If Only

Chapter Two: The Encounter

As I unpacked the boxes of music sheets and placed them neatly on the shelves, my mind wandered to memories of my childhood. The trophies lining the shelves reminded me of the piano contests I had won as a child, of the praise and admiration I had received. But those memories now felt distant and hollow, empty shells of a life I no longer had.

I looked over at my mother, her face lined with the weariness of years of struggle and heartache. Despite my mistreatment of her, she had never given up on me. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as I realized how much I had taken her for granted, how much I had hurt her.

"Mom?" I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you." The words felt inadequate, but they were all I could manage.

A small smile crept onto my mother's face, and for a moment, the weight of our shared pain felt a little lighter. Together, we worked to clean the room that had once been my sanctuary, and although the ache in my heart remained, it felt like maybe, just maybe, I could start to heal.

*****

The day had been excruciatingly long, filled with the arduous task of cleaning. My body ached, and I could feel every muscle protesting as I sat on the plush carpet in the expansive living room. The house was far too large for just the two of us, a habit my father had inherited from my grandfather, who believed that size mattered more than practicality. It didn't matter if there were only a few people living in the house, as long as it was grand, it was worth having.

As I stretched my arms above my head, attempting to soothe the throbbing pain, I couldn't help but wonder why we even bothered with such a large house. It was as though the empty rooms echoed with the memories of a family that no longer existed.

But today was different. Today, I had spent the day working hard, something that had become an unfamiliar feeling over the past few months. I had spent my days cooped up in my room, lost in my own world of pain and anguish. Today, however, I had pushed myself to the brink, and it was starting to show. The sweat had dried on my back, and my body was begging for rest.

As I yawned, fighting the urge to collapse onto the floor, Glenda entered the room, carrying a few items that she needed to put away. I offered to help her, but she declined, insisting that I needed some fresh air after pushing myself so hard. And she was right, I did need some air.

I had forgotten what it felt like to be outside, to feel the cool breeze on my skin. It had been so long since I had ventured into the backyard, and the thought of doing so now was both terrifying and exhilarating. As I made my way outside, I felt a rush of emotions flood over me. Memories of happier times mixed with the pain of the present, creating a feeling of overwhelming sadness.

I decided to drop my phone off to my mom's bag that she left on the kitchen counter and proceeded outside.

I made my way to the back door that led to the backyard. The sliding doors weren't that smooth to slide anymore, but I try my best to pull them open.

The cooling wind hits me directly to the face, slightly freezing my whole body. I stepped out of the door and started to walk towards the yard, the sun directly facing me.

All the exhaustion that I've felt for over 3 months seemed to dissipate as I took in the liberating sight of green adorning the backyard.

I inhaled deeply, relishing the crispness of the air as it filled my lungs. It was a welcome respite from the stuffiness of the house. As I gazed around the backyard, my eyes fell on the trees my grandparents had planted years ago. They looked forlorn and forgotten, their branches stretching out as if reaching for something they could no longer have. I couldn't help but feel guilty for neglecting them.