The colours of the sky (part II)

while reading listen to:

Stepping into the foyer a chill passed down my spine. It was quiet, the atmosphere heavy and tiresome. Swallowing a lump, I made a hesitant step into the hallway that connected the foyer to the back of the house. The library on the left was untouched, with hundreds of books cramped on the shelves and Nick's grand piano by the window. I've spent countless hours on the green sofa by the piano, learning about botany, constellations, reading stories about people throughout history and those that were created in someone's imagination. Sometimes Nick would join me, and while the sun set for the day, he would play his favourite tunes, eyes closed and let the afternoon sun caress his skin. Gia would join us occasionally, but that rarely happened since she preferred to take advantage of the light to care for her garden.

The green sofa was facing a fireplace and a massive gold mirror. At first, I found that placement strange. "When would you have time to look at yourself? You are reading. That is the point of the library, isn't it?" I voiced my opinion one afternoon. Gia put down the coffee she was silently enjoying in her armchair, laughed softly and explained: "It is for your confidence. Every time you look at yourself, your eyes mirror your inner world. If you listen close enough they can tell you plenty about your desires, fears and what you're holding in that heart of yours."

I laughed a little when she told me this the first time. But she just shrugged, stood up from her chair in the corner and strolled to the mirror. She stood there for a few seconds gently gazing into her eyes, then her lips stretched into her stunning smile. She beamed with light when she quietly whispered: "You got this. You are powerful and loved. You are strong." Her eyes closed and with hands around her body she swayed a little and breathed: "I love you."

It was like watching a personal moment I wasn't supposed to witness, yet there I was in that room with her. She was the first one to show me how to truly, unconditionally love myself.

The memory dissipated before my watery eyes while a small teardrop hit the floor. My gaze quickly abandoned the golden mirror, needing space to understand why all of these memories were suddenly rushing in.

My eyes travelled to the right, to a wall full of memories. Gia used to call it The Gallery of souring. It was filled with photos and souvenirs of travels. Them riding camels in the desert, hiking Machu Pichu, eating all kinds of exotic food. Her dancing around the fire, celebrating the new year in China, swimming in the Dead Sea, watching the northern lights... In the middle, hung another mirror whose frame was full of foreign words, written in different fronts, by different people. All the stories she professed about her travels were forcing themselves into my mind.

With a desperate need to escape the turmoil stirring inside my head, my legs moved towards the kitchen. The windows here presented a majestic view of the garden and the landscape ahead, coloured in the oranges of the last sun rays. And even tho the atmosphere was gloomy, the colours of the setting sun painted the cabinets in soft, warm colours and gave it a welcoming, nurturing ambience. A familiar scent hit my nose and yet again I was taken back to those summer nights when Gia baked all kinds of goods while the music roared from the speakers. We would spend countless hours debating the books I read and once she tired of talking, we would dance around the counter and sing our favourite songs at the top of our lungs.

Most year-round, the big door that connected the living space with the outdoor was left open. She loved the slight breeze the summer brought and the smell of the rain when autumn hit our little town. She breathed a little lighter here, smiled more. Especially in the last months, when she would spend most of her time sitting at the dinner table, writing in her notebook with a steaming cup of tea, patiently waiting for the wind to play with her hair. Even then she would debate with me, teach me all kinds of things. But she was so tired, how could I've missed that? If I haven't been so preoccupied with my world, I could have seen that she was struggling, could offer her a helping hand.

But the plea for help never left her soft lips, never made a welcoming presence in this house. It was who she was. A determined woman, with purpose, who loved a little bit of chaos. Strong and independent, she flourished in nature, danced around the fire at night and wished upon every shooting star. Always barefoot, with a taste for adventure. She always had the wisdom to share, saw right through you. But her best quality was that she somehow made you feel good. She knew how to encourage.

Today the doors were closed. Through the windows I saw Nick, sitting on his chair outside. The firepit was slowly dying out as the afternoon sky welcomed its first clouds of the day.

He just sat there, staring into the vastness of nature ahead. If he heard me open the door, he didn't show, didn't move when I sat down next to him.

Voice gentle I turned to him. "I brought hot chocolate." His eyes left the scenery before us and focused on the thermos in my hands. Offering a sad smile, he took the cup into his cold hands and made a few small sips.

"It's awfully hot." He rasped.

Such an unusual thing to say. How do I respond to that? What do you say to a person who just lost the love of their life? How do you address the elephant in the room, without stirring more pain? So many questions began swirling inside my head. I had no idea how to talk to a greaving person.

From the corner of my eyes, I looked at him, and yet again he was staring into the setting sun, lost in his world. He looked rough. With an ungroomed beard, brown circles under the eyes, a crumpled shirt and an old jacket, it seemed like grief was eating him from the inside out.

"How are you doing Mr Anderson?" I finally inquired.

He shakily breathed out and quietly replied: "I am waiting for the sunset. And then for the sunrise."

Hand closing around the cup of hot chocolate I murmured: "Why? "

"It's all I have left." He mumbled, looking at the last sun rays.

I stared ahead, watching how oranges slowly turned to pink and then to purple. The sight was beautiful, so full of life. It reminded me of Her. The colours were dancing with each other, slowly blending one into the other. It was graceful, gentle but once you looked, you couldn't tear your sight from it.

"You stopped coming around."

He was already looking at me when I glance in his direction. There was so much sadness in his eyes. Though somewhere in the back, there was a sparkle of hope, trying its hardest to occupy more space.

A tense feeling grew in my stomach and slowly made itself known in my chest. The shame spread over my body, reminding me that I left him alone in this dark place. How could I be so blinded by my grief, to not consider he was here in this house full of memories, alone?

"I didn't know If you wanted me here," I admitted.

Whit gentle eyes, that spoke of understanding he stated: "You are always welcomed here."

The lump inside my throat grew bigger. I loved this house, adored Nicks's stories and I missed the afternoons I spent with them. The thought of giving it all up was hurting my soul. I felt uneasy leaving this part of me behind. Maybe that was the reason I came here today. Maybe I was finally ready to face the fact I loved them like I did my parents. Maybe I was finally ready to admit that Gia's death left a hole side my chest, that I've been trying to avoid. A lonesome tear escaped my eye, but for the first time, since that dreadful morning when the news spread through the town, I felt hopeful. I haven't lost it all. There was still someone here, that wanted me, that didn't mind teaching me about life.

With a little smile on my face, I murmured: "If I come more often, will you tell me stories?"

"What kind of stories?"

"About life, about Gia."

He was quiet for some time and then firmly replied: "I would love that."

That was the evening that started it all. It was like listening to a story from a watcher's point of view but with every detailed emotion still present. He would tell me about her; how she was when she was young and then when she became a rebellious teenager. Every time I would come around, he would have a new tale to tell, a new adventure to share, a new side of Gia to show. In the next weeks, I came to know Gia from Nicks's perspective. Wild and ambitious, always a step ahead of herself, she would experience life with a full spoon. But there were shadows in his eyes when he spoke of the time they have met, some memories he deliberately didn't share. There was something there, that my curious mind wanted to uncover.

... to be continued

Happy international women's day to all the courageous, beautiful souls out there. I hope you know you are one of a kind and have much to give to this world.

Never dull your shine, the world needs your colour!