Silent Story

I wandered through the trees along the paved path. Numb to the world, with shock pushing out emotion. I sat down on a park bench staring at the asphalt. It was shining from the rain and I wished it could become a portal and reverse time. I lost track of time staring at the pavement at my feet as the cold air embraced me. A bead of water made it’s way at a slow roll down my cheek to my chin. Untouched it fell to its death on the black ground.

A pair of shoes broke into my gaze. These shoes were so worn with age that a hole plagued the right shoe and a toe tried to hide in the cloth from the cold day. The shoes were dirty; I could not begin to imagine what color they once had been. They reeked of untold stories. I raised my head slowly, not caring that a pathway of salt stained my face, to see the owner of the shoes.

My shoes were not in much better shape, spatters of paint stained woven thread and dirt caked on leather. Looking up I saw nothing I could relate to. Damned with the heredity of Ireland, pale in skin with light mahogany hair that tangled in the wind and my eyes of blue with too much yellow. He stood still and I met him in the eyes of brown that could swallow you if you let them. His skin told of hot countries to the west where the sun baked the earth. His hair was short as if a mother had cropped the black locks of hair.

His face was unmoving, hard, with creases that the brow of a young man should not own. He held something out to me. I wonder how long he had held it there. With effort I forced my body to move and in stiffness I took the gift. I tried to remove the stains on my face that felt more like scars.

He stood in silence. Not a word was spoken. He sat down next to me just waiting, waiting for something. I continued to stare down at the asphalt, wondering what he wanted in return for the use of an old dirty rag.

Silence pulled at me. I was the one that could usually outwait anybody. In fact, that trait was the source of my heavy heart.

I glanced at him. A pair of eyes that were patiently expecting words to fall like stones from my lips met my glance. Why I should tell him anything is beyond me. There was something in his silence and the deep brown eyes that I could not say no to.

I must have looked a mess but my lips began to move though nothing came out. Tears had drained everything from my body. Why I felt the need to share I don’t know, but something in those eyes spoke. Perhaps it was his human compassion that gave me strength to tell the story held silently in my lungs. I licked my lips and tried again with a croak. I started to tell a stranger why.

"I am no story teller", I began in a whisper.

"After working all morning outside in my garden I sat in the grass in my mud caked overalls. The sun was so bright and the wind a gentle breeze. It seemed like a great idea to take a walk. Something had been bothering me all day like I was forgetting something. I started down the little path that led to a creek at the back of my house. Then it dawned on me that I was supposed to be meeting my friend at Kile’s Café. It is just like me to forget something like that. I have such a short-term memory. I headed back to my house to change.

"I walked up the steps of my porch, thinking that I should get them fixed sometime. I went inside and turned to shut the door but it wouldn’t close. A pair of white knuckles barred the door from being shut. I pushed harder trying to get the hand to release and to lock my door. My heart was pounding. The door swung open shoving me to the floor and banged against the wall. I was shaken and my breath was ragged in my lungs. A man entered my home but he didn’t see me on the floor behind the door. He crashed into the room like a swan invading the waters of a pond, wearing a pair of boots that one would use working hard labor. They were mud soaked with wear, a mother’s nightmare if let into the house. He was a figure too pale to be real but with dark brown hair that tumbled down his head in an unruly fashion, his shoulders slumped mournfully.

"He called out in a husky voice, ‘Sorcha, Sorcha.’

"Who was he that he knew my name? He turned slowly and I saw his face. My breath couldn’t escape my lungs and my heart raced. Never had I seen my brother look like this. It’s as if he walked in death. All the laughter was gone from his blue gray eyes, no smile waiting on his face. Marks of worry soiled his forehead causing him to look old. I crawled out from behind the door. I reached out timidly and touched his shoulder and led him to the couch. He was cold and clammy. I worried what could cause a strong man like Raoul to turn white as a swan in the moonlight.

"I went and got him a glass of water which he dumped over his head with a hand that shook and a little color returned to his complexion. It looked as if tears were starting to form. My brother doesn’t cry. He is the strong one of the family, the leader. He is never shaken, always calm. Could this truly be my brother who can so gently set a broken leg of a dog? Even when he was ten and broke his arm when he fell out of that apple tree, he didn’t cry. He was calm; a pond frozen in winter’s chill. To see him weep shook my soul.

"He croaked, ‘Sorcha, Da is in the hospital.’

"I looked at him, sat down, almost missing the couch. I stood up, ‘Let’s go’ I said tugging at his arm.

"’No’ he said as he pulled me back down, ‘He’s gone.’

"This is all Raoul could say. He tried to comfort me as my older brother but I pulled away. I ran out of the house. ‘Da, Da!’ I screamed in my mind. I felt wounded, I wanted Da to be there and tell me everything would be all right. It was no longer a good day for a walk. It had started to rain."

I looked next to me the stranger still sitting there in silence without saying a word. I hugged myself with the numbness of the realization that I never got to say good bye to my Da.

Silence of unspoken words, words were just noise with symbols. When was that last time I had told him how much I loved him? Tears again took shape in my eyes with these thoughts.

The stranger spoke thick with accent, "Me little English, but huzur."