Our parents sold up when they got an offer they couldn’t refuse. We encouraged them to say yes. For them we said, it was time to take it easy; for us we thought, picturing cupboards swollen with linen, rusted tools stacked jenga-style in sheds.
We didn’t help them move. We encouraged them to get a hire truck with burly men who expected a tip for screwing bed legs to frame. We congratulated ourselves on a decision timely and well-made.
Our parents were quieter now in the smaller space of their new home with its white walls and filtered water. They moved soundless from room to room on plush carpet, looking for views through their neighbours’ fences.
We did not talk about the things left behind, of first steps and first teeth, of boyfriends found and virginity lost. We tried not to think about Woodglen, the way snow settled on the mountains in winter, the softest spring green of willows along the riverbank.
Our parents moved in and then out within a year, one and then the other. We spoke of illness and broken hearts, how if only they had made the move sooner. We looked out from their chosen plot to all that country, got in our cars and never came back.
Rachel Smith lives in Aotearoa. She has been published in Landfall, Best Small Fictions, Best Microfiction & Mslexia Best Women’s Short Fiction 2024. She was screenwriter for Stranded Pearl (2024) and is an editor at Flash Frontier. @rsmithwriternz http://rachelmsmithnz.wix.com/rachel-smith
No comments:
Post a Comment