It was empty. A room almost empty save for Magdalene and classic furnitures. Her plump figure in the middle, hair grey with age and tied up in a prim bun. Her eyes bounced across what was once her home. She could even see things in their proper place, she could still hear the faint laughter from where she'd be chopping onions in the kitchen.
The living room had been full of life. Paul, her husband, would have friends over. They'd watch a game and get raucous over their dad jokes. Now, it was all just memory. The worn out carpets told the story.
With silent steps, in black flats, she made her way across the room to the window. The light curtains swayed from the breeze and the familiar scent of home hit her when she was close enough. It was her favorite laundry detergent. She could still smell it.
The street below was empty too. A stray cat bouncing over the trash cans. With a deep breath, she pulled back and did a 360, chest heavy with nostalgia. One last time. She just needed to feel one last time.
As if on cue, the front door opened and Paul waltzed in. He took of the baseball hat and heaved a grieved sigh. Moving along, he dropped keys into a ceramic bowl right on the table few feets away from the door. The silence of the house seemed to weigh on him as his shoulders slouched.
Magdalene drank in the sight of her husband. He still looked like her knight in shiny armor. He had taken on more defined features over the years but she still saw the boy who'd asked her to marry him on Prom Night. She saw the man who'd worked two jobs while in college to take care of her and their unborn child. The man who'd never failed to sing her praise even when she did nothing to deserve his unconditional love.
Paul stopped in his tracks, the comfort of his room a door knob away. Something compelled him to turn. It could have been the soft whisper of nature's breath or the lullaby of the soft fabrics as they slapped against the walls. Whatever it was, he found himself staring at the window. The window...
The window
Magdalene held her breath as he stared. She knew he couldn't see her but those eyes still left her transfixed. His grey hair was disheveled and showed traces of balding; his forehead glistened with a sheen of sweat. The rays of the setting sun casting a shadow on his stubbled jaw– she loved rubbing those. She wondered, what if...? But no amount of time could answer that question and she best be leaving now.
Paul stared at the window, the spot where their love seat once was. She'd broken the news of the third pregnancy right there, at that very spot above the bustling noise below. He'd returned from a long day at work– exhausted–when she'd began to knead him, easing out the tension from his body before breaking forth with the news. He still remembers how much he'd felt; myriads of emotions flowing through him. How time flies. He could have sworn it was just yesterday he held her, slow dancing to Frank Sinatra by the window.
With tears and a final smile Goodbye, she disappeared; her silhouette fading and devolving into fragments carried with the wind.
Paul felt himself smile and he had no idea why. He's wasted enough time on memories, he has five boisterous grandchildren who awaited him at the park. With a shake of his head, he slid into his room, silence in his wake.
This is my response to the Inkwell Prompt - Exhaust and Dreem-Wotw - Time. I listened to Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata while writing. I hope I was able to enthrall and captivate your mind.
Source: Lead Image by 0fjd125gk87 from Pixabay
