Wednesday, July 1, 2020

The Gloaming

Prompt 4: Agenda | Word count: 750 words exactly | Deadline: 22 April 2020

The Gloaming

 
They call it the gloaming. This time of day when the sun sets low, glowing golden on the trees and mountains. When the sunlight reflects off glass windows, metal rooftops, and tall antenna. When the world is infused with a sense of magic and mischief.
 
Natalie pulls her shawl close around her shoulders, for despite the warm colors that surround her, the air is crisp and chill and likely to get cooler as day fades into night.
 
The house is old and rundown. Ever since Pops passed away last year, Granny gave up trying to keep the place nice. She’s too stubborn and proud to accept help from others and can’t do it herself.

Tall weeds grow among cheerful black-eyed susans along the pathway leading to the front porch. The wooden steps creak in protest under Natalie’s slight weight as she climbs to the landing.
 
The door is blue, but appears green in this time of gloaming. Bits of red show through where the paint has begun to peel. Natalie remembers herself as a young girl helping Pops select this particular shade of blue. It’s faded now, but still matches Granny’s eyes.
 
She lifts the lion head knocker and lets it fall once, twice, a third time. She loves the satisfying gong it makes, resonate and reverberating.
 
She waits a moment, expecting to hear footsteps approaching, or the familiar call of "come in," or "coming,"
 
There’s no response.
 
She tries the door knob, but it doesn’t budge. Granny may be crotchety and taciturn, but she doesn’t normally keep the door locked. Especially not when she’s home and expecting her favorite grandchild to visit.
 
The garage door is closed, but Granny’s ancient Dodge Dart is parked in the driveway.
 
Natalie peers in through the stained glass window at the side of the door. She can just make out Granny's rocking chair, empty save for a notepad and paper left in the cushioned seat. At this time of day, Granny would normally be rocking in her chair, making up an agenda for the women's auxiliary club meeting she attends on Wednesday’s. Having an agenda makes her feel as if she’s in control, and heaven knows Granny needs to be in control.
 
Natalie knocks again, the knocker heavy and solid in her palm. She lets it strike against the hard wood, echoing back at her, like a summoning. A dove coo-coos nearby, but otherwise, there’s no answer.
 
She steps past the old covered swing and peers into another window. From here she can see into the kitchen and the dining nook. Both are empty.
 
Where is she? Granny knows Natalie is coming. The younger woman made sure to call her last night to remind her of their visit. Granny always looks forward to their visits. Natalie is sure she wouldn't have forgotten.
 
Horrible visions of the old woman lying hurt or injured on the bedroom floor assault Natalie's imagination.
 
Hurriedly, she moves further down the porch, peering into the bedroom window. The room is dark, and Natalie can see it too is empty. The bed neatly made.
 
The bedroom door is open, and beyond that Natalie can see down the hallway. Light spills from the den, but from this vantage point, she can't see into the room. Sudden movement draws her attention, an eerie shadow undulating oddly.
 
She quickly moves off the porch and makes a path through the long grass to the rear of the house.
 
She can hear music playing as she approaches the den. What on earth? A sexy, soulful tune that Natalie vaguely recalls from childhood memories of Granny and Pops dancing to “their song.”
 
She wipes at the smudged glass, pressing her nose up close to better see through the grime. At first, she isn't certain what she's seeing.  Natalie finds herself transfixed at the magical sight of her eighty-three year old irascible grandmother. Dancing. Not hurt or injured, as she had imagined. But dancing, as if no one else is watching.
      
Granny glides and twirls gracefully, belying her age; hips and arms swaying in time with the music. Lit by the warm colors of the gloaming, Granny’s shadow is cast on the wall behind her.
 
In the background, the music croons. “Come with me to the sea of love… Do you remember when we met…”
 
As Natalie watches, a separate, distinct shadow appears on the wall beside Granny, though she’s clearly alone in the room. The two shadows, like ethereal wraiths come together in a lovers embrace.

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