There she stood, in the open canopy, feeling the world around her with closed eyes. Inhaling the vivid aroma of the damp earth mixed with the unusual scent of moss that were scattered in groups huddling around her lodge, she dusted the small patches of dirt from her overused pale-green sweater and prepared herself for another glamorous day.
Strong rays of sunlight struck the lodge forming clusters beneath the front windows as it refracted through the slightly broken glass and silver painted panes.
Dormant sounds of birds singing their good morning songs echoed from amidst the wilderness….producing the same refreshing effect that charged old Grandma Rosalie’s internal batteries.
She was not like others who were her age. A powerful yet serene aura could be felt in her presence which would probably be a mixture of red and turquoise blue. Self-composed and light on her feet, Grandma Rosalie would travel far from her lodge which slept in isolation before she moved in seven years ago; to the mountain hills about three to four kilometers away to gather herbs which she used to make medicine. Both for her personal use and as a source of income, she clambered on high-residing herbs which she reached with small stealthy steps to snag whatever she might find useful… fulfilling the purpose of her daily voyage.
This routine of hers gifted her with exquisite health and strong muscles that contrasted with her petite appearance. She did not allow herself to become like the other frantic, snarky looking old ladies who would snide and throw sarcastic remarks on your face whenever you would talk to them. In fact, she was indulgent to all. Her face glowed with sinew, hope, kindness and the lines on her forehead secretly whispered early tales of wisdom.
One fine morning, a sudden sperge of fear pierced through her chest. What would she be leaving in this world? Were the marks she left in peoples’ hearts enough? Top of all, was she forgiven?
She was pushed back into time by a dreadful flashback. She was 24 years old again and lived in the luxurious mansion of her parents. She spotted her parents sitting cozily in the couches placed in the patio. Her fiance was there too. Life was perfect. Seemingly.
What was missing? What had given birth to the mysterious hollow feeling that was now too heavy for her too carry everwhere? Why was she not happy?
Old grandma Rosalie let two tears flow from eyes while she opened the curtains to let those fine rays of sunshine setlle in. She was happy. But her happiness was gained at the cost of others.
She remembered the day she was supposed to get married. Eric Bennigton was a tall, masculine man with tan skin and dark brown hair. He was the future CEO of ‘Bennington Corporation’. Hence, Rosalie’s deemed that he was the perfect man for her. But was she?
He was arrogant. She despised his sense of prejudice and his harsh ways of belittling others. This was not the life she wanted.
This was not freedom. This was slavery. Her hand had been given to this man’s wealth. She would also become part of his property.
“Does any one have any objections to this marriage? If yes, speak now or forever be silent.”
That was when it hit her.
“I do.” The beautiful young Rosalie yelled.
The crowd gasped. She could not care less because now she was free. She darted towards her BMW that she got as a gift at her 22nd birthday and drove as fast as she could. She did not know where she was going but she would soon find out.
Grandma Rosalie felt nauseus due to reminiscing. Suddenly, the word of a Pakistani Sufi came to mind.
“You have to befriend death to live. Only death gives one a sense of purpose. You will die the moment you are no longer needed. That will be when you have either served your purpose, or failed to execute it.”
He was right, Rosalie thought. All those years of healing the sick, the distressed, the mentally disturbed, the poor, the needy was probably why she was born. She even had wrote a letter to her parents of apology. However, the life she had now was too addictive to ever let her return to them.
She fell uneasily in her rocking chair and felt light. The piercing heartache made her eyes tear up. It felt as if her tears were made of blood. Her eyes were too warm and wet.
“Mom…dad.. I’m sorry.”
This was her only regret. Yet she felt light, very light. Because she had become light. A human ever so pure.
“I love you, Mom.”
She said as she gasped. The rocking chair screeched as usual while Rosalie breathed her last breath.
