Inheritance part two
Fiction: Walking with my father.
Today, as he passed the first of the arching oaks, Louis continued to ponder on the past. He remembered leaving home: his mother’s tears and his father’s sorrowful pride. His parents had always been there for him; just like that dusk-ridden forest path was unmoving and unchanging. However, he was changing.
Moving away and adapting to his new life was a darkened journey in itself; sometimes he never knew which way to turn, often he had to fight the urge to run and hide from the day. But his father had taught him well. That road less travelled was intended to be an occasional means of escape, used only sparingly in order to escape to one’s self. Therefore, he was able to face the hurdles that his days hurtled at him, and look forward to the nights that were to come in the dark. “Never be afraid of the dark, of something new.” his father had said. “The dark is just the day’s dreamland. And in the twilight are always those you love.”
Moving slowly ahead into the oncoming dawn, Louis remembered the changes. As the years passed, the world around him was shaped in new and exciting ways. At the same time, though, he always knew that this beaten road would always stay constant in its own exciting perpetuity. On his periodic visits home, he would never pass up the chance to go out venturing the hallowed path with his father.
His annual return at Christmas time was particularly special, for he and his dad would share a laugh and tell tales of their year as the moon of Christmas Eve rose above them. Apart from on these special occasions, however, time could never step on to the path: in their imagination and individual universes, it was a long walk to never. They were wonderfully alone, alone with their thoughts and laughter and the sparkling dark.
Now, Louis ran a hand though the spiraling leaves just above his head. A single red flower hung there, plain and simple; yet, like the road, blank in its beauty. It seemed to offer promise. The walk was not always a time to remember: it was a period in which to look forward. It was on this star mile that he would dream. In the night he would daydream, and paint the blank canvas of normality around him with the colours of imagination.
The pair, or Louis himself would think about the future; from silly things like football scores, through practicalities like what he was to do with his life, or even the girls he would chase and almost never quite catch, and the ones he would love and never quite lose completely. No matter what the problem, the path would offer perspective, or his dad would slap him on the back and tell him: “You aren’t doing too bad, you have me!” The path was to laugh on or shed a tear on, but it was always theirs and theirs alone, his father’s inheritance to him. He picked the red flower and held it close.
And now Louis stopped, for the wind brushed his face gently; he had reached the clearing. His aimless walk had reached its inevitable and usual destination. Striding forward through the somewhat overgrown grass, he took in a shuddering breath. And then another. And then he was there. Ahead of him, a grey stone rose up from the ground and was one with the earth. It read:
RIP
MAURICE RIDLEY
1899-1962
A LOVING HUSBAND, FATHER AND GRANDFATHER.
HE WILL BE SORELY MISSED.
The stop at which Louis and his father had so often traversed to was as constant as the path, and meant a lot to him. And now it meant even more. He turned his head slightly to see the stone that rose up next to it. This stone looked out at him and to the path, for it was one with the road they loved so dear.
RIP
MARTIN RIDLEY
1930-2009
“IN THE TWILIGHT WILL BE THOSE YOU LOVE.”
HE WILL BE MISSED.
Louis knelt and laid down the plain, yet beautiful red flower next to his father’s grave. After a moment, a hand came to rest on his shoulder. Louis nodded and stood up, speaking softly to the small boy behind him. Blinking back the tears, he spoke with the wind:
“Come on son, the night is calling us.”
By: Jonny Guckian
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