Endless Rain Chapter 6

Her hearing was the first of her senses to return, and drifting into her ears she could recognize, were the gentle whispers of the breeze as it calmly washed over her. Then returned her sense of touch, which in affirmation of what she had been hearing all this time, enabled her once again to feel the tickle of the wind as it glided over her skin and through her hair. Her skin was dry and upon a soft interwoven layer of fabric she lay, but as soon as her sense of smell returned, the identity of the ‘fabric’ became clear.

The distinctive fragrance of grass that often rode upon the winds of summer and spring surrounded her, and with slow, deep breaths she indulged in its scent. And finally, as though opening her eyes for the first time like a newly born infant, she regained her sense of sight, with which in what had seemed like a cruel stretch of bleak, colourless years, she once again beheld the forgotten, serene beauty of the clear, azure sky.

While still lying down upon the field, she peered to the right through the emerald blades of grass briefly before sitting up to orientate herself, where soon after her eyes were naturally drawn to the spectacular view of the distant town painted against a canvas of lush greenery and open, blue skies.

In utter awe of the breathtaking view, she wondered to herself why she had never before noticed how beautifully the simplicity of the rural town blended into the natural landscape, creating the sense that it too had been there since the beginning with the mountains and the trees and the fields.

Then turning her face away from the town and toward the opposite direction, she set her eyes upon the weathered stone that had successfully stood its ground, deeply rooted in the soil behind the church in spite of the storm, the flood and the rain. Speaking to the stone in a dialogue without words, she looked intently upon his grave in a long moment of contemplation before finally rising up to her feet in preparation of her descent.

But this time, in place of the blackness of her solemn mourning gown, it was the white frills of her pretty summer dress that fluttered in the wind like the wings of a dove in flight as she made her way back down toward the town below.

Across the bridge that arched over the river she made her way, and having traversed the fabled river that since the days of old marked the furthest edges of town, she soon found herself once again amongst the alleys and streets, still visibly damp from the waters of the flood. She navigated her way through the network of footpaths until finally, at the familiar porch of her humble abode she arrived.

The violent floodwaters had receded, but the effects of their wrathful nature remained, for the elements had left the structure of the house significantly weakened and she knew just by a superficial visual inspection of the exterior that though the house was still standing, it would no doubt fall in the absence of large scale repair and restoration works.

So in her heart, she forged the resolution to save her house in remembrance of him, but not before first heading to the kitchen where she made herself a sumptuous meal with what food she could gather from the nearby bushes and trees.

Many days spent with saws and axes came and went. Then came those with rulers and other instruments of measurement, and those too soon came to pass. And finally, the tiring days spent with hammers and nails. Little by little, starting from the base, to the front steps, to the doors and windows, the pieces of the house started coming together again, and with each new break of day the house bore a stronger resemblance to its past self, just the way she remembered it to be; just the way he remembered it to be.

And when the exterior work had been completed, she occupied herself with the interior repairs of the house, starting from the floor and then the fireplace and then the kitchen, until finally the day came when the house was fully restored back to its original form, as though the rain had been nothing but a harmless nightmare that happened once upon a time, yet never did she ever forget how real it was.

Standing in the hall with her back squarely toward the freshly painted door and with the centerline of her body aligned with the midpoint of the reinforced fireplace, she began to draw a circle with her eyes, double checking and admiring the works of her hands while at the same time, pivoting about the spot where she stood in order to cover all areas of the house’s interior.

Feeling like she had finally fulfilled her promise to him to restore the house back to the way it used to be, she closed her eyes and nodded in acknowledgement of her own accomplishment, hoping with all her heart that he too could see the fruits of her labour, albeit from above. Yet still, there was one thing that had not been restored; a restoration that had in no way been forgotten, but rather, had deliberately been left for last.

In front of the wooden drawer that sat beside her bed she stood, with her head tilted down and her right hand on the rounded handle of the second shelf – the one that played storage to all things impractical but sentimental. Pulling on the latch with nothing more than a gentle tug, the drawer slowly began to slide open, creating a narrow slit through which she could get a glimpse of all the ‘memories’ that slumbered within.

The bright glimmer of the bracelet that could no longer fit her – the one that she used to wear wherever she went in her childhood years; the bunch of dried flowers picked three years ago from the garden outside that she could never, and was still unwilling to discard; just a few examples of the treasured symbols that as always, brought back vivid scenes of the past each time she laid eyes upon them. Yet at that moment, all that she could concentrate on was the unpolished frame that rested unevenly atop the pile of relics.

Lost in a web of thoughts interwoven with memories, she stared at the picture encased in the frame for a brief moment before instinctively stretching out her hand to touch it. Running her fingers gently along the glass panel that protected the photo within before drawing a line sideways to the frame itself, she carefully placed her thumb onto its corner while pressing the rest of her fingers against its underside to secure her grasp.

Cautiously lifting the frame out of the drawer, she drew the fragile memento into her bosom, embracing it like it was all that ever mattered to her, before finally setting it atop the drawer, overlooking the hall, so that she would never ever lose sight of him again.

And as she took a step back from the drawer, with her eyes still focused on the black and white image of him smiling at her, she could not resist returning him an expression of her own, and for the first time since the day that he departed up till now, she finally smiled.

Toward the window she turned, greeting the sunlight that was shining into the house, and with a smile that was even brighter than the day itself, she bade him goodbye and ran out into the beautiful streets of town like a bird of the air that had just had its wings unshackled.

Down the road that ran adjacent to the porch she ran and twirled and skipped, until she came to the meadow that they had once spent so many days together in, and even though he was not physically with her anymore, she knew that he would always be watching over her, and that thought alone was enough to fill her heart with joy and hope that knew no bounds; joy and hope that was sufficient enough for her to carry on.

And day after day, through streets and alleys, across rivers and bridges, atop hills and fields, in churches and cathedrals and into fountains and meadows she ran, and when she could run no more, she jogged, and when she could jog no more, she walked, and when she could walk no more, she strolled with the help of a short wooden cane.

Not a single day went by without her remembering and missing him, but not a dull day did she ever lead because she knew that that would have been what he would have wanted for her. And whenever she needed to feel close to him, a visit to the meadow she would pay, where she could sit alone for hours upon hours, and feel comforted by the memories of the unforgettable times that they shared.

And such a day it was in that beautiful autumn, where upon her rocking chair she sat, enveloped by the warmth of the fireplace upon returning from the meadows after reminiscing and remembering every little detail about him, from the sound of his laughter to the tenderness in his eyes. It was unusual for her to miss him so much even after having spent an afternoon in the meadows, but that thought alone was not enough to stop her from reaching out for the dusty, old frame that had sat atop the drawer by her bed all these years.

Giving a smile that was forged of both joy and sadness, she unsteadily drew a line over the glass that protected the photo within with her quivering, wrinkled fingers before embracing it in the same fashion as she did decades ago with emotions unchanged.

Looking at the memento one last time before placing it securely upon her lap, she finally closed her eyes in search of rest as thoughts of him once again began to turn into dreams …

And slowly but surely, the pauses between each and every one of her heartbeats grew longer and longer, and their echoes, softer and softer, until finally, they could no longer be heard …

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