The worn chair's springs moaned as she eased into the floral print of the old antique. There was a slight friction under Madeline's fingers as she slide her hands up over the arms. Particles of dust caught the light splintering from the rafters and pirroeted in a dizzy ballet towards the floor, twirling between intricate spiderwebs. No matter how often she came to visit, the entire attic was always blanketed with a fresh layer of the quiet dusty white particles. The floor stamped with Madeline's fresh footsteps like tracks left in snow or sand.
Madeline lifted her little feet, curled to the corner, rested her eyelids, and let her face relax. The subtle tensions around her temples eased with her mind as her jaw slacked. She could hear the muffled sound of a neighbour mowing the lawn through the paneling of the house. She could hear the birds nestling under their awning. She could hear the slowing of her heart beats. Her fingers flexed again, clinging to the real as she slipped amongst the liminal.
The waiting had become routine to the point of formulaic. The more she pushed or longed, the longer it would take for Her to appear. Madeline learned to embrace what comfort had been allocated. Her thoughts bubbled, and memories of previous days flashed. Meals with her mother, lessons at school. The excitement and wonder of show and tell. The anticipation for surprise and sharing. The thrills of accumulating gold stars on the classroom's sticker board. The unease she'd felt when her classmates chanted and jeered at their unpopular trouble maker. The shame she carried home when she hadn't spoken up in his defense. Her frustrations at missing the baskets when she played with her brother and father in the driveway. The terrifying cartoon wolves, and thrills of true love she'd seen in a cartoon film her sister had chosen that weekend.
The thoughts moved without control, beginning in drips then cascading to immersive translucent waking dreams. Their focus would fluctuate between a distorted faze and crystaline photo realism. In a trance Madeline's gaze moved to a cobwebbed mirror facing her in the corner, and the aperture of her irises danced as if she was working on an optical illusion. In the reflection she could see a framed photograph of her grandmother as young woman hanging behind herself sitting in the chair.
Without warning her skin prickled, and hair stood on end.
She appeared.
Hazy, and as dusty as the rest of the snowy attic, She stood behind the chair. Beaming, both in love and light. Madeline smiled and blinked, keeping her attention on the mirror. She knew too well that if she turned around she'd find nothing but empty space and the apparition would go.
Today She looked like she had in the few photographs of them together, when Madeline was but a new born. Her Nonna's hair grey, short, and curled. Her glasses thick, her skin wrinkled with pronounced grooved laugh lines that gave more of an impression of fine caligography than age. In other visits she'd come as her younger self, with long flowing hair, a sharp jaw line, a small frame, but always the same inviting eyes that had the energy of a held in giggle. A few time's she'd appeared as a child a few years older then Madeline, more rarely as a teen or various other stages of her long life. While at first the changes had been confusing, the deeper knowing of the same presence beyond the different veils was obvious.
So they'd sit. Usually for minutes, sometimes for hours. Always until something or one interrupted. A crashing noise, or yelling for Madeline's attention, breaking the spell, cutting the connection to the beyond. There wasn't many she could tell anymore. Her mother wrote off Nonna's ghost as another one of Madeline's imaginary friends. But this was so different.
The friends were exactly that. Imaginary. Complete figments. Fun inventions whose responses, and characters were manipulated like mental marionettes by Madeline. Her Nonna was beyond her. Her thoughts would flip like photographs, and focus shift between the joy of the expressions shared between them and the strange call and response between them in her thoughts
She'd learned in the first year, that they couldn't touch, that her Nonna couldn't speak back. But within her there would be an answer. It wasn't a voice, it was a presence, warm, feminine, and unique. Madeline couldn't find the feeling outside of the attic, or away from the chair. Her thoughts would come, and immediately some form of reply. A mental call and response, of ideas, feelings, images. Encouragement, gentle scorn when she needed it. Aged perspective and guidance. She found herself seeking the counsel when she needed a self imposed time out. Not as disciplinary measure, but a break, from the ordeals of life and living amongst others.
There was no hiding the truth from the sweet shadow. Nonna would unpack the ideas like postage, and reveal her findings to Madeline.
She didn't only come with problems, or loneliness. Madeline often visited just to be there. To relish in their connection. While much was a mystery, the why's, the hows, and the how much longers, what she knew was that this was special. The time she had in their liminal communions were longer than they'd had together in the physical, and Madeline intend to squeeze as much out of it as she could.
As predicted a clamour came from downstairs, followed by some modified cursing from her mother. Madeline's eyes shot back to mirror but the apparition was gone. She let out a disappointed huff, swung her legs, and lowered to the floor. From the attic she investigated the source of yelp, and found her mother futzing about around the stove with a teatowel wrapped around her hand. Madeline spied from behind a corner, as watched sweat bead on her mother's brow as she stirred above steaming pots, cursing under her breath.
Madeline remind herself of her mother's mother, watching over her shoulder in the attic, and wished she could provide the same sauve, the same comfort she'd just received. With all the might of her mind, and all the love she could muster, she tried to channel her grandmother and telepathically send their combined compassion towards the stove. The scene remained unchanged. Rather than dismay at the appearent failure Madeline stood, and strode. She did what her Nonna could not and wrapped her arms around her mothers leg, and held the giant, burying her face in her thigh.
Above she heard a little laugh, and affectionate fingers tussle her hair before prying her off. "Ok, ok, my sweet one," her mother dropped to her haunches, and opened her arms, "Go on, give me a big one."
With their arms wrapped, Madeline could feel an amplified, warmth between their chests, between their hearts. Both felt a warm weight drop over their shoulders and thought it was the other's arms. Without warning their skin prickled, and the hairs on their skin stood on end.
Thank’s for ready!
-Mr. Write