In a Lifetime

Margaret loved her cottage; especially her little flower garden at the back of the house.  She spent hours outside tending and nurturing lovely snap dragons, roses, lavender, and many other colorful "children" as she affectionately called them. Her existence was quiet and simple.  She wasn't sure when she picked up her ghostly fan, but he didn't act like he wanted to hurt her. And so what began as a passing curiosity became many years of a most gentle, kind haunting.   She would faintly smell his pipe when he was around and heard his footsteps often.  If he was restless, he rearranged her books or scattered her papers.  He liked to play hide and seek with her things. She found this endearing; mischievous little stinker that he was.  She thought he enjoyed her flowers for there was the thin, sad cry of a violin  most times after she'd brought in fresh bundles, placing them about the house. She would catch glimpses of him, a dark shape moving elegantly across the room; her music lover she called him affectionately.  She found herself humming his beautiful music while weeding and as she came inside, she would raise her hand and brush softly, a tiny set of wind chimes to contribute a little music herself.   At the end of the day, she would sit in her rocking chair and wait.  He would mumble and whisper to her though she rarely caught full sentences; her lonesome, faded friend.  After a time, she noticed his visits and company became less frequent.  She wondered if she had upset him somehow.  Had he found a new friend on the same plane? She laughed at herself for her loneliness and jealousy. After all the years they'd "not" spent together, she was sad that he was leaving her. She lost herself in her "children" but always thought back about her silent partner.

Paul had been in the old house for months before he really noticed her; his little spirit.  He could smell the faint flowers of her perfume, occasionally seeing her shadow bustling about from the corner of his eye.  He was, of course initially startled but she seemed harmless, lonely; choosing to sit with him while he smoked his pipe and more so, when he played his violin.  Struggling as a musician for years, he had picked up and moved across the country, feeling he needed this new start; a new place, and a new life. He didn't count on a new room mate but when the frail rocking chair would shift and gently sway, he discovered a soothing calm.  Paul began to address her; asking if she liked what he'd done.  If she disapproved, books would fall from their perch or something personal would mysteriously  be "misplaced".  Sometimes she left in a huff by poofing the drapes.  If she loved what he was doing, she would ring the wind chimes softly out in the small now overgrown garden in the back.  He grew to enjoy her company; telling her things , sharing his music and daily struggles although he sometimes wished their barrier was more surmountable than life eternal.  She slowly became important to him; a confidant.  The months whispered into years and their friendship in his eyes grew quietly.  As his career and reputation took off, so did he; finding himself traveling the world.  It was just what he had always dreamed of  yet it took him from the house for long periods of time.  He left his little spirit alone and realized he how much he missed her. He thought ironically that she might be drifting away; upset or sad. Many days went by without a puff of the drapes, the smell of flowers or the clinking chimes.  He talked to her but not even the chair moved with acknowledgement. It was late one night, and  he was rushing home from a spectacular performance to share with his little muse that he'd been offered the chance of a lifetime.   


The night was brutal: rain fell in sheets making visibility almost zero.  In the dark, the turns seemed to bite deeply into the surrounding scenery. He had to slow several times as the route he'd taken for years became hazardous and unfamiliar in the storm.  Antsy to hurry home and quietly share his achievement, Paul found himself practicing the news for his invisible companion. Laughing to himself as he spoke aloud in the car, even searching for the right words and wondering if he could ask her to come with him.


 The crash had been awful and plastered all over the news.  After many uncertain days, he felt immense relief to find his way home; free to finally share with his favorite spirit some good news. As he approached the walk he smelled flowers and found a small pretty red head bent over in the back garden.  The blooms were colorful and lovely.  She stood and walked toward him, wiping her hands across her apron.


"May I help you?" she cocked her head and puzzled over his dark clothes.  He was still a little woozy and had to check the post box to make sure he was at the right address
"I live here" he said simply, his dark brow furrowing.
A warm light of recognition seemed to clear her apprehensive eyes. "You did once."
"No. I do. Here." he raised his violin case.
She nodded and waited patiently, her smile growing with each non heartbeat.
"I've survived a horrible ordeal and I need to rest." he said almost childishly.
"You did not." Her green eyes sparkled.
He sighed impatiently and stared at her.  " Miss, I assure you, I...."
She giggled and reached for his hand.  "Come then. I will make you comfortable." 


The chimes in the garden jingled when he took her hand and as the warmth of recognition flooded his body, he smiled when she at last welcomed him home.




I don't particularly like it. Structurally speaking, it is one of my better pieces but I fought this one tooth and nail to get it to achieve or accomplish anything. I've been sitting with it for months and finally decided to finish it and post it. Good riddance. I love the idea but I just couldn't get it to turn out right in short story format and I always try to keep it ... short. 


Unlike my "apology" here. Ha. 


I hope that you had a lovely Labor Day.  Safe travels my friends. I hope we can share some time soon.