Far Away

This room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here. I look around and see a wall of bookshelves ahead, and another of windows. I’m standing here alone in the center of the room, on a soft carpet. It’s red and gold, and it looks a little like one I saw a long time ago, somewhere far away. I used to travel places, far away. Did I come here from far away? Did Dennis bring me? Where is he?

There are two large, gray couches in the room. I’ve been looking for a couch like these; I wonder where they got them? I should ask. They look soft. Maybe I’ll sit. Will they mind if I sit? I’m old; if they mind I’ll tell them about my old knees.

That’s better. This couch is very soft, though. And deep. I hope I can get up. They may have to help me. I wonder if I should try, just to be sure I can? Dennis will help me. Where could he be?

What a pretty tree by the window. It’s a ficus, I’m sure of it. Or maybe it’s a . . . a . . . Dennis will tell me later. He always loves a potted plant, if he can’t be in the garden. The first gift he ever gave me was a potted plant, when we were at university together. Little pink tea roses from the grocery store. I’d had a bad day, and he knocked on my door with a pot of flowers. The pot was wrapped in crinkly orange foil, and he apologized for how it clashed with the roses, then he pulled me outside to see the sun set across the playing fields, in pinks and oranges. We sat there until it was dark, and for awhile after. Is that right, that he knocked on the door? Why would he do that, when we’ve lived together all these years? They were beautiful flowers. He was right that the pot was ugly, though.

Not like this ficus pot. This one is pretty. My favorite shade of blue, and Mother’s too. She had a necklace with a stone just that color. She wore it to my wedding, with that long blue dress. My bridesmaids wore blue too; was that a faux pas, that she matched them? I didn’t think about that at the time. I could ask Dennis what he thinks, but he never cares about things like that. Mother was going to leave me that necklace. Maybe she did, but I’m not wearing it now. I’m all in black today. This dress is strange to me. Did they tell me to wear it? Maybe they like you to wear black in this room?

Is that a kettle whistling? When will they make it stop? I don’t want to get up; this is a very comfortable couch. Besides, I don’t think I can get up. I’ll just study the carpet for a bit. It really is a lovely carpet. I was at a place where they make carpets like this, once. Hand-knotted, and they brought me tea in a tiny cup. Where is it that they make carpets like this? I wish they would come, so I could ask.

That painting is nice too. It looks like Italy, that place we went by the sea, with the restaurant on the dock where they served the fish whole, eyes and brains and bones and all. Dennis ate them, mostly. I didn’t like the bones. I liked the focaccia, and the sunshine, and the lapping water, and the birds calling. And that orange drink, “compliments of the chef.” The woman at the next table looked our way and I heard her say “They are so in love,” and I laughed. What was that place called? Dennis would know. It was before we had children. It must have been. After the children it was road trips to the beach, and sandy feet, and outdoor showers. I broke my toe, and the boot they gave me was always full of sand. The little one was stung by a jellyfish; she cried and cried. Maybe not the same year, though, the toe and the jellyfish. We went to Fun Land one night, and I asked what was the best part, and the older one said “All of it. I loved all of it.” She had lovely brown hair and freckles from the sun. We rode the spinning tea cups together and almost got sick. The little one had dimples and pigtails and so many seashells. She wanted to make a necklace with them.

I wonder what happened to Mother’s necklace? It was my favorite shade of blue. Very like that pot over there by the window with the ficus in it. It’s funny to see that tree by the window looking so green, with the snow falling just beyond it. The poor thing isn’t getting much sun.

Why isn’t it sunny? It should be sunny at the beach. Why did we go to the beach if it’s winter? What were we thinking? The beach is for summer. I hope the children weren’t cold. Would they take the children away from us, for letting them swim in the ocean when it’s snowing? We shouldn’t tell anyone. Dennis knows not to tell anyone, I know he does. I hope we didn’t tell the neighbors we were going. The children must be coming home from school soon. We should tell them not to say anything about the beach.

Does that painting by the fireplace show the beach, or just the sea? I would like to look at it up close. I don’t think I can get up, though. How long must I wait for Dennis? “Dennis? Dennis! Where are you?”

A door opens in the paneled wall. A dark-haired woman steps in. Does she work here? She’s wearing a black dress too. Why are her eyes red? Someone should bring her roses. Dennis brought me roses on a bad day once.

“Mom? Are you okay there? I made tea. Let me help you move to your chair, and I’ll set your drink on the table here.”

“Oh, thank you, dear. I didn’t hear the kettle.”