THE BOULDER

IT ROLLED DOWN THE HILL

By Mimi Mazzarella

THE OCCURRENCE

At first, all I heard was a grumbling, a sort of discontent. I guessed it was distant thunder that had slightly shaken the walls of my small, gabled-roofed cottage. I went to the front window, opened it, and looked out. The air was warm, and there was a light breeze. The moon – a waxing crescent – was a small silvery illumination on one side, and a faint but discernable shadow on the other.

Staring up at the powdery clouds that softly drifted across the darkening sky, I smiled and thought: Well, it sure doesn’t look like there’s going to be a storm tonight.

My small reverie was interrupted by a second faraway growl that was more strident, more persistent. 

Where could that sound be coming from? 

I studied my dandelion-covered lawn and the wide gravel path outside of it. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, my eyes then focused on the steep hill – which I figured was about two hundred feet from my home. Its apex – around fifteen stories high – was visible on this clear evening, so I had no trouble making out the few large trees that lined the edge. 

What is causing that rumbling?

I waited by the window hoping if it would cease, but instead, it grew into a roar. Suddenly, a mammoth boulder appeared and crashed into two large oaks. The trees cracked as the rock – the size of a Dodge Ram – splintered them, and then made its roaring descent down the sharp, stony incline. 

This can’t be real. 

The boulder gained velocity as it tore its way downward, crushing bushes, shrubs, and anything else in its path. Within moments it would thunder across the pebbled road.

My heart lurched.

Oh my God, it’s going to slam into my house!

Without conscious thought, I charged to the cellar door, yanked it opened and took the steps two-three at a time. I missed the last stair and fell hard onto the cement floor – just as I heard the boulder hurl itself through the cottage with an ear-splitting crash. I sucked in my breath, curled into the fetal position, and squeezed my ears shut with my hands. Even so, I heard walls crumbling, wood collapsing, and glass shattering. The ceiling above me showered down dust and dirt – and threatened to cave in.

Afterward, the reverberations from the blast continued for what seemed like forever. 

And then there was absolute silence, such as the stillness that lives in the depths of the ocean.  Even so, I remained coiled on the cement floor, trembling – unable or unwilling to move. 

Eventually, I rose and with shaking hands, used the banister for support and walked, with glacier-slow steps, up the stairs. 

But even before I reached the main floor, I knew that my home and life as I knew it had been annihilated by a force of nature beyond my control.

THE DENIAL

Stepping out of the cellar, I audibly gasped and clutched my chest. The boulder now sat – absurdly serene – amid the total destruction of my cottage. Nothing of what was remained intact. I stared impassively at the incomprehensible chaos, but my body shook uncontrollably. 

This didn’t happen, I told myself. It’s a dream. 

Even days later, I refused to believe what my brain knew was true: What was once, is no longer… And would never be again. 

I suppose that the horrifying truth of what had occurred was beyond my recognition or acceptance, so for a week or more, I pushed the boulder and the devastation that followed, out of my thoughts and remained somewhat sane.

THE REALITY

But the cruelness of reality eventually asserted itself, not in its fullness, but rather in increments. It was steady and unrelenting, and – when it occurred – it compelled me to acknowledge the truth.

It occurred when I woke in the morning and felt a crushing pain in my stomach.

It occurred when I realized that the photos I had on the wall no longer existed.

It occurred whenever I’d inadvertently notice the boulder from the corner of my eye.

THE AFTERMATH

           Days and weeks later, people came by to shake their heads and sigh. They felt bad and wanted to help, but I was too overwhelmed with my own darkness to accept anything.

     “You must get rid of that rock,” they told me.

“It’s too big, too massive,” I replied.

“I know an excavator who can remove for you,” offered someone.

 I shook my head. “I don’t want it gone.”

“You don’t?”

“How come?”

“Because I need it,” I blurted.

“What do you mean?”

What did I mean?

“I’m not sure,” I finally said. “All I know is that it must stay with me.”

Some of the people knitted their brows in confusion; others shook their heads. “Well,” they finally chorused, “If there’s anything we can do…just ask.”

I murmured “thanks” and watched them leave.

THE PRESENT

           It’s been a little over seven weeks since the boulder entered my life. Most of the time, I look at it and cry and remember what life used to be like before it knocked down my house.

           BUT:

           …yesterday the sun was warm and shining brightly, so I took a walk and stopped to watch a butterfly flit from flower to flower.

           …and today, I wrote this story so others who also have a boulder in their life will know that they are not alone.

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A NOTE TO THE READER

As I’m sure you realize, “The Boulder” is a metaphor for a disaster that threatens to destroy those in its path. It is something that sits heavily inside those whose lives have been struck by it, and – although the misery from it is exhausting, it does lessen.  

In this case, “The Boulder” is about my son, Mikie, who at forty-one years old died suddenly on March 14, 2021. He left small two children (my grandchildren) and a wife. Each day for us has been difficult to breathe and “carry on” as we struggle to find butterflies beyond the tragedy...but I know somewhere, sunlight will prevail.