It's Sunday. I've just got to borrow the key to our house. Our home. But it isn't a home any longer. A home can't be if there's no one living in it. It's like an empty shell.

I open the door, in my hand I'm carrying a paper bag with some biscuits which the neighbour gave me—I mean Mrs. Wilsome (names seldom stick in my mind, they usually go in through one ear, and out through the other). Everything is upside down in here. Tomorrow everything will be taken away. Most of it is going to an auction or so somewhere, to help with the expenses. Paul has taken a few things. And what is left belongs to us children. —Children? I don't feel like a child. Not like an adult either for that matter. Something in-between. It's not always pleasant to be something in-between. One is too old for this and too young for that. But I don't want to get much older. Then one gets too many responsibilities. I wish one could stop time so one doesn't have to get older. Stop the time at a pleasant time. But the silly thing is, for every second and minute that passes, the older one becomes.

I walk slowly to the room I shared with Miriam. There's a slight echo of my footsteps in here. I walk to the curtainless window and look out at the beautiful garden. Within two weeks I'll be far away from here. Maybe I'll never return, never will see this place again—who knows?

I turn around. There we used to have a double faced bookshelf as a partition between us. My part used to be nearest to the window, where I often would sit, staring dreamingly out through the glass. Sometimes I would have it open and let the summer breeze cool my face.

It's starting to rain. I can hear the pitter-patter on the roof getting louder, and I can see the large raindrops beating the ground, and everything becomes misty gray outside. Being safely under shelter just makes me feel cozy, so I go to the living room, where most of the furniture is for the moment. There I sit down in the comfy armchair, pull up my feet beneath me and let my thoughts open up their wings and fly wherever they want to. I haven't been allowed to do so in peace for a long time, so now I'm going to make up for lost time.

We received a letter from our aunt yesterday, and of course, there was a crowd around Miriam immediately as she opened the envelope. I stayed in the background, but I did hear that a ranch-hand is going to meet us at the railway station. I mean, first we're taking a plane from Heathrow, and then the train. Passport, tickets and visas and all of that have been fixed already with the assistance of Mr. and Mrs. Wilsome. They have been so very kind to take care of almost everything with the lawyers for us, since we have no relatives here in England - except for our step brother of course, but I'm not counting him. He can't do everything anyway.

I bet you're thinking I'm weird, not feeling any enthusiasm for this. But I just can't: it feels as if it wouldn't be fair to my parents if I did. I am—was very attached to my parents, that is my father (Mother never adopted Miriam and me when they got married—as if that had anything to do with how attached I did get to her) maybe more than my brother and sisters. Yet I seldom show it; I regret that now. Reserved as I was, I held and still hold myself too much within this shell of mine, and I really wonder who'll ever be able to break through it.

I take out a biscuit and eat it absently. Suddenly I sit erect, bewildered, straining my ears. Did I hear something? I think someone just called me by the pet name only Dad used to use, and it sounded as if that somebody is standing inside the doorway to this room. It feels as if somebody is but I can't see anyone. I sit tensely, without moving, or giving away an sound.

Wait, there it is again!

"Mishie", says a deep warm voice so quietly that I'm not sure whether I heard or imagine I heard it. It must be Dad!

But he's dead, you know that, says another voice within me. It must be your wild imagination dragging off with you again.

But it can't be. I'm not scared, only curiously excited, although I've never experienced anything like this before in my whole life. I lean my head backwards, and suddenly I feel something lay on my forehead, like a hand, and I relax completely. Why didn't I hear any footsteps? the thought fleets through my mind. But then it doesn't matter to me, why. What a peace I feel! My eyelids feel heavy. They're getting heavier. I—

***

...PART FOUR next!

Cover image courtesy of @Idwrite . Thanks!
© 1983/2016 by kemorgan65