The Remember Room

I sat in the car for a long time before going in. I thought that the drive out in the countryside would give me enough time. The fall colours had consumed the towering pine trees in waves of dark orange and yellow and any other time I would have marvelled at their beauty, but not today. Today I acknowledged their presence as if it was a dull rainy day. As if grey was the only color. Vaguely, I was self aware enough to acknowledge that emotions were stirring that had not been dealt with. In fact, it occurred to me that that day so long ago had also been a fall day.

But I came. I was here. The letter from my mother lay open and discarded on the passenger seat. In true form she had mailed me a letter rather than sending an email. I suppose she knew I would find a reason to ignore her calls. I sighed. Well I’m here now. It was this train of thought that eventually got me walking to the front door. My parents still lived in the same house.

Ghosts of memories played quietly as I passed through the gate. That’s the swing where we used to play as kids. We’d try and get as high as we could and then leap off, sailing through the air knowing for a moment that we could fly. There was the treehouse where we had slept under the stars. Where later, I had hid, alone.

The door was worn as many farmhouses are. Years of living had caused the paint to fade, but a fresh wreath of flowers still hung on a nail greeting me as if to say, there’s still love here.

I swallowed. To me the flowers just spoke of pain. Sorrow was rising to the surface and I choked it down. Instead of knocking I closed my eyes and turned the knob. Not surprisingly the door swung open. This was the countryside after all, locking doors was what city people did.

The familiar creak of the hinges almost made me smile. It brought me back to when we were little. For a moment I almost felt her brush past me in a rush, determined to be the first to sample mom’s homemade chocolate chip cookies.

But it was just the wind, and the sound of leaves rustling past the step.

“Hello? Mom?” I called out as I entered while haphazardly flipping my shoes off. Some things never change.

My calls were met with quiet stillness. Not surprisingly nobody was home. She was out with her quilting buddies no doubt, or perhaps in town buying groceries.

The kitchen was cluttered as I remembered. Every spare inch of counter was home to something, and the kitchen table was no different. Absently I moved some things around. But there was something different. Something new.

Today the kitchen table’s usual contents had been cleared to one side leaving the other side bare except for two things: a card with two bright balloons on it, and a key.

I inhaled sharply. This was no ordinary key. It was golden in colour, and large, like one of those old fashioned skeleton keys I’d read about in old mystery novels. I’d never actually seen one but the moment my eyes laid on the gold key my heart caught in my throat. I knew exactly what that key was for. I had thought it was lost for good.

My hands shook as I reached for the card. I don’t even know why, I think I was delaying the inevitable. The card was simple. It depicted two children running holding balloons, one red, one blue. I opened it to the inside for which it said in typed cursive “Wishing you all the best.”

Beneath that, my name was sprawled in blue pen with a comma, and a pen mark indicating that someone had paused here but didn’t know what to say.

This was why I was here. With the card now forgotten, I picked up the key. It was heavy and cool to the touch. I tossed it up a few times and caught it with a swirl. For a moment I thought of her. She would be so excited. I actually had the key in my hands! We could finally…

My head snapped around to the stairs and in a flash I was bounding up to the second level taking them two at a time. The upstairs was a typical layout. There was a long hallway with bedrooms on either side and at the end, a door. This was where I was headed.

Yet I couldn’t help but pause as I passed the first room. That was my room. A sewing machine sat on a desk and quilting fabrics lay strewn about. It had clearly been converted to a working room for my mother. I felt a brief pang of sadness but then moved on. It was a drop in the bucket and it barely registered. The next room was hers. The door was closed and without thinking I grasped the handle and opened it. Nothing had changed at all. Not an item had been moved or taken. It was the same as the last day I saw her alive. I snapped back as if my hand had been burned and the door closed with a loud click.

I exhaled. Drop in the bucket I said to myself but I knew it wasn’t it. My pulse started racing and I knew an attack was coming on. The voice was coming, and sure enough “It was all your fault!”

My breath was heavy and ragged and I held my hand to my forehead trying to block it out. It screamed the way it always did. “It was all your fault. It was all your fault. It was all your fault.” It was pure rage and pain and it attacked with such fury.

“No..” I shook my head. My voice was barely a whisper, but the voice, it blotted out all else and I staggered backwards until I felt the dull thud of drywall and then I was sliding slowly to the ground. Just focus on your breath. Just breathe.

I stayed there for a while. The voice would fade eventually, and fade it did. Eventually, the weight of something in my hand brought me back to reality. The key. I had been so excited. How cruelly that momentary burst of excitement was taken from me. Just like she was taken from me.

With a grunt I stood up and continued down the hallway. I was laser focused now, I had a mission to fulfill after all. The door at the end of the hall was fairly uninteresting. It stood at the top of three stairs, and was a simple wooden door. It just stood there unchanged. Like nothing had happened. Like it was mocking me.

Yet here I was and without thinking further I walked right up to it and placed my hand on the surface. It was hard and uninteresting on the surface, but I knew if you looked close…I traced the grains in the wood with my fingers. Yes I remember every line, and down here, here was where we carved our names.

I was a lot smaller then so I had to sit on the stair to find my name. It was etched in the shaky lines of a child just learning to write but proud of their name. Her name was there too, just below the keyhole.

And now I had the key. I stared at it in my hand. As long as I’d lived here that door had never been opened. We simply never had the key, and my mom simply couldn’t bear the thought of breaking it down. “It will open when it’s good and ready.” she would say.

All I had to do was put the key in the lock and turn, and I would finally know. And I was going to do it. That is why I ran up here so fast after all. But as I looked up, from where I was sitting I was level with the keyhole. Of course I had to look. One more time.

I couldn’t help but lean in as the dark mystery that lay within consumed my vision. It was just as I remembered, I could vaguely make out the far wall. Dull wood boards indicating perhaps an attic of some sort. A moment of peace came over me and I closed my eyes.

Suddenly I was eight years old again, excitedly racing and pushing to be first to look through.

“No, I want to look. Let me look!” she wined a pulled at me but I shrugged her off and peered through the keyhole.

“Stop! Stop!” I cried. “I can see! It’s a gummy bear factory. There’s every colour you can imagine all swirling together!”

“Oh wow. Can we taste one?”

“You bet, they taste like raspberries from our garden, and blueberries. Like mom’s pie!”

“Mmmm” she closed her eyes and licked her lips. “They’re so good. Now my turn!”

I gave way and she shoved her way in front so she could see through the keyhole.

“I see fairies. They are the most beautiful fairies in the world. They’re tiny and I see their wings fluttering as they dance. Oh you should see how they dance. Fairy dust is falling everywhere.”

“Do you think they can make us fly?” I asked hopefully.

“I’m pretty sure.” she said. “In fact, I’m pretty sure we have fairy dust on us already!”

That was all we needed as we jumped up and danced around the hall flapping our arms.

“To the swings!” she cried and we flew down the stairs in a rush, blurring past my mom who just barely was able to leap out of the way. And we were off into the yard, squealing with delight as our imaginations took us to far away lands and endless destinations that only a farm can provide.

I wanted to stay here forever, but even the best things don’t last forever. Clouds rolled past and past faded into present and suddenly it was just me again, all grown up and alone on the stairs, staring into a keyhole. The absurdity of this struck something inside of me and I couldn’t help but laugh. In fact I couldn’t stop laughing and soon my chest was heaving as big alligator tears streamed down my cheeks.

I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand and without thinking I turned once more and looked through the keyhole.

“I see the land of dreams. There are unicorns and all sorts of magical creatures. They live in the sky and dance on the clouds.”

My voice became very soft. “I see you dancing with them. You finally made it to the land of dreams.”

I sighed. Not just any sigh, but one of those great big sighs that releases all the tension in your body, and the gates opened and I felt. I truly felt for the first time since that day so long ago. I felt sorrow and rage and joy and sadness and elation all at once as it all finally let go. It was overwhelming and the tears came in great heaves and my whole body shuddered.

I wish I could say it was elegant like in the movies, but it was not. It was an ugly mess and I didn’t stop for a long time. I didn’t want to stop.

But then a soft hand gently caressed my head and wiped the hair out of my face. I didn’t even have to look to know that it was my mom.

Slowly I lifted my chin and raised my gaze. My mother’s eyes were the perfect blue of the sky, and even now as she got on in years they shone.

Neither of us said anything. I just held up the key in my open palm.

She smiled and clasped my fingers gently around it.

“May I?” she gestured at the keyhole.

Confused, I shuffled over as she bent low and peered through. She was still for a long time. Finally, without moving or averting her gaze she began to speak.

“I see magic. I see the world except with magic. People look to the sky in wonder and we never forget how to fly.”

I didn’t realize it but I was holding my breath.

“I see a world where you are happy. You have remembered to believe in magic and she gave you that and you love her for it.”

I turned the key over in my hand, feeling its smooth edges. It truly was magic.

She turned from the keyhole and placed her hand on my arm. Just the two of us, sitting on the stairs. No big deal.

I sniffed loudly, not bothering to wipe away the tears.

“How did you…?” I started to ask. “Where did you…?”

My mom smiled and shrugged, as if to say “does it matter?”

“Are you going to open it?” she asked, glancing at the door. She looked hopeful, like she dared not ruin the moment and push me away.

The world grew still in the way it does when your future hangs on a single decision in a single moment.

But I already knew. I’d always known.

I used the side of my coat to wipe my eyes, straightened and gathered myself. I felt taller.

I glanced down at the key in my hand, then tossed it up in the air so it flipped around a few times before catching it and handing it back to her.

I looked deep into her eyes. I needed her to know I was ok. I needed to know I was ok. Something extraordinary had happened and I didn’t really understand what.

I smiled. “I don’t have to. I already know what’s in there.”

I leaned over mischievously and whispered in her ear.

“Magic.”