The Joy of Life: An Unfortunate Flock

Vague Reminiscing

It was a very basic cabin, crudely constructed on a flat enough plain. There were no windows or chimney either, just an iron stove planted behind the house. The wood was dark and aged yet still more vibrant than the hard dirt beneath my feet. The pain hadn't come yet, but I could still feel that pressure building up to it. Against my better judgement to go away, to move away from this looming feeling of dread coming from myself, I thought I heard someone calling me. The voice was shrill and weak, but also familiar. There was another voice there. Dark and deep compared to the other, yet filled with restrained anger.

Going closer, I heard that familiar voice again. She was calling out to someone. Or rather people.

"Josephine? Frederick!" she called, panic and worry in her voice. "Frederick, where are you going? Where's Josephine?" The man's voice, Frederick I believe, called back, "I have to go, mother." The older lady kept calling for Josephine when I came towards the cabin. The man was heading North where I came from the West. My birds seemed to know that I wished to speak to her since they flew up to the top her cabin, hiding where there would be a chimney but instead had shadows made from the slopes of the roof.

The lady looked around her late thirties or early forties. Her form was slouched over, looking under the front porch despite her evident struggle to bend down. Although her hair was still a light brown in the shade, I could count the years of struggle and the stress of raising children fall down her back like a frayed silk scarf. Her hands were still smooth looking when open but somehow more wrinkly and aged when she held onto her cane. She must have heard my footsteps because she turned to look at me. Her eyes expressed shock, but her mouth seemed to form a thin smile as she got up.

"Oh! Hello sister. How are you today?" The pressure stayed, collecting in the small of my back like an awkward hug or push from behind. But I had to collect myself before I could answer her. "I'm fine today. Thank you for asking."

She gave a brief nod before looking up again with mild worry. She seemed to glance to the sky for a moment, looking ponderously before looking back at me. "I'm sorry, but what was your name dearie?"

"My name is Jubilee, but you can call me Juby if you would prefer."

"Oh, alright." she said. "I'm Maybelline. Um... Would you like to join me for some tea?"

"I would love some right now, if you don't mind having me." She seemed to brighten up with that. "Well, let me get the stove ready. You can wait in the living room while I make it." she then gestured towards where the living room would be in the house.

I made my way through the large door frame, down a dimly lit wooden hallway, and, as told, waited for the tea in her living room. The room was dully colored, with faded reds and pinks everywhere on her wallpapers and furniture. There was only three chairs in the whole room; one was worn at the bottom with a seat comforter being the only distance between the sitter and a broken seat, the second was lightly dusty, no comforter for the seat but was in good enough shape for me to sit on, and the third was the most dusty, had a broken seat, a chipped back post, and scuffed up front legs from years of scratches and kicks. There was a fire place here but it leads directly to outside where the smoke can leave the house. The walls were filled with almost excessive amounts of almost finished paintings.They seemed to showcase her passion for art. She painted her son and her husband reading a newspaper, she painted her husband in his uniform, she painted her son in the uniform, she painted the outside of the house, the inside, the dull town, and her son when older.

The largest painting of them all was of her and her husband, sitting together at the table with a small child on her lap. And although I barely know this woman, I seemed to feel a sort of familiar loneliness from this room alone, not even knowing whether she is or not.