I (as a child) sat cross-legged in a massive carpeted living room, ceilings were 30 feet tall and windows lining the west end of the room. When I stood, I hardly gained any height, still relatively close to the ground. Perhaps a memory or at the minimum one using an actual recollection as a form of scaffolding. All the antique mirrors once covering every surface covered in white sheets, I was unable to see my reflection. I aimlessly walked around the expansive room, inexplicably unable to open any door, the doorknobs merely inches away from my grasp. My hands were quite chubby and lacked dexterity. And when I pressed them against my face, I found my cheeks to be quite full and plump.
I returned to the vast set of windows, struggling to climb on a wooden bench pushed up against a window’s edge. Peering out, it was an endless void of white: no foliage, no horizon, and certainly no people, just white. However, the light was curiously orange, like the late evening, painting the room in swathes of dark orange.
“Do you see that deer over there? Just down the hill,” a disembodied voice said, one of an old man’s once familiar.
I returned to the vast set of windows, struggling to climb on a wooden bench pushed up against a window’s edge. Peering out, it was an endless void of white: no foliage, no horizon, and certainly no people, just white. However, the light was curiously orange, like the late evening, painting the room in swathes of dark orange.
“Do you see that deer over there? Just down the hill,” a disembodied voice said, one of an old man’s once familiar.
Looking behind me around the room proved fruitless in finding the voice’s source. I was alone in the room, still perched on the wood bench. I strained my eyes out the window, only to meet with the same formless white landscape. However, I noticed the silhouette of a small doe darting across my vision. Upon pressing my face and hands on the glass, it raised its head to look at me, perking its ears. It walked closer and closer to me until it stood mere feet from the glass, its features still indiscernible.
The same strained voice filled my ears once more, “Could you be a buddy and get me some pretzels?” before falling back into silence.
I maintained my gaze with the doe for a few moments, dismounting and scurrying to the kitchen. The second cabinet in the pantry contained a jar of pretzel rods, I figured it was the ones he was talking about and carried it with both hands back to the living room. I placed the unopened jar at the foot of his empty lay-z-boy recliner, softly rocking back and forth despite being unoccupied. Curiously, his mass (could be described as a translucent black silhouette of his body). The pretzel jar remained unopened and untouched but the sounds of him grabbing the jar and chomping down on each rod emitted from the recliner.
“Hey buddy, why don’t we go up to the loft and watch one of those Star Wars movies, how does that sound?” the same gruffy but cheerful voice asked.
“Hey buddy, why don’t we go up to the loft and watch one of those Star Wars movies, how does that sound?” the same gruffy but cheerful voice asked.
I nodded while I continued looking out the window, a single tear rolling down my fleshy cheek. Scurrying up the large wood steps to the loft, I dove onto one of the several overstuffed beanbags lining the paneled wall and waited. Heavy footsteps traced up the length of the staircase like a giant drifting into a soft slumber until abruptly stopping before the large television at one end of the loft. Again, without any movement, I heard the click of the VHS tape being slipped in and the snap of the casket being closed, the TV turning on and the familiar trumpets announcing the commencement of The Empire Strikes Back.
“I love you Gramps, I miss when we used to watch movies here. I’m sorry we weren’t closer,” I said in a squeaky and tearful voice, croaking from the depths of my constricting throat.
“It’s okay Tommy. Just know that I’m proud of you. I always will be. You don’t have to be sorry. I’m happy that we were able to talk one last time before I left. I know you’ll go far in life. I love you, Tommy,” Gramps replied.
“I love you too, Gramps,” I replied, pausing, “Goodnight.”
“It’s okay Tommy. Just know that I’m proud of you. I always will be. You don’t have to be sorry. I’m happy that we were able to talk one last time before I left. I know you’ll go far in life. I love you, Tommy,” Gramps replied.
“I love you too, Gramps,” I replied, pausing, “Goodnight.”