January the Third

It all felt like that Christmas morning…the one when I opened my eyes, lying on my side with only one thought in mind. The day that I jumped out of bed, wrapped the colored wool blanket around my goose bumps and rushed out of the door. Then I approached the other room as I could see the warm glow of the reds and oranges with a shade of ever green dotted on the side walls…

I could just close my eyes and feel what I felt right then, right there, right now. Santa’s suitcases were not anywhere to be found; Santa hadn’t made it the previous night and on that Christmas morning all those feelings inside my chest were replaced by other feelings, quite different…you see it was never for the many gifts Santa had promised to bring me; but for the first time I felt how much I had always loved Santa and in that very moment I wished for only his presence, not his presents.

Yes, it felt just like that today; when I got up out of bed to find the bed in the next room, unruffled, unwrinkled and all made up. Even the shades were still way shut down. The room was filled with nothing: my heart-if only for a moment-felt very much like that as I turned around, faced the door and walked back to start my day.

The other big room at the end of the hallway had long been dissected into two separate rooms, also big. That day as I walked around, I realized one thing about each room: First as I walked by it, I though the door of the smaller room was closed shut; as I looked a little closer though, I could see that it wasn’t quite shut; as my eyes could see a touch of darkness coming out from that part of it ajar. I could hear very faded breaths; faded but frequent. I got held of the door knob and peeped just a little more to make sure; yes, I could see her chestnut locks scattered on the pillow and one of her eyebrows emerging halfway out from the sheets.

As I walked through the hallway and reached the pathway to the bigger room, I noticed how the fire lit in the fireplace was still trying to breathe some warmth into the quiet room; still trying to spread some warmth as the man was lying right beside, on the floor, with pieces of rag and thin cloth wrapped around him. All I could see from that view was a ball of unruly silver-white hair emerging from the rags. Faded sounds of someone breathing could also be heard…frequently.

I was about to find my way to the washing room when I felt it: a sudden ooze of pain and blood. A moment of a stop, a sudden certainty of a halt in time; I looked down, held my foot up and saw it: a triangle of glass, halfway up my heel, decorated with flowing red. Then it drew my attention: on the brick wall, where I was standing, I could see what appeared to be powdered pieces of light, shimmering and reflecting the reds and oranges of the Christmas tree. I touched it just to be sure, they scratched my fingertips. Then I looked into the corners, I could see tiny pieces of orange, red and green scattered all over the place, pieces of shattered glass one of which had released a few drops of my red blood.

I took one last look at the dotted reds and oranges on the side wall, then looked down, took the piece out of my heel and “walked” my way to the washing room. I entered and went straight for the mirror…then I looked into it and felt the need to close my eyes as I turned the valve…then all I could feel was the sound of the water, flowing…

January 2012

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