaling the delicious scents. She was sobbing, and the tears poured
unrestrained down my cheeks.
More
and more arms wrapped around us, squeezing tightly, until the whole
family – all nine of us - was huddled together in the middle of the
living room. Kisses dotted my cheeks, pressed against my hair; hands
stroked my back and cold fingers ran comfortingly through my curls.
Despite all this, my focus remained solely on Momma, even as the
others began to pass me around. I clung to her, unwilling to let go,
so that each person in turn was hugging both of us. Eventually, I
calmed down long enough to give my family a proper greeting, though I
still clutched Momma's hand in mine. As I smiled, bleary eyed, at the
people who made my life so wonderful, and blushed scarlet as they
applauded my performance, I thought again about how well everything
had worked out.
Later,
I was sure I would have plenty of questions for them, and they would
have some for me. But for now, in this moment, everything felt right,
and nothing bad could happen. As long as we had each other.
No comments:
Post a Comment