This House is Ours, Chapter 3. (Patreon)

(Table of contents)

Chapter 3.

Simon shook me gently awake. He pulled me with him, past her wide open door, where her bed was neatly made, and down the stairs. Through the empty dining room, out into the kitchen. But there was no one there.

The front door was closed, but unlocked. When we opened it, there was nothing. Just the front driveway, looping around the island of grass and the giant tree with its tire swing. We stepped out into the cool night salt off the ocean, and stood there listening. Nothing. She wasn't down the long gravel. She wasn't on the old wooden chair. It was Simon who finally found her. He pulled on my elbow and pointed.

She was out in the middle of the field, in the long grass, just standing there, staring into the woods. She was naked in the moonlight. I don't know if she heard us, if the screen door had creaked as we came outside. Either way, she didn't turn. She didn't look. Not at us, anyway. She only stared into the woods. Like she was waiting for something in the dark.

So we sat down, and we waited too. She didn't move. She didn't make a sound. And the more time passed the sleepier we got. My little brother with his head on my lap. My own eyes starting to close. They would droop, and I would fight them. Open them as wide as I could. I looked out in the field to make sure she was still there. The tire swing was moving slowly. Creaking. Quiet, and then a slow creak.

I tapped Simon's shoulder, and he tapped my knee in return. Still awake.

Out in the field, my mother started to sing. If any of it was real, I mean. If any of it was real, she started to sing. She sang slowly, letting the words take their time. My eyes closed themselves again, and I curled up around my little brother, hugging him like a pillow, listening to her far off voice.

Are you lonesome tonight? Do you miss me I say?

Are you sorry we drifted apart?

Does your memories cling to that bright summer day

When I kissed you and called you sweetheart?

And then a slow creak.

Like the rose on the vine I am clinging to you

As I did when we drifted apart

I am wishing you back to that little shack

Where I kissed you and called you sweetheart

And then a slow creak.

If there was more to that song, I never heard it. Half asleep it was a chorus of voices. They were all so familiar. Singing all around us. In the field, and in the driveway. In my arms, and up on the barn roof. And then a slow creak. Everywhere.

When I woke up, the field was empty, and there was an envelope tucked into my hand.

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