The distance between the earth and the moon

Not that a twelve years is a short period, but it was not enough to diminish the familiarity between Laila and Nhar for upon their meeting they surpass the formality of greeting and rushed to the point. Nhar and Laila hadn’t met since they were children, in fact hadn’t met since they left the cottage in where they renewed their acquaintance on this day. This cottage is a small, musty, fallen building, which was settled on the banks of a river three miles away from the country and was their mothers’ shared property. They arrived here today, after a hasty decision that took less than ten texts message between them to be proceeded with, to sell the cottage for any price in order to get rid of its burden and to check in for items that they want to take in order to clear it for sale.  

‘This won’t take a lot of time’ said Nhar loading off boxes of a closet. ‘four to six hours if I am not mistaken’ her white shirt is now cover in dust.

‘Do you know of anything that we might want to get? Did your mother told you of anything … I mean must not be thrown?’

Laila was still silent and Nhar white shirt turned grey, she is starting to regret coming here at all.

Their mothers bought the cottage after working every day after school and after college from one of their grandparents, they used to play here as children and as adult they wanted it to be their escape. Here is their exile, time is a myth, the sun roused and downed whenever she wished, night declared his formidable presence extinguishing the evident and daylight came timidly when invited between the twigs. Nature was their neighbor and they welcomed her dearly, no harmless animal was driven away with fear by them, no plant was cut off even when intruder between the planks of their walls. They both drew very poorly and sung off key loudly. Naya, however, the mother of Laila was a wonderful poet, in talking her words rarely did not rhyme, and she composed more poems off paper than on. She was serene, her words were spoken with caution and she was calm, undisturbing. When she sat outside the cottage under the shadows of the trees, on the grass and between the weed, she was declared a part of them. The other, Ian, surrounded her an air of confident and intelligent. She read as much as she ran in the opens, many of her friends adored her company as she adored her solitude. She was a master of public speech and she held her features mesmerizingly promoting her as a beauty. They were the perfect companions, the calmness of one soothed the rushness of the other and the firing soul of one inspired the artistry of her friend.

Laila and Nhar spend more than six hours going through what their mothers left. Many old cashmere robes, a whole lot of paintings and a mixture of fake and real, valuable jewelries that were hard to distinguish. Boxes of what is supposed to be a witchcraft attempt, hunting spares that confused them to what they needed them and properly hundreds of books. The books’ pages were worn off, some even dark brown that made it hard to cipher out the writing; some were not books but journals, about eight of them completely full. Papers scattered on the floor when they opened some envelops. Attempts of knitting that were so clumped, properly not by time, were pushed to the bottom of a box. Nhar brought a camera from her bag and took picture of them then the books and everything; to that Laila showed her resentment ‘why doing that? Can you just not glorify there trash’. Nhar put her camera down not saying a word and they remained silent for half an hour until Nhar said ‘I will need their books and journals by the way’.

‘What for?’

‘I am writing about them in my bio, the company need one for my promotion. I hoped you wouldn’t mind’

‘Of course I would. I would mind you writing things about my mother brought up by your imagination.’

‘Excuse me. Well let me use them and I wouldn’t have to… And she wasn’t just your mother she helped raise me as well. I think of her as close as a mother’

Still Nhar kept going

‘They were incredible people their life should be remembered and celebrated, your mothers’ poetry you never published or cared for it’

Laila was not listening to Nhar, she found an album in a box that she opened and was going through it. ‘We may have to stay the night here’ she told Nhar not waiting for an answer then put the album down and went to search the box.  

Nhar was irritated by Laila’s silence. Laila one the other hand was sick of Nhar admiring each scrap of paper she found. Soon they both were tired and decided to go to sleep in their cars. Nhar pulled out a suitcase from her car and extracted a toothbrush and a pajama while Laila didn’t even bother to take off her socks. 

Nhar was a rational person, she had full control on her emotion, she always presented herself well, but the thing is she felt as she was missing Laila, her childhood friend, and to extend her sister. She loved to care for people, she had a cat named Sebastian, the people who worked for her respected her greatly. She is used to love people fully with all her attention and part with them rationally when she sensed it had to stop, except with her past. Her mother, she never parted with the memory of her, though she never wept day and night, she held pictures, cooked their bad recipes repeatedly and recited whatever they written, on a book, in their journal or on a scrap of paper, by heart. She needs to visit them again, the journals in the cottage, she cannot wait for the sun to light these pages.

The cottage, now in darkness but her flashlight, seemed more unwelcoming, confining whatever secrets he held selfishly. His prized possession now shuttered on the floor. His intimacy with his past mistresses violated. The floor planks creaked with anger with every step Nhar took. He wanted her out and no sun to reveal what must not be shown, there is but darkness, to hide its power, which will be excused with imagination. The shadows of the cottage now darker than common, sneaking in front of her gaze to frighten her, interrupted by the howling of the wind. The wind knows better, the daughters must not be harmed; they should be bequeathed the memories.

Nhar flash light distinguished, the shutters were trembling, the windows wide open the papers carried by the wind. Nhar rushed the close the windows and she bumped the table so hard that its content fell to the ground. Nhar could hear a ball rolling on the floor; it must be the crystal ball they found in the witchcraft box. Nhar harried to catch it, in fear of it to break; startled she stopped in mid run. The shadows were conjured into shapes in front her eyes.

 These shapes children; moving, transparent, dark, gray, unreasonable. Nhar tried to focus, ‘is this real’. The figures two girls, nursing each other one in a long dress injured in her knee the other in a shirt and a trouser with scratches on her face. She run when she herd the other shouting, the girl in the long dress went deep in the woods; a fox attacked her because she tried to pet it. The girl in the trouser running didn’t have time to push the trees twigs from her way and ended up scratching her face, she was scolding her friends.

 ‘You make sure I am around when doing stuff like that, you can’t fight a fox alone’.

‘I wasn’t fighting it you said you wanted a pet, I was just seeing if it can get along with humans’

‘I meant a bird, YOU want a fox’

Then they stared laughing, they started mimicking animals, a wolf, a bird, a bull and on and on. Nhar wasn’t sure if she was dreaming or not. These little girls seemed familiar, her mother had a scar on her knees, and Laila’s mothers loved birds, were these girls, Ian and Naya. 

Nhar attempted to run outside, but she was held back by a memory, her mother and Naya used to mimic sounds, a dogs bark, the washing machine, the drizzling of the pan; Nhar used to find it embarrassing, her younger self, it was one of their inside jokes. She need no courage to stay, she persisted with longing.

The memories kept unwrapping faster than she desired, taking her to the days she wished she lived, the memories she envied were not hers. A particular memory affected her deeply, one when Naya was waiting and waiting, not moved by the sun disappearing in the horizon, she was waiting Ian, her mother, and when she arrived, Naya wasn’t mad she simply joined her.

Nhar went back to her car in tears thinking about what she had seen, she wasn’t her mother no matter how she tried, she won’t be loved as her, she thought. That idea hunted Laila as well, she thought of not living to her mother, Naya, the poet and the lover, how she united as one with this world. That she couldn’t reach, to feel as part of something, she felt closed off. Maybe she shouldn’t be as her mother, maybe her mother love wasn’t real, can’t it be better to love in darkness. Laila had a memory that she never spoke of, a memory of Ian and Naya that she never spoke of and Nhar didn’t know about. She feared getting back to this memory; her mother and Ian were her ideal of trust, loyalty and friendship, was that all to be wrecked. She decided that she might find a picture in the album that will give her a satisfactory answer.

Laila remembers her mother moving away from Ian for five years or so. She remember hearing them talking when she was young about Ian telling her mother that she betrayed her, that Ian’s boyfriend at the time cheated on her with Naya, she said to Naya that she could no longer see her as she saw her, that she was the only person she trusted and how she could do that. Eventually, they get back to being friends. This incidence left a mark on Laila, was that relationship they had real. She figured that if she looked through the album and found a picture of this Robert then she can decide how important he was to her mother, how serious they were, how she looked at him. 

Unable to sleep, she put on her shoes and got into the cottage. Laila being in a hurry forgot that it was dark; she decided to find the album and take it to her car. When she entered, the cottage was completely dark but something caught her notice, the crystal ball was emitting a light. She thought it must be some kind of light binding thing where it intensifies light, if there was a thing, she decided to put it near her while looking for the album.

She held it near her chest, and in horror dropped it because she saw the shadows on the floor moving. ‘Impossible’ she thought and bent down to reach for the ball again; a hand emerged from the shadows. A little girl in a princess costume. The shadows formed another figure a little boy in a prince costume. The figure drew nearer it had the features of a girl, a girl she knew, her mother. ‘Ok, repeat after me “the drizzling, sizzling, thunder horns triggering crippling my senses torn”… you can do it’ said the girl in the princess costume. The other girl tried, but she got it wrong then she tried again, but she was stuttering. Devastated, she buried her face in her hand and started crying, the other hugged her very tightly the dress she was wearing crumpled ‘it’s okay’ she said kissing her friend’s forehead. Laila noticed that girl was little Ian and she fell on the ground crying, as her mother, she concealed her face. The whistle of the wind brought her back, she retracted her hands and found another scene in front of her. They were now teens; Ian was now holding a paper looking anxious.

 ‘I can’t believe you published it’ she said in anger.

 ‘They shouldn’t have spoken to you like that’

‘I don’t want to get in trouble for me, you can’t just go on and rant about the school principle in a poem then publish it in the school paper because he was mean to your friend’. ‘I am going to apologies’ she added.

‘Don’t you dare’ Naya screamed at her.

‘You’re going to be expelled, and what? Go to a school that is three hours from her. I am going’.

 Naya was restraining Ian with full force with her thin body, even biting her to prevent her from leaving.

Laila remembered, that did happen, her mother was expelled from that school, a good art school in fact, Ian even went to that school to support Naya. Naya always said she quarreled with the teacher, but did not mention exactly why. It would have been a good opportunity for her as writer; it will explain why Ian was so keen to publish Naya’s poetry despite her mother reluctant. Naya never felt regret and she often smiled even laughed when the subject was brought.

Laila sat down with a faint smile, watched, like a play, the happy life her mother had, the love she was lucky to give, she nourished the people she loved, and celebrated them with her art. Her mother betrayed their relationship, she cannot forgive her mother for what she did for Ian and she is sure she don’t want to make the same mistake, but she could see why Ian forgave her, there was a lot more to lose.   

 The sun was up, Nhar outside her car with a cup of coffee, ‘where did you get that?’ said Laila in sleepy voice ‘I went to the nearest supermarket I brought some water and food; I brought a juice for you, didn’t figure you would wake up early’. Neither of them mention what happen, they even doubted it was real.

‘I guess they were great’ said Laila after taking a sip from her juice ‘my mother and yours I mean’

‘Yes, they were perfect’

‘Properly not’ said Laila smiling.

After a moment of silent Nhar said ‘My mother Ian, you know sometimes I wish I was her, to have the love she had’.

‘Your mother, Naya is an angel, she just love people and my mother never had a flaw not one’ Nhar added.

Laila was grinning at Nhar, which took her by surprise ‘God, you can smile’

‘It’s very likely that your mother had many faults, she just had a good friend’ said Laila meaning also her own mother.

‘Maybe you are right; I won’t let my friend wait for me so long’

‘What did you say?’

‘No, nothing’