The Scent of Honey

I was exhausted from school finals and exams, my university had always pressured students with more assignments. I guessed it was a London tradition. I had only been in London for a year now and was already starting to tire from lectures. Suddenly, I stopped cold in my tracks, something felt different, the dewy mildew smell of the cobbled streets, that I had grown so accustomed to had vanished it had been replacing by a lovely scent, that made my mouth suddenly salivate.

I could smell a beautiful floral scent, I walked down the corridor, my flats hitting the cold stone beneath my feet. I turned a corner following my nose, passing the butcher shops, the book stores, the tea shop I visited weekly, I walked and walked until I turned another corner and saw that I was in an alley, the sweet honey-like scent grew stronger by the minute, the alley had a couple of loose bricks falling from the sides of the two butcher shops it was between. 

Strangely there was only one door, at the end of the alley, it was painted pale pink, and was adorned with a golden doorknob.  I crept forward slowly, the icy chill of March froze against my skirts. When I reached the door I felt a pull, almost like something wanted me inside. I slowly lifted my arm and turned the doorknob, the cold metal tingled against my skin. A warm rush of air washed over me as my eyes grew to find what was inside. It was astonishing. The room was covered in floral wallpaper, pale pink curtains lined the many windows, there was a small table laden with handpainted china and the finest of cutlery. The teapot steamed, and as I stepped closer, I could smell the lovely notes of honey and vanilla and cream. On a dessert tray there lay small cakes, chocolate ones covered in a thick white icing, strawberry-shaped ones with a thin layer of pink berry garnish, lemon sorbet waiting for me to dig in, tiny savory cheeses spread on baked rosemary crackers. I could feel tears welling up, it was a beautiful sight. I sat down, carefully taking a sip of tea, the vanilla melted on my tongue as I bit into a delicate chocolate cake, I squeezed my eyes shut from the lemon sorbet, sour but sweet, just right. Then a thought struck me, this was all so perfect, was this set up for me? Suddenly, my mind felt fuzzy, and it was almost as if a little voice shouted out in my mind, 

“Everything is fine, enjoy!”  I nodded. I tasted the strawberry cakes, the pink berry garnish was delicious. I spent the rest of the day, frolicking around the small room, smelling the fresh roses and pansies that were placed in many jars. I tried to open the only window that was visible but, it wouldn’t budge, I shrugged returning my attention to the miraculous wonder of the small room, it was truly beautiful. 

I had grown sleepy from all the adventuring I had had that morning, it really was time for me to leave, but I quickly dismissed the thought when I discovered a cozy pink victorian couch laying in the corner, and a yellow quilt with embroidered daisies adorned on it. I curled up and allowed myself to drift off to dreamland.

When I awoke, I stretched, straightened my sweater and skirts. I grabbed my university books and book bag gently folded the quilt and placed it back onto the couch. It was time for me to leave, I quietly thanked whoever had let me into this magical room, I closed the door, smiling I left a handful of daffodils on the doorstep in front of the pink door for the owner. I walked down the streets feeling beyond happy. The air felt lighter, there wasn't the icy chill of Autumn, it had been replaced by rays of sunlight falling around the street. Suddenly, I stopped cold in my tracks, my stomach clenched realization had just struck me. Daffodils didn't bloom in the fall, they only bloomed in the spring. And it had been early September when I had entered the room, HAD I BEEN INSIDE THE ROOM FOR A YEAR? It had only felt like an hour. I started running back to my house, which I hoped was still there, I dropped my university books and book bag, everything was s still there. As the days passed, ad as my curiosity grew and grew I finally found the courage to return to the alley. I walked down the street again and then when I found the alley between the two butcher shops, my heart sank, there was no pink door, just a mangy old alley cat and a couple crumpled up newspapers, rolling by in the wind of Spring.

There was no pink door, but the magical scent of honey still hung in the air, only now it was faded just like the door I am still longing to find. Now, I am in my fifties and over the years I have grown, I have always returned to the alley each day, looking for the mysterious room. But, alas it had never returned. I had asked my neighbors and relatives, but, no one knew what I was talking about. And the years went by, my family grew and shrank, and as I grew older and older. My wonder for the odd experience I had had when I was 15 diminished I didn’t wonder anymore, I didn’t question it, if I had been in that room for a year then it was just a gift from god something he knew O would cherish until my passing. But, I had always known something was coming, something magical to brighten my day and lift my spirits from the grinding days of my London education. Could it have truly been a gift from the heavens resented in a pink door?

Had it all been real at all?

🐝THE END🍯