Still
Written by: Nicole
Based on a short movie.
All Rights Reserved.
The wind blew the white curtains softly, waving them into the room and caressed her face ever so gently. She sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes was fixed at nowhere. A lot of things were on her mind and she could hardly focus on any of them. It was as if her whole life was flashing in front of her eyes but she had no power over it. She could only watch without being able to either stop or pause the silent torturing movie. Far from the reality she drifted away, further and further until she felt as if she was floating outside the bubble and out of her own body. But still, she could hear when slow steps knocking the wooden floor at the hall and her brain worked its wonders. She slipped her feet into the blanket and put her head onto the pillow. Her breaths were so steady that anyone would think she’d fallen asleep hours ago. She listened as the steps were getting closer. She heard the door open and she held her breath. Her eyes were wide open and lifeless. She waited.
The man entered the room. He was a good looking man with eyeglasses and dark suit. He looked like a very decent gentleman who would’ve made a perfect husband and a succesful businessman. He paused at the door, a bit shocked when he saw the shadowing figure asleep on the bed. He didn’t expect her to be there. He thought she would still be at her work, late as usual. But he pulled himself quite well and he realized that her presence wouldn’t change anything. He continued his steps and ever so slowly, not wanting to wake her up, he put the suitcase on the bed. He opened it and for a slight second, he felt an urge of hesitation inside him. His eyes scanned the four corners of the empty suitcase and he blinked. The blink woke him up and threw him back to the reality. Nothing was going to change, his decision was final. It was all too late to go back. If he decided to try again, it would all be the same again. Same as it never was.
He turned around and took his clothes from the drawers. He didn’t even bother to see what he was packing. He just kept taking everything. His shirts, his trousers, his socks, his ties, everything. He was determined to take away everything with him. Maybe not everything. Maybe only things that were still belonged to him. Soon he realized the suitcase was no longer empty. He had thrown in quite many clothes. Perhaps too many. The sight of the messy packed clothes seemed so final. It stated what he was throwing away and what he was sacrificing. Nevertheless, it also promised what he could have in his future. Holding on to the thin string of hope of a better life, he closed the suitcase and pulled the zipper around it. When he went to close the drawers, he saw the a photograph lying in the drawer, put neatly under his clothes. It was taken when they celebrated their first wedding anniversary. A glass of wine was in their hands and there she was, laughing so brightly. He could see his own eyes in the picture, showering her with love and admiration. He remembered his feelings at that time. He felt very blessed to be married to the woman beside her and he felt that he could go through anything for her. The man sighed, and put the photograph back. He felt like the photograph was her last attempt to change his mind, but he knew better. He turned around to take his suitcase and left before she woke up and threatened his own determination to leave.
His eyes then met her body. He could hear her calm and steady breaths while he watched the side of her stomach rising and falling gently under the covers. The curve he knew so well along these past fourteen years. The body that had swayed with his every night, sharing everything from stories of the past to promise of the future. On this very bed, he bore his soul and shared his dreams. On this bed, he cried and laughed. Teased playfully and held lovingly. With the feminine body before him once he immersed himself so deeply that he felt he wouldn’t be able to live without her. He watched her sleeping and exhaled slowly. The old memories from the past years came back, too fast and too strong, and he could almost felt them on his skin. He sat on the edge of the bed, took off his eyeglasses and put his hands on his forehead. He could smell her distinct perfume, but it was the smell of her body that lulled him into sleep. It was the scent he had gotten so used to, the sweet toxicating scent that had always been able to drift him into a peaceful sleep. He didn't know why he didn't just leave at that time. Maybe he was waiting for something to come. Maybe he was waiting for nothing to come. There was not much difference left. So, he waited.
The little boy came into the room and stood in silence at the door, watching the man and the woman asleep. He was around nine and he was wearing his pajamas. In his hand was his old teddy bear, worn from years of hugging and tugging. He watched the couple asleep with eyes wide open. Eyes filled with nothing but questions and inquiries of explanations. Suddenly, as if he sensed the boy’s presence, the man lifted his head up and their eyes met. There was no hint of sleepiness in both of their eyes. There were only questions and answers. Two men of different generations exchanging explanations, the one that couldn’t be conveyed properly with words as words would only wash away the importance of it. So they stared at each other, one asking why and one answering because. One inquiring where and one implying place. One wondering of when and one telling stories of time. One reluctantly wanting to leave the other and one reluctantly wanting to tie down the other. One begging for forgiveness and one offering endless love.
The boy walked closer, approached the man and without any words, he handed him his ragged teddy bear. The man looked surprised at first but the little boy could see how his face turned from surprise to grief. He stared deeply to the boy's eyes and his eyes were glistening with crystal buds of tears. He then rose to his feet and in a quick embrace, he took the little boy into his arms and held him tight as if he would never let him go forever. The feelings between them were so intense that none of them could speak out a word. After a minute that felt like eternity, their lungs suffocated for air and they let go of each other. The man took his eyeglasses, touched the little boy’s cheek as if he was saying the very last goodbye and reached for his suitcase on the bed. With much sadness but less hesitation, he walked towards the door but paused for a moment to take the last glance of his son. His little boy. A part of himself that he used to cradle in his arms and hold upon his shoulder. He felt that he was leaving not only a part of himself but his whole heart. He could barely breathe but he knew this must be done. So with profound emotions obviously drawn on his face, he finally walked out of the room. Out of their lives forever.
The little boy still locked his feet onto the ground, unable to move even if he wanted to. The shadow of his father towering at the doorway, blocking the dim light from the hall, was sculptured inside his head and he was like experiencing a fake feeling. It was like people who could still feel their legs after they were amputated. He kept staring at the door, millions of thoughts raced through his mind. Where was he going? Would he be happy? Would he still remember him? Would they meet again? He felt he could still see his father smiling at him for the last time, even after he was already gone for ten minutes now. He silently stood there in darkness. He just waited.
It was his mother’s steady breaths that finally woke him up. He could see the door clearly and the dim light from the hall made sense to him now. His old man was gone. And now she was the only one he had. The little boy then climbed up into the bed, sneaking his body under the covers beside his mother’s. The warmth filled up his body and he felt safe. He could smell his mother’s body scent and he could smell his father’s. He distinctly recalled the moments he slept between both of them with their hands holding each other, resting on his stomach. He would lie still and sleep peacefully between them, feeling their hands everytime he took a breath. He never knew anyone could feel that safe in their lives.
The boy drew his body closer to his mother’s and circled his hands around her waist. Now he was trying to relive the memory by watching his hand rising and falling steadily above the side of his mother's stomach. Her back faced him and he suddenly felt very safe, just like when he used to sleep together with both of his parents. Not very long, as it always was, he went into deep sleep. Worries left his mind already and he felt home. He didn't realize that his hand wasn’t rising and falling so steady anymore. He didn’t realize that his mother’s breaths were shorter and he was already so soundly asleep when they stopped.
The rest of the photographs were lying on the floor messily just beside the bed. Her hand hung powerlessly and inside her now open fist were few pills left. The rest were scattered along with the photographs. The bottle was open and it was empty. There was not quite many left, perhaps only one-fifth of the whole bottle. Her eyes were wide open and a trail of dried tear ran through the corner of her eyes. She still waited.
Finale.
