Traveling Towards the Truth

The joy of anticipation and the butterflies in my stomach vanished instantly and were replaced by confusion. Taking a few moments to orient myself, my heart grew heavier as the reality in the dim room set in. I was uninvited, standing awkwardly near the door, unsure whether to retreat or move closer and offer a consoling gesture.

She was sitting on a wooden bench, her body turned away, with her face pressed deeply into heavy coats hanging from wooden pegs on a rough, wooden wall. Her body grew tall on the inhale and then shrank into the woollen coats on each exhale as the worn fabric absorbed her sobs. In the contrast of her tall, confident body and the forlorn one, I saw the fight between being brave and full resignation. The unease in my heart fell into my gut and I froze, scared to approach the grieving soul. I had never seen someone display, and stifle, so much pain, ever. It felt like a blow to my stomach and my confusion grew as her grief permeated in invisible waves to the rest of the room.

The only other sound came from the opposite side of the room where I made out the silhouettes of several sleeping children, breathing quietly, huddled together under mismatched blankets. One of the blankets was pulled back slightly from the edge of the mattress and the small indentation indicated where she had recently slipped out of bed.

Before my eyes had adjusted to the dimness of the room and before I saw the devastating scene play out against the coats on the wall, I had caught a whiff of stale air, onions, and body odour. The unease that I felt in my gut was suddenly upgraded to an unwelcome nausea. Deciding to step back quietly, I breathed deeply through my mouth in a measly attempt to try to regain control of my senses as I shuffled toward a shadow beside a tall dresser.

As I debated whether or not to leave, I continued to observe the room. The moonlight was struggling stubbornly through dirty window panes, casting a spotlight on the overwhelming starkness of the room. A simple wooden table and a cast-iron wood stove were added to the inventory of the afore-mentioned dresser, bed, and coats hanging on hooks. An old-fashioned water pump stood above a chipped enamel bowl and then there was…nothing else. There was no effort put into the space. I couldn’t understand it; there were no colorful bouquets in crystal vases, no framed photos on top of dressers, no porcelain figures on display, and no freshly baked pies.

The feeling in my gut changed to apprehension. Something wasn’t right.

I had planned this trip based on the stories told to me decades ago by my kind and creative grandmother, Sofia. She had mesmerised me with detailed descriptions of her life: the warmth of her house filled with trinkets and jewels; the shelves full of pickled foods harvested from their immense vegetable garden; freshly baked pies with fruits from the abundant orchard; many beautiful hand-sewn dresses with skirts that floated in the air when you twirled; sweaters knitted with the luxurious wool of their own sheep. Chickens roamed freely, providing eggs, and a fattened goose that was selected among the flock every Christmas.”Living on a rural farm was a rich and idyllic way of life”, my grandmother would always end each story, filling my heart with warmth and envy.

When I arrived, however, none of the beauty, bounty, or feeling of happiness was in this one, utilitarian, multi-purpose room. On the contrary, my grandmother Sofia seemed alone in her misery. What had I stumbled upon? Had she lied to me? The scene upon my arrival was so unexpected that I started doubting myself. Perhaps it was my own mind playing tricks on me? No, I distinctly remember my grandmother talking about her life, telling me her stories. Something else must be wrong.

Confused, I checked my chrono-portation device and confirmed that this was definitely the right location but none of the evidence before me matched the facts of my grandmother’s life. What went wrong? Had I loaded the right memory bundle into the device? Could there be a malfunction in the beta version of the software? The time issue was tricky but did we need to do more testing prior to the general release? Should I run a self-diagnosis on the device’s time calibration, which should only take a few…..

“Mama?” said a little voice from the bed. I caught my breath and froze as I saw a tiny figure in an oversized nightgown slip out of the blankets and skip on the dirt floor in her bare feet towards the woman. “Mama” she repeated, placing her little hands on the woman’s lap, “What are you doing?”.

“Oh, Sofia!” whispered the startled woman, as she pulled away from the comfort of the coats and wiped her eyes with her stained apron.”Mama is practicing a new song for tomorrow. Go back to bed or it won’t be a surprise.”

“Will you sing the song at our tea party”, asked little Sofia.

“Yes, my love. We’ll brew exotic tea and your dolls will eat heavenly pies”, replied her mom.

“Can we have yellow pie, and glitter pie, and everything pie?”, she asked with her little hands clasped under her huge smile.

“Of course, my dear”.

Her mom laughed softly as she reached into her apron pocket and handed dear, little Sofia a few gray pebbles and some wilted dandelions. “Here are some more precious gems for your jewelry box and beautiful flowers to put in the crystal vase for your doll’s tea party tomorrow. And don't forget that golden party dress that you made with your magic wand.”

After a long squeeze, her mom nudged Sofia towards the bed and added “Remember all these happy times, Sofia. Now, be good and go back to bed so Papa, up in heaven, will be proud of his little girl.”