The Music Box

This week's words are: Corridor, Linger, Subtle

There was no subtle way of walking down the corridor. At night your feet, barefoot or not, would make sounds like thunder in a storm. Most of us try to linger our steps but always manage to wake Grandmother. In her old age, she would yell at anyone who wakes her from her naps. She usually sleeps at night like the rest of us. Unlike the rest of us, she would only sleep a couple of minutes per hour, endlessly waking up to wander the corridor making even more noise. Of cause, those who were waken by her, cannot yell at her but would make subtle attempts to tell her so. Their words would linger in the air as they would have to repeat every single thought that exited their mouth. Grandmother is hard of hearing but when we scream our words, she immediately assumed that we were insulting her. There was no way of talking to her without shouting.

Four children of hers and two grandchildren were staying at her home for the summer - two married and two divorces - all women. Two sets of twins from her first marriage. Her second marriage produced only one child - a girl who is twenty-one now and has moved out of the house. She was on some traveling journey to find herself. The two husbands, my father and Rita's father, were away fishing.

Me and Rita are best friends who were born on the same day but not the same month. Our fathers are twin identical brothers so we have almost the same look - red curly hairs from our mothers and green eyes from our father. We are bond, not only by our genes but in our fascination with Grandmother.

Rita and I shared a room together next to Grandmother's while our mothers shared a room next to ours and our two aunts shared the last one at the end of the corridor.

Grandmother's name is Joanne. I was named after her but I was not like her. Her dark hair barely has a single gray in them. Grandmother can be frightful sometimes with her words and her wild gestures but we all love her just the same.

Rita and I would go around town looking for white daisies - Grandmother's favorite. Two thirteen-year-olds, with nothing to do during our summer hiatus but hang around our Grandmother but often she would be too tire to even say hello to us. We never manage to find any daisies but always return with some kind of flowers that we pick. We would presented to Grandmother and she would always smile kindly at us.

We would have to raise our voices when talking to Grandmother but just enough not to sound insulting. We tried to be subtle but kind to her. Grandmother would tell stories about her past and we would linger on each and every word. We would not make a sound until the story is finish. Those stories of her youth fascinated us, all those lovers she had, all those places she went. We couldn't wait for her to wake up each morning. We would have breakfast in the patio and Grandmother would go off on some adventurous tales. A dreamy look in her eyes as if she was back in the past.

On our second week staying with Grandmother, mother had to leave to tend to her flower shop. She wanted me to go with her but I convinced her to let me stay. She was to be back on the fourth week - our last days here at Grandmother's house.

Bored out of our minds, Rita suggest we look for more daises. It was too hot to go outside. I told her I did not want to. We stayed in with Rita's mother and our two aunts. Grandmother was upstairs napping. We were sitting in a circle, just having lunch. Not talking. It was as if we were strangers to each other. The only sound was the humming of the air conditioners. Rita and I decided to hang out in our room after lunch. We excused ourselves as Rita's mother and our two aunts were still sitting at the kitchen table, still not talking much.

We ran up the stairs but stopped at the corridor and walked in tiptoes. We heard Grandmother's voice, muttering something. We paused at her door but the muttering stopped. We continued to our room but her muttering started again. We tiptoed back to her door and listened. Grandmother was confessing her love to someone. A guy name Raphael. He wants to marry her. She said yes. There were laughters and then a scream. Someone had shot Raphael. Then it was silence. Rita and I stared at each other, our eyes widen. Could it be Grandmother had a first husband even before grandfather? Our grandfather's name was George and our second grandfather was also named George.

We started on our way back to our room again when we heard an even louder scream from Grandmother's room. Rita panicked and slipped and fell down hitting her head on the wooden floor boards. One panel stood up to reveal an opening with something inside. We slowly pried the panel open a little bit more and pull out the object. It was a wooden music box but it make no sound when we open it. Dust had gather inside, hiding a figure of two dancers. There was a black and white photo of a young Grandmother standing next to a young man. They were smiling and holding hands. We knew that was not Grandfather George, he does not have curly hair. We wonder who he was. We quickly gather the music box to our room. There was no sound coming from Grandmother's room as we silently walked. We decided to hid the music box under my bed as Rita's had her suitcase underneath.

We had dinner in the patio. We stared at Grandmother but her face showed no signs of any kind discomfort or any reminder of what she had dreamt. It was a blank face. Rita and I were anxious to ask her about Raphael but not in front of Rita's mother or our two aunts. It was quiet as usual. The night breeze distracted us. Grandmother had the air conditioner turned off during the nighttime.

When we finally get to ask Grandmother about Raphael, it was two days before we had to leave. We were having a early breakfast out in the patio. It was just Grandmother and us. Rita's mother and our two aunts were still sleeping. The weather was cool that day.

Grandmother did not lied or make excuses when we asked her about Raphael. He was her first true love. He died on their wedding day when he was shot by his brother, Adam. Adam had first dated Grandmother but Grandmother fell in love with Raphael and Adam could not deal with his loss. He was a jealous guy with a heavy heart. Adam was drunk out of his mind when he shot Raphael. Grandmother and Raphael had just woken up from their first night together when Adam stormed in with a shotgun. It was so sudden, there was no time to react. Raphael died instantly, he was still in bed in his pajamas. Grandmother did not move or make a sound as she stood there in her nightgown frozen in fear. Adam was just about to shoot her when he suddenly closed his eyes and collapsed onto the floor. Their father, Adam Sr. had came in quietly. He had shot Adam before he can kill Grandmother. Grandmother cried her eyes out as she stared at her beloved Raphael. Three months later, she met Grandfather George on a train to a destination which she hasn't decided yet.

We showed her the music box. It made her cried - small droplets of tears fell down her cheeks and into her mouth. She did not wipe them off and they tickled their way down to the music box. We wanted to know if the man's Raphael. She nodded her head yes. Her blue eyes sparkle and her lips formed a sorrowful smile. The music box was a gift from Raphael for her twenty-first birthday. The two dancers represented them when they went dancing.

We were in awed of her. We sat and stared at her but she had a dreamy look in her eyes. We could not wake her from her reverie. Rita and I decide we should write the story down, keep it in our journal. Grandmother's story will reminded with us. We lingered at the front porch not wanting to leave. Our bags in the taxi, not ready to go back to our boring life. We waited until Grandmother came down to say goodbye. We hugged and kissed Grandmother goodbye. We were not subtle in expressing our sorrows. Tears streaked our faces. We lingered in her arms and in her warm smile. She told us she will be having someone fix the corridor before our next visit. She gave us the music box - Rita and I shared the music box as part of Grandmother's memory. It was our secret, only the three of us shared.

Read other Three Word Wednesday here.