Hi guys! I decided to try something different, and posted a short story I wrote recently based on real events that happened to ME (I’m the jogger) during confinement. I imagined the part of the sweet old lady since I don’t know her (and never saw her again) but the encounter moved me.
Check it out, and since this is still a work in progress don’t hesitate to point out any errors or things you think should be improved (or could be).
Also, please LIKE, FOLLOW, AND SHARE if you enjoyed it. Those small actions go a long way in supporting small businesses and local, indie authors.
Thanks, and I hope you enjoy!
Cheers!
“DANDELION” By: L.O.Martins –
She looked up at her daughter’s bedroom window. The curtains were drawn and she couldn’t see any movement inside. Tanya was probably in the bathroom now, drawing herself a bath as she did every morning after breakfast.
Such a strange routine, to take a long bath so early in the day, but her daughter picked up that habit once confinement began. Perhaps she needed a moment before facing the new normal? Who knew. They didn’t talk much, and she knew better than to ask.
She decided to wait just a few extra minutes to be sure that her daughter hadn’t forgotten something. That happened occasionally, Tanya leaving the water running and rushing downstairs for clean towels, a candle, or even a glass of wine.
Wine after breakfast? Another strange habit, and she learned not to question that one either.
Time passed as she heard the ticking of the big grandma clock in the dining room. There. That was long enough – it was safe now. With a smile she stepped outside and walked slowly through her front yard. She loved those moments when the morning sun was just right – not too weak, nor punishing like the midday sun – and when the birds fluttered about, chirping happily before they hid from the early summer heat.
She shuffled her feet over the pavement blocks leading to the front gate. One step, the next, and now another. Her small plush slippers were getting wet in the morning dew as they brushed against daffodils and grass blades, but she didn’t mind.
Inching her way forward she thought of the time when her feet readily obeyed her commands, when she didn’t struggle for balance, and when she covered the entire yard in a few strong steps, tirelessly bending to pluck out weeds, kneeling here and there to tuck bulbs back into their dirt nests. It hadn’t been long since she wandered alone to the central market, pulling a small market stroller bag that would soon be spilling over with seasonal fruits and vegetables, fresh milk jugs, and different cheese delicately wrapped. On the way back she always carried a baguette under her arm and an antique tapestry clutch in her free hand.
The memories saddened her, but she knew not to let them linger. Shrugging them off she focused on her upcoming challenge, the missing piece of the pavement block that had sent her spiraling down, her legs rolling under her as she tumbled onward only to stop against the black cast iron siding of her rococo style gate. She lived alone then, and was saved by her neighbor after minutes of yelling for help, her knees skinned and blood trickling down her forehead. When the ambulance arrived she was strapped to a gurney, her right leg – swollen to twice its normal size – stabilized in a splint. Later at the hospital, she learned she had a femur fracture, a concussion, and was scheduled for surgery first thing in the morning. That was the end of her independent life.
In the days following her femur rodding surgery, she developed a blood clot and had a stroke, in spite of the many blood thinning medications she was on. She was never the same again.
Clenching her fists angrily with her recollections, she concentrated on shuffling over the pavement crack; she did not want a replay of that horrible day. Why hadn’t her daughter fixed that thing? She made a mental note to call someone when confinement was finally lifted.
One step first, followed by yet another. Raise your feet so you don’t snag your slippers in the edges of the pavement cracks. Come on, shuffle less, one more. With that, she made it over her obstacle proud to have, once again, conquered the walkway traps without another tumble.
She stopped for a minute to catch her breath, looking around at her garden. The rose bush needed some tending but she couldn’t stay up long enough to trim its dry branches. If only her daughter had inherited her green thumb…
She hadn’t; the garden would have to wait.
Four more steps, that’s all she needed to get to the front gate. One step, another, shuffling again but it didn’t matter. The walkway was smooth from now on. As she approached the iron gate she heard a muffled voice moving down the sidewalk. A pedestrian passed the house, hand up to his ear as he held a black phone and talked through a white mask. He was alone, as most pedestrians were nowadays.
The pandemic had changed everything. With the increase in deaths governments started issuing confinement orders, and people were quarantined in their homes. Schools closed, work places were emptied, and the previously bustling city streets turned into mere shadows of a ghost town. Some people were still allowed to work, especially those in health care, but they still had to carry a government authorization at all times. The disease scared the younger generation, her daughter especially, but she wasn’t frightened. She grew up during the second great war, and memories of an invaded France and of years living in fear made this new enemy seem almost childish.
That was why, in spite of doctors’ advice to respect confinement and stay indoors she broke her quarantine and shuffled every day towards the street hoping to see glimpses of life, yearning for some human contact other than her concerned, and controlling, daughter.
Leaning against the gate she looked around and saw a young lady jogging towards her, white earbuds tucked under stray strands of hair as her head bobbed up and down to the music. The government still allowed people to exercise outside as long as they were alone, carried an authorization, and restrained their activities to one hour. She wished she could also go for a walk, but her daughter had strictly forbidden any contact with the outside world.
Smiling happily at the approaching jogger, she bent down to pick a yellow dandelion. By the time she had straightened herself up again, the jogger was at her front gate.
“Bonjour!” She said loudly and stepped further out onto the sidewalk, startling the runner who dropped her phone in surprise.
The jogger picked up her phone, and stared at the old lady standing in front of her, her white curly hair waving in the light breeze while her blue nightgown ruffled around her ankles. The encounter was unexpected and unusual, and for a few seconds the jogger forgot all about keeping a safe distance from others, especially the elderly.
“I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wanted to offer you a flower on this beautiful day.” The old lady said smiling as she extended a frail hand with a yellow dandelion.
Suddenly, a loud noise echoed across the front yard, startling both women. It was the side door that had banged shut. Rushing through the yard came a woman with a white towel wrapped around her hair and a pink robe tied with a satin ribbon. Her face was flushed in evident anger, and her steps were strong and determined, narrowed eyes focused on the older woman.
“Maman!” She screamed. “Get back in the house right away! Vite!”
The old lady sighed, subdued, looked at the jogger and whispered,
“I need to go back to confinement, but you have a good day.” And with a sad smile she turned towards her daughter and shuffled one step, then the other, and yet one more as Tanya wrapped her hands around her arm and half pulled, half steadied her mother back towards the house.
The jogger, stunned, stared on as they made their way through the front yard. Fixing her earbuds she turned to her phone, pressed play, and headed on down the street, picking her pace as she ran on through empty streets with their ghost buildings.
THE END
I hope you enjoyed it, and please leave your comments below.
Don’t forget to follow and share!
“Dandelion” is the work of L.O.Martins and may not be reproduced in part or in its entirety without proper legal prior consent. (c)
