Arani
October 10th, 2007, 02:57 AM
Cynthia stood in front of a small house. A cool breeze blew through her hair, lifting it up and into her eyes. She absentmindedly pushed it out of her face as she gazed up at the wooden exterior of the building. A mocking bird sat on the weather vane perched high on the roof, quietly singing. She started up the sidewalk towards the porch. The rocking chairs creaked slightly in the wind. She gazed inside the windows at the dark interior. Inside, everything was still. Cynthia turned and walked around to the back of the house. Tall sunflowers swayed slightly in the gentle wind. Butterflies lazily floated around the yard. She stood for a moment, trying to brace herself. A large oak tree stood in the corner of the yard, its heavy branches bobbing gently, as if the tree were breathing. Taking a deep breath, she opened the back door and stepped inside the shadowed house.
A hundred memories flooded her mind. This was where Alejandro had grown up; this is where his mother had lived and died. Maria had always been so kind to Cynthia, she had accepted her as a daughter from the moment Alejandro had brought her home. In the days following Alejandro’s death, she had insisted that Cynthia stay with her. Cynthia looked around the kitchen. Though no one had lived here for a month now, it was still clean, save for a thin layer of dust. Colorful potholders hung on the wall behind the stove. Angel figurines adorned the tops of the cabinets.
A peaceful sadness settled around her. This home had been a safe haven for Cynthia for the past seven years, and while the memories contained within these rooms may bring tears to her eyes, it was a quiet grief. Here she did not weep with bitter rage, she cried softly while smiling at the happiness that the family had shared. Cynthia walked slowly through the house, resting her hand on the blanket that had been Alejandro’s as a child, on Maria’s statue of the Virgin Mother, on the quilt that had been passed down Maria’s family for three generations. The stairs whispered in protest as she climbed them, creaking quietly. At the top of the stairs she paused. Rainbows danced across the floor as sunlight filtered through the stained glass window at the end of the hallway. Alejandro’s father, Miguel, had made it for Maria. The colorful glass came together to form a beautiful meadow filled with flowers. A stream trailed along the side of the field. It was a striking piece, and Miguel had worked for weeks on it, in secret. It was here Cynthia found herself.
Cynthia sat down on the floor. She lay back on the plush carpet and stared up at the window. Colored light played against her features as she watched the sparkling dust particles gently swirl in the rays of sunlight. She thought back to the first time Alejandro had brought her here to meet his mother and father. She had been so nervous. It had taken her over an hour to get ready because she had wanted everything to be perfect. Alejandro had kept telling her not to worry, but she hadn’t listened to him. She learned later in life to take his advice without doubting him because he hand an uncanny knack for always being right, but that night she was too concerned with making a good first impression. Of course he had been right. His mother and father had welcomed her into their home as if she was family. They had shared a delicious meal in the kitchen and then sat in the living room for hours exchanging stories.
Miguel had always treated Cynthia as if she was precious; he regarded her as the daughter he had never had. He never failed to have a smile when she walked into the room, and he was constantly drawing her into their own private conversations. He had loved to have her sit up in the attic with him while he tinkered away on his workbench, repairing stained glass windows for the church. She would sit quietly; her presence gave him the companionship he wanted. He had kept a special place in his heart for Cynthia, and she had loved him as a father.
He had been diagnosed with stomach cancer within that first year. The doctors had tried every treatment they could think of to save him. Miguel went through countless rounds of chemotherapy over the next few months, each one making him weaker. He had slowly faded before their eyes from being a cheerful 70-year-old full of life to being a frail old man. He had been so weak most days that he could not raise his head from his pillow. The cancer stole his spirit and his joy. It had made him a shadow of his former self. Maria had sat by his bed every day, for hours at a time, but many days he hadn’t even realized she was there. It had devastated her not to be able to comfort him. He had died within six months of being diagnosed. Maria had been inconsolable, but Alejandro had known that his father could no longer feel the earthly pain that had become a steady part of his life. Even though he had grieved for his loss, he had been comforted by the knowledge that his father was finally at peace.
Cynthia opened her eyes. The afternoon sun warmed her face. It was here, in this very spot, that Alejandro had told her that he was dying. She had sunk down into the carpet, weeping. She had felt so helpless at that moment. Alejandro had held her gently and rocked her as she cried. He had been diagnosed with a brain tumor; doctors said that it was inoperable, and radiation had little chance of reducing its size. She had looked into his eyes, determined to help him fight for his life, but had seen a sense of calm in his gaze. He had accepted his fate. He didn’t want to torture himself with pointless treatments; he had wanted to spend his time left with his wife and family.
Sighing, Cynthia stood up. As much as she loved this house, she couldn’t bear to stay too long. While it did bring her a sense of peace that nothing else could match, it also brought her a sense of deep sorrow. Maria had left the house to Cynthia in her will since her husband and son were gone. The mortgage had been paid off years ago. The home was wholly Cynthia’s. She had no desire to sell the house, but she also didn’t think that she could live there. She no longer wanted to be a citizen of Applegate, Oregon. She and Alejandro had planned their lives around this small town, and it was too difficult to live here and have to be constantly reminded of what she had lost. She didn’t know where she’d go yet, either Montana or Washington. Somewhere quiet, surrounded by the awesome beauty of untouched land, where she could start her life over.
A hundred memories flooded her mind. This was where Alejandro had grown up; this is where his mother had lived and died. Maria had always been so kind to Cynthia, she had accepted her as a daughter from the moment Alejandro had brought her home. In the days following Alejandro’s death, she had insisted that Cynthia stay with her. Cynthia looked around the kitchen. Though no one had lived here for a month now, it was still clean, save for a thin layer of dust. Colorful potholders hung on the wall behind the stove. Angel figurines adorned the tops of the cabinets.
A peaceful sadness settled around her. This home had been a safe haven for Cynthia for the past seven years, and while the memories contained within these rooms may bring tears to her eyes, it was a quiet grief. Here she did not weep with bitter rage, she cried softly while smiling at the happiness that the family had shared. Cynthia walked slowly through the house, resting her hand on the blanket that had been Alejandro’s as a child, on Maria’s statue of the Virgin Mother, on the quilt that had been passed down Maria’s family for three generations. The stairs whispered in protest as she climbed them, creaking quietly. At the top of the stairs she paused. Rainbows danced across the floor as sunlight filtered through the stained glass window at the end of the hallway. Alejandro’s father, Miguel, had made it for Maria. The colorful glass came together to form a beautiful meadow filled with flowers. A stream trailed along the side of the field. It was a striking piece, and Miguel had worked for weeks on it, in secret. It was here Cynthia found herself.
Cynthia sat down on the floor. She lay back on the plush carpet and stared up at the window. Colored light played against her features as she watched the sparkling dust particles gently swirl in the rays of sunlight. She thought back to the first time Alejandro had brought her here to meet his mother and father. She had been so nervous. It had taken her over an hour to get ready because she had wanted everything to be perfect. Alejandro had kept telling her not to worry, but she hadn’t listened to him. She learned later in life to take his advice without doubting him because he hand an uncanny knack for always being right, but that night she was too concerned with making a good first impression. Of course he had been right. His mother and father had welcomed her into their home as if she was family. They had shared a delicious meal in the kitchen and then sat in the living room for hours exchanging stories.
Miguel had always treated Cynthia as if she was precious; he regarded her as the daughter he had never had. He never failed to have a smile when she walked into the room, and he was constantly drawing her into their own private conversations. He had loved to have her sit up in the attic with him while he tinkered away on his workbench, repairing stained glass windows for the church. She would sit quietly; her presence gave him the companionship he wanted. He had kept a special place in his heart for Cynthia, and she had loved him as a father.
He had been diagnosed with stomach cancer within that first year. The doctors had tried every treatment they could think of to save him. Miguel went through countless rounds of chemotherapy over the next few months, each one making him weaker. He had slowly faded before their eyes from being a cheerful 70-year-old full of life to being a frail old man. He had been so weak most days that he could not raise his head from his pillow. The cancer stole his spirit and his joy. It had made him a shadow of his former self. Maria had sat by his bed every day, for hours at a time, but many days he hadn’t even realized she was there. It had devastated her not to be able to comfort him. He had died within six months of being diagnosed. Maria had been inconsolable, but Alejandro had known that his father could no longer feel the earthly pain that had become a steady part of his life. Even though he had grieved for his loss, he had been comforted by the knowledge that his father was finally at peace.
Cynthia opened her eyes. The afternoon sun warmed her face. It was here, in this very spot, that Alejandro had told her that he was dying. She had sunk down into the carpet, weeping. She had felt so helpless at that moment. Alejandro had held her gently and rocked her as she cried. He had been diagnosed with a brain tumor; doctors said that it was inoperable, and radiation had little chance of reducing its size. She had looked into his eyes, determined to help him fight for his life, but had seen a sense of calm in his gaze. He had accepted his fate. He didn’t want to torture himself with pointless treatments; he had wanted to spend his time left with his wife and family.
Sighing, Cynthia stood up. As much as she loved this house, she couldn’t bear to stay too long. While it did bring her a sense of peace that nothing else could match, it also brought her a sense of deep sorrow. Maria had left the house to Cynthia in her will since her husband and son were gone. The mortgage had been paid off years ago. The home was wholly Cynthia’s. She had no desire to sell the house, but she also didn’t think that she could live there. She no longer wanted to be a citizen of Applegate, Oregon. She and Alejandro had planned their lives around this small town, and it was too difficult to live here and have to be constantly reminded of what she had lost. She didn’t know where she’d go yet, either Montana or Washington. Somewhere quiet, surrounded by the awesome beauty of untouched land, where she could start her life over.