Whispers

Tangi lightly caressed the cold, metal keys of the old Smith-Corona she had used so many years ago. She gazed at her long, thin fingers and watched sadly as dust fell from the tips. So much wasted time.

It had been too long. There wasn't a day that went by that she didn't have a new idea gnawing at the back of her mind for a story. She, too often, had ignored and put off the urge to write. Tangi smiled at the thought that this would be a new start. Her husband, now gone for well over two years, had always encouraged her to write, but, life had happened. The kids were all grown and off starting the next chapters in their lives. Grandkids were beginning to pop up like beautiful little wildflowers. Empty nest syndrome stung like a bear when there was no one to nest with anymore.

Taking in a long breath, she began the delicate task of wiping, oiling and working the keys. Winding and unwinding the ribbon as her father had taught her to get new life from it so as to not waste. Using a can of compressed air, she cleared the hulking beasts' insides of dust and decaying various insect carcasses that had taken up residence over the years in the storage facility she kept it stored in so as not to remind her that it was being neglected and disused. Her laptop lay on the desk behind her, untouched. That wasn't her style. She had learned to type on one of these old clunkers. Having to press meaningfully onto the keys with purpose, the satisfying 'clunk' of the hammer hitting the paper. Memories that made her nostalgic and excited her. She yearned to hear it again, and didn't want to stop. Now, of all times.

Cleaning the old typewriter took up half the morning, but, Tangi smiled brightly at the end result, full of pride. The Smith-Corona shone like a new penny. All the nooks and crevices were clear, anxiously awaiting her further attention. Early afternoon sunlight glistened on the avocado green surface, beckoning to her. Teasing her with it's promise of comfort and familiarity.

But, not yet. Not quite.

Standing up, she took a moment to stretch after having sat so long in her chair. With a small, secretive smile, she made her way to her husband's study. Years ago, Jared had purchased a special ream of paper for her from Indonesia. He had it special ordered and came complete with her name embossed on each page back and had been tied with a red velvet bow which remained in it's untied state to this day.

Opening the door, a pang of sadness overtook her in a fresh wave. His scent came to her, strongly. She allowed herself a moment to take it in and gain her composure and ventured forth. His desk was a beautiful cherry wood that had been hand made in Pennsylvania (nothing but the best for each other, forever). Sinking down into the soft, leather seat, Tangi allowed herself a full swivel ride with a giggle. She was positively giddy with the anticipation of the first words at the ready, in her mind, to be expressed from her fingertips onto the chunky wordsmith awaiting her in her study.

She traced a well manicured nail across the glossy surface and ran it all the way down to the right to the bottom drawer. Jared had insisted upon storing the gifted pages in his drawer so that he would know when her mood to write had struck so he could take any measures necessary to encourage her. "You must write. You have a gift from God that requires itself to be shared." She could hear the words whispered into her ear eons ago at some collegiate party or other. After having met up with the wives she had encountered since the beginning of her husband's teaching career, she had run off to the corner of the cloak room to cry in private. She had been asked what she did for a living now that she had left off teaching and writing three years prior. The scornful looks from the other educated, working, professors' wives after she answered with 'happy mommy' was almost scorching. She rambled a bit more about motherhood being fulfilling and how happy she really was, but knew it came off as more of an excuse and defense, rather than a heartfelt sentiment. So, off she walked under some premise or other and here he had found her. He held her tightly and she knew, in that moment, that she really was fulfilled. She truly was happy with her life, her husband. Those women had chosen career over children, and, while that worked for them, this was her calling.

She had closed her eyes and felt his lips brush her ear lobes in the memory and repeat the words she had hear

in her sleep in her dream last night. One she felt had come directly from him.

The words echoed in her mind, "You must write."

She reached into the bottom drawer and withdrew the ream of paper with the beautiful bow.

Tangi ran her fingers along the top papers' edge and let the pages slip past onto each other with a soft 'fwap'... save one. She felt something fall to the floor and looked down and froze. There, in her husband's chicken scratch scrawl was a business card sized piece of paper with her name on it. She retrieved it from the floor and examined it closely. Tears began falling immediately. Just two words were penned on the opposite side, "It's Time".

Carefully setting the paper aside to the desk, she dried her tears, childishly wiping her hands on her pants sleeves to remove the moisture. She inhaled deeply and breathed out slowly. Sitting there to gather her thoughts, she felt as though the last of the stars had aligned. It was the final push she needed to get the ball rolling and dust off the cobwebs. Tangi rose, shook the shadows and mustiness from her head, picked up the ream and headed back to her own study with renewed purpose.

She carefully undid the bow and laid it across the head of her desk and stroked it momentarily, knowing she would never move it. She gazed on it tenderly as she laid the paper gently, as if fragile, in her top left drawer and took the top leaf from the pile. Placing it in the chamber, she pulled it through, nostalgia passing through her mind with each satisfying click. Marveling at how the muscles remember, she prayed God would have mercy on her frazzled, addled brain and help that muscle remember, as well.

She closed her eyes, placed her hands on the keyboard and paused. Quietly whispered in the past or maybe gently across the wind blowing through the study's tiny window, she heard, "It's time."

And it was.