MC's Whispers

Whispering Silences

Archive for the tag “sorrow”

An unexpected gift

bjorn-rudberg

© Björn Rudberg

For days, sorrow covered her heart like a dark cloud. She never expected it to break, snapping like a feeble twig. Her wooden cello was all she had left from her beloved grandfather. He was the one who had taught her to play and to allow music to soothe her soul. She felt closer to him whenever she plucked those strings.

But now it was gone and with it she feared his memory would also fade.

At church that night she longed for solace. But instead she found something more: a new cello, waiting for her to play a melody.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

 

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That indecisive moment

Continuity-KeypadCallie was standing in the room in silence, phone in hand. Her mind was a movie theater, replaying all the moments she had spent with him over the past four years. She remembered everything so vividly, it was as if she could see it all projected right in front of her. Every emotion felt, the ups and downs, the thrill, the excitement, the sensations in all their glory. But also the heartbreak, the fights, the arguments, the sorrow. She could feel it deep into her marrow. Now she was standing there pondering what to do.

She missed him. She missed the life they had. She missed sharing her joy, her success, her anguish, her pain with someone who understood simply by looking into her eyes. She had gotten so used to him being the one to talk to about everything that now she felt she was returning to a house of silence, like a protagonist in a silent film.

Her fingers dialed his number mechanically. Some things are so imprinted in your heart and mind that even if you try to forget you can’t. Like phone numbers of loved ones. (Yet your pin number you keep forgetting.)

All she had to do was press the little green symbol that would dial.

But she froze.

She wanted to call and tell him how much she missed him. How she longed for him every day. How she yearned for their conversations like a trapped mouse yearns for cheese. How she ached to feel loved again, to feel an array of emotions flood her system and make her happy and not simply content. How she craved for an exchange that was more real than any online interaction could ever be.

Nothing was the same now. It is inevitable for people to move on in their careers, in their lives. To strive for more. To engage in new things. To embark on new adventures. But it is also a human weakness and a simultaneous strength for us to desire to share everything with a partner. And that perhaps is the thing we long for the most.

Her finger lowered onto the button.

But what if? What if he didn’t want to talk to her? What if he had already moved on? To a new job, to a new life, to new interests? The ache was unbearable. The negative what ifs of her mind soon suppressed and quashed any positive hope her heart had created.

Her finger pressed cancel instead.

And nothing changed back.

Between a couch and a wild place

The leather couch used to squeak whenever he would slide down onto it. It didn’t anymore. You could even feel the small dent in the middle caused by all those people it had accommodated over the years. He could proudly or shamefully (it depends how you saw it) proclaim that he had grown up right there on that brown leather couch. In that down town office that was as modern as could be, with white walls that were repainted every five years and modern, funky furniture that invited the waiting patients and offered the illusion that they would take their troubles away.

Relax”.

That was the first word he heard every time he sat on that couch. It was Mr. Waterman’s job, though, to say so. He needed his patients calm so that they could pour out their soul to him during the next hour and he could attempt to provide some solution, consolation or advice to their problems. And these were many and varied. But over the years he had heard a lot. Just not from one particular patient. This one had proven to be an especially difficult case.

Brandon would simply refuse to speak out, to tell the professional sitting across him what troubled his mind, what made his heart ache, where his eyes wandered when he stared at the horizon out of the window. Whatever the exhortations or appeals Mr Waterman would use, discreetly or not, Brandon did not want to speak. He simply sufficed to say that he had nothing to say. Mr Waterman even tried to entice him with milkshakes and chocolate, but that didn’t work even when he was a young child, let alone now.

After around twenty years of therapy, Brandon still had nothing to say. Yet, he was as confused and tormented inside as he had always been. A storm was still brewing inside of him. It was just silent to the outer world.

Brandon was a child that kept to himself. He became quite the introvert as a young man, although he loved to socialize and go out with friends. But when he returned home, he liked to stay in his room doing his own thing, whatever that was – reading a book, listening to music, surfing the web. And just like he disturbed no one, he himself did not like to be disturbed. His upper class parents believed he was a troubled child. They described him as “emotionally unavailable” and “awkward” and pleaded Mr Waterman to “fix him”. So Brandon grew up in the office of a shrink. Only none of them knew about it.

Mr Waterman watched Brandon grow from a quiet boy into an unsuccessful rebel, into an elegant and well-educated young man. From the few things Brandon had uttered in his office, the professional understood that the boy felt misunderstood, that no one could comprehend what he felt or thought and that is why he preferred to stay silent. So the hours were spent talking about culture, the news, and well, anything other than himself. The latest thing that made Brandon’s eyes gleam with excitement was a photo book of the most amazing places in the world that should be visited. The first-page inscription –a quote by William G.T. Shedd: “A ship is safe in harbor, but that’s not what ships are for” – was what mostly inspired his heart to sing. But Mr Waterman knew that the storm would finally break out; he could see it the young man’s eyes, his gaze was looking further than meets the eye. It was obvious that he was in search of something out there that was not immediately visible.

And the storm arrived.

It came in the form of a hand-written letter and a tidied-up room.

I run because I no longer want to hide.
Because there is so much more out there to explore.
Because I want to move on with my life and do something substantial.
Because I feel I cannot reach my true potential if I
am locked down here, without facing any real challenges or the endless possibilities that seem to be out there.
Because I want to be somewhere where people know me for me and not because of who I know.
Because I want to be heard without needing to yell and fight.
Because I want to rediscover the joy of Fridays and looking forward to the weekend.
Because I want to live and see places and not just hear about them from other people’s past experiences.
Because I want to find a house that is mine from the start, that I decorate and organise to fit my needs.
Because it is part of growing up and independence is a powerful thing to have.
Because I don’t want to waste time anymore, waiting.
Because I want to finally find and taste at least one happy ending.
I run because I am not running. I simply want to live.

Who do you run to now?

Time to say goodbye friendIt’s hard to lose your best friend.

The one who was always there for you. Who you would look into their eyes and just know that everything will be alright. Who would sense that you were not feeling well and come cuddle with you in bed or on the couch simply so you wouldn’t feel alone. Who would sit and watch a movie with you, silent, even if they didn’t care much about what was happening on screen. Who would look out for you, so much that you would wake up finding them sitting right in front of you as they were checking to see if you were still breathing, just to make sure you were ok. Who would be silly just to make you laugh. Who would let you sit with them even if they felt like sleeping. The one who would understand you even if you never said anything.

A friend like that is a friend for life. Because no matter the disputes, the arguments, the scratches that you may cause each other, somehow these are easily forgotten simply by looking into each other’s eyes. You can tell that they don’t hold a grudge, and how could you? The benefits of such a friendship are so much more and so priceless that it doesn’t even matter why you fought before.

It’s to a friend like this that you can run to with every problem you have. Sit beside them after a long and hard day and cry your eyes out because that is the only way to vent out the tiredness, the frustration, the sorrow. And this is where you feel safe. Because you know they will never judge you. Rather, they will be there for you, no matter what. And a hug from them is all you really need to regain that feeling that there is something still going right in this world. All it usually takes is a word. No matter how incomprehensible it may sound, the intonation is always right. And this friend always knows when to say what and how. And soon a smile creeps its way back onto your tear-wet face. It’s hard not to laugh with friends like this. They know just the way to bring you up when you’re down. And that is why losing them causes an unprecedented suffering and a wound that will never heal, and will definitely never be forgotten.

Sometimes all you need is a cat (or a dog). Because that is where I had found my best friend and family.

It’s hard to lose your best friend. It leaves a void in your heart that can never be filled.

Plane-hoppers are like leafhoppers without a leave

PRAGUE_SPAN-articleLargeDo you ever wish you could just get up and leave to escape reality? Just board a plane and fly out. Wherever that may take you. And from then fly off to the next destination, however random that may be.

Jennifer was a plane-hopper.
She would do just that. Get on a plane and leave.

It takes courage to make such radical decisions and carry them out. But Jennifer had always done so. Whenever her heart was in pieces because of a nasty break-up, or things didn’t quite turn out the way she expected she would just take a plane and fly out. To a destination she would pick by chance and then let fate guide her.

Contrary to whatever television series may depict though, Jennifer used these escapes to clear her head. To think her life through and understand what it is she wanted. She often fled to her friends abroad to hold night-long talks like they did when they were young. Now it seems that as they grew up their problems also proliferated. And the pain that came with them also intensified.

Jennifer loved the feeling of flying in the clouds. Literally. Thousands of feet up in the air, for a few hours cut-off from the world was just what she needed when nothing went right.

Now she was on her way to Prague. That was the destination first available when she asked at the check-in counter. So she took it. She had never been there and maybe the sight-seeing excursions would help get her mind off the pain of her broken heart.

As she flicked through the on-board magazine referring to the city she would soon land at, Jennifer could imagine herself walking by the river and along the picturesque streets. Yet all she could think about was one person and one thing – she looked at her phone and wondered if she would ever hear the sound of a message arriving, that sweet greeting “Hey you!” that would restore the smile on her face.

It was up to fate what would happen but she certainly knew one thing – love is a strange thing that no one can master, no matter how good a ninja you may be.

Twelve years and counting…

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERATwelve years had passed and her pain was as solid as that very first day. His screeching still echoed in her ears, as she felt the weight of that train thrashing against her chest. And every time this painful thought came to mind, she would stretch out her hand in vain, hoping that at least this time she would be able to grip the handlebar of the pram in time.

 

This is a response to the Trifextra Writing Challenge. The weekend prompt was to write a complete story in only three sentences.

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