Sunset

The silvery A4 hatchback snaked through the countryside road like a graceful predator, beginning its evening hunt with a casual, swift sprint through the lush green hills and valleys. The tarmac was almost black, perfect condition, just like last year, or the year before that. Yvette descended into the moment, with her full consciousness, concentrating on the drive, maneuvering into one corner to beat the persistent holdup caused by the traffic light. She hated the red light. She preferred the bumps positioned on this road which is better than being halted temporarily by the red light. On several occasions, she had imagined herself going against the traffic light. The tiny bit faster than speed limits allow on this road excites her, at least, it is better than waiting till eternity for the red light to turn to green with no assurance that she would be able to drive through it within the minutes before changing back to red. Finally, she finds herself on the highway. She heaved a sigh of relief, loosens the top buttons of her denim dress. She enjoyed the freedom of this drive, around two hours of roaming free on this road which has virtually no traffic - straight from the confines of the city, right into a beautiful countryside full of childhood memories. She clicked up the volume switch twice with one nacre nail polished finger, and took a deep breath as the music filled the air in the car. She tried removing her denim heels which she bought to match her dress when she smirked as she heard the tires screech a bit in a tighter corner.

She hardly ever saw a police cruiser patrolling these roads. It’s unusual to see a police patrol on this way, she thought within herself, trying to button up the loosed buttons. But, if she were to pull over, she somehow knew trouble would be within her reach due to over speeding. An idea struck her; she would bit her lip, look up to him with a timid smile and also attempt to lose the button again in his presence. Doing this would make her get away with only a deep toned warning. Her magic worked! She glanced on the trip counter and nodded to herself happily. She was over halfway now. Whatever that display was, she told herself, was worth it.

She thought would have been content with it: if she got to her parents’ home quickly, good; but if the drive takes a bit more time, that is great as well. She felt some humble gratefulness as she felt her daily woes release her, torn down, and disappearing one by one as the miles passed by through the forest, and the hills slowly turned into mountains.

Whenever she felt like getting away on a weekend, she just packed and she was gone. After speeding through the sweeping corners, she would pull in the long drive-way, through the gate, up on the pearly white gravel. Eli, the butler and gardener would be standing right at the front already, with a big black umbrella if it rained, and a wide southern smile in every case. He would take her bag and follow her on the cobblestones, freshly covered in baby’s breath and green luscious grass. They would go in through the backdoor, into the kitchen, where the staff is preparing the next meal, to the warm sound of Fred Astaire coming down from the wooden speakers. There’s the smell of fresh brewed coffee lingering in the air with a touch of almond, jasmine, & sage. A magical home filled with happy memories and laughter at every corner.

The garden was her favorite part of the house. Whenever she arrived, she had to perform the same ritual. Even if it was the middle of the night - which was rare, since when she felt the call, she usually sat in her Audi early in the morning, or right after work and driving drove through the fiery red lanes the setting sun was painting over the hillsides - she always spent a good half an hour out on the stone porch, under the huge oak tree. That tree protected anyone sitting under its majestic canopy. Even the harshest rainstorm could only send in a few droplets of water, making her connection with the surrounding nature only more intimate. She found this to be highly pleasing to her

There was no sign of rain today though. The orange glow arched through the sky, turning into faint pink, and eventually, dark blue, as the power of the Sun slowly gave way to the gathering twilight.

“This garden was the creation of love, the love of my parents,” Yvette thought to herself, when she arrived and was already sitting on her favorite spot - alone, as she always preferred.

She looked at the walls, statues waterfalls, vines, ferns, the most beautiful flowers separated by king doors, hidden entrances, and secret rooms. A nostalgic feeling overshadowed her and she became almost emotional. She pondered “So many beautiful bushes and tiny alcoves, plenty of places to hide and dream… so many times I hid there when I was just a little girl. I used to go to the gardens to meet my imaginary prince, write in my journal, pray, cry when my feelings were hurt, or just enjoy the smells that nature had to offer. Or dedicate my thoughts to my early erotic dreams or get lost in the maze with the teenage boys from the neighborhood we played with for hours”.

It was home away from home, a comfortable place and where she came to stay on the weekends, or longer, after her father passed away.

She remembered to have cried for days when her Dad left this world. She felt as though a part of her had died. She sat here, or strolled below the trees, talking to only his spirit for days, not even her closest friends were allowed to see her.

“My father was more than a father. He was my best friend.” She soliloquized.

Yvette always felt him close here. She felt him from the smells embedded into the fabric of his recliner, the soft cigar and tobacco pipe smells, root beer candy lying in the plate of his favorite chair. She could still see the glass of whiskey, almost still fresh from his last visit, and the mahogany wooden chairs, crafted by him.

The garden was where Yvette came to think, pray, listen to the guidance of her grandmother... and now, sadly, her father as well. Her late grandparents enjoyed coming out here to relax, trim the flowers, meditate over problems they faced, challenges life threw at them, and questions they needed answers to.

“If I shut my eyes, I can still feel their presence, whispering, ‘it’s OK, Yvette, I am OK, and I am here, if you need me.’ My heart is broken,” she thought “The two closest persons in my life are now gone.”

For almost two years, after her father passed, Yvette took the journey every weekend to feel the presence, and to pray.

“They were the only ones who understood my feelings and what I meant by the deep yearning in my soul,” she thought, nurturing a mug of strawberry tea, looking around to the old bushes, where she could almost see her grandmother standing, clicking her tiny secateurs, to keep the plants in an elegant shape.

Her grandmother used to tell her that she had gifts; however, not till later in life would she learn to use these gifts.

“This is where I would start learning about the lessons of life, love and bliss,” Yvette remembered. The words of her grandma drifted to her through time and space:

“I love you bigger than the sky, love you later, see you tomorrow…”

Yet there wasn’t a tomorrow as she passed in her sleep that night.

Yvette took long walks, meditating, praying through these weekend hideouts. She prayed for the blessings in her life, she prayed for the men that were coming into her life, especially about the man that has the secrets to what her father and grandmother had told her about for years.

“I wonder if he even exists. I wonder if any of them exist.”

Yvette stopped in her stroll and slowly looked up to the tiny study room, where the journals laid, locked inside, waiting. Waiting for her, so when the time comes, she can relive the stories whispered to her as a girl, and get to read the ones that she never was allowed to open before. She remembered the golden sunlight flowing on the old yellow pages with the tiny and tidy letters of her Dad, or the elegant, long lines of her grandmother, and the strangely beautiful drafts and graphics done in simple black ink.

“I wonder especially if the dark one exists. The disruptive, sensual, passionate, angry teacher - lover that I was supposed to meet. That one, hmmm, not too sure how excited I am about meeting him…”

She finished her walk and retreated behind the old walls that always looked and felt like European castle walls for her, in her childhood. She ran upstairs - she never could resist the urge to run up on that glorious stone staircase, although when she came down, the other way around, she loved to descend slowly and elegantly, carefully measuring every step and still moving gracefully, just like queens and princesses would do. The classicist-style continued in the interior architecture as well, although the furniture was not at all chokingly old. Still, the stairs and pillars inside flew Yvette into a fairytale, in which she spent most of her childhood.

She cuddled up on her old bed - still almost twice as big as the one in her own current apartment - and opened the single white envelope, which, curiously enough, had no sender and no address on it; someone seemed to have put it in the post box. She took out the white, high quality letter paper from it.

And, for five minutes straight, she just stared on the single word which has been written on its center.