Your Healing Touch
Parts 3-4
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters.
The radio in my car has not been on since I left Springfield, and as I wind my way through the countryside, I'm thankful for the silence. After almost half the journey to the Santos summer house, memories of Rick's frustrated pleadings and the noisy shoppers at the grocery store are finally beginning to dissipate. With each new mile behind me, I'm increasingly glad that I accepted Pilar's request to watch after the house this summer. Seeing the beautiful rural landscape, watching the distance from one house to the next grow, and noticing the traffic becoming quite sparse, I thank my lucky stars that I have a nice, isolated, quiet place to spend my time, at least for the next three months.
The bags I packed are in the trunk of my car, along with my portable stereo and a bountiful supply of CD's. A huge supply of groceries is also in the trunk, except for the items that need to be refrigerated, which are in the floorboard of the front passenger seat, being pelted by the cold blast of my air conditioner. I can hear the sound of the soft drink cans softly clanging against one another when the shrill ringing of my cell phone brings me back to reality.
Reaching over to the passenger seat to grab the phone, I quickly push the appropriate button and say, "Hello."
"It's me!" I smile warmly as Pilar's voice greets me.
"Pilar, I thought you were leaving today," I answer.
"I am," she replies. "I'm getting ready to head to the airport now. I just wanted to make sure that my directions were clear and that you didn't have any trouble finding the place."
"So far your directions are fine," I say.
"Have you found the turn off yet?" she questions.
"No, I'm not there yet," I reply.
"If you can find it, you can't miss the house. It's the only house on the road, so just drive until you run into it," she explains. "The road is gravel, although I'm sure that's it's mostly dirt now, and there's a huge tree stump right beside the turn off."
"I'm sure I'll find it," I say. "Thanks for the extra information."
"You're welcome, Michelle," Pilar says. "I'll call to check in with you every now and then, just to make sure that everything is all right."
""Don't worry about me," I reply. "Just take some Pulitzer Prize winning pictures!"
"Thanks Michelle… for everything."
With that, I hang up my phone and toss it back into the empty passenger seat, my mind drifting to Pilar and what an exciting journey she has ahead of her. What I wouldn't give to be so sure of myself… so sure of my life's purpose.
Just then, I notice a large tree stump on the right side of the road, about fifty yards ahead. As I get closer, I see a small road that turns off to the right, immediately past the stump. I think to myself that this must be it, and carefully steer my car onto the small, county road that obviously hasn't seen tire treads for a very long time.
The trees that line the road are absolutely breathtaking, nothing like the small trees that I'm used to seeing in the city. The large expanse of the limbs form a canopy over the road, and I feel as if I'm traveling back in time as the beauty of this place envelopes me. Sunlight peeks through the canopy, striping the road in front of me with intermittent golden streaks. Just when I think that this place cannot possibly be more inviting, the house comes into view.
It's not as "grand" as I pictured it, considering how wealthy Pilar's family is. Instead, it's a small, quaint house, complete with a font porch and a swing. The soft gray siding, accented by the white shutters gives the house an incredible feeling of "home", and I suddenly realize that I can't wait to get inside.
I quickly remove my luggage from the trunk of my car and set it on the front porch. Walking back to my car, I swiftly unload the bags of groceries and slam the trunk shut. Making a mental note to come back outside and retrieve my luggage, I turn the key in the front door, intending to make my way straight to the kitchen and put my groceries away.
As I push the front door open, I'm practically blown away by the simple elegance of what I see. I step inside, surveying the room, and assume that this is what one would call "the den". The hard wood floor is made of knotty pine, and the walls are paneled with similar looking wood. A small area rug, woven in a Native American pattern and glowing with shades of rust and teal, covers the center of the floor. The sofa is made up of several overstuffed burgundy cushions covering a wooden frame, the exposed legs and arms of which perfectly accent the wooden floor and walls. An antique rocking chair in the opposite corner of the room is draped with what looks like a hand-crocheted throw of ivory and green.
I walk through the den, and once I reach the hallway, I realize that the kitchen is to my immediate right. Again, I'm overwhelmed by the unassuming beauty of this place. A small breakfast table with two chairs is the first thing I notice, and I gently set my bags of groceries on top of the table. The floor is a beautiful peach colored ceramic tile, and the cabinets are made of the same knotty pine that I noticed in the den. The counter top is a soft peach, which goes perfectly with the floor, and a small window above the sink looks out across the front porch. The view from the window is beautiful, and I move effortlessly to look out, gazing wistfully at the natural beauty before me.
Finding a place for everything, I quickly put my groceries away and discard the empty shopping bags. The refrigerator was empty, so I silently pat myself on the back for remembering to buy milk, orange juice, bottled water, and eggs.
Making my way back to the front porch, I gather a load of my luggage, leaving the rest for the second load. As I tread down the hallway, I notice that the hard wood floors spread throughout the rest of the house, into the bathroom, and both bedrooms. Inspecting both bedrooms, I settle on the larger one at the end of the hallway. I can immediately tell that Pilar uses this room, because an almost empty bottle of her perfume sits atop the small dresser, not to mention that the soft, down comforter is lavender… her favorite color. I somehow feel like I'm intruding less by using Pilar's room. I don't want to disturb any memory of Miguel Santos that his children may one day treasure.
After depositing the second load of my luggage into the bedroom, I set out in search of the thermostat, so that I can crank the air conditioner up. I locate it easily, halfway down the hall, just outside the other bedroom, and set the temperature gauge at a comfortable level. Looking in the bedroom, I realize that this must've been the bedroom that Pilar's father used. The bedspread is rather masculine looking, and I'm quite positive that the ashtray on the night stand is not Pilar's. I'm beginning to wonder where exactly Pilar's brother, Danny, sleeps when he comes here, when I remember that she told me there was a basement to the house. I decide to check the basement out later, and make my way back to the den.
The sunlight is beginning to fade slightly, so I reach for the lamp on the small table next to the couch. The soft glow of the lamp bathes the room in warmth, as my eye catches sight of a group of frames photographs on the table. Sitting down on the sofa, I pick up one picture and study it. I recognize Pilar immediately, although she looks like she's about five years old. She's wearing a bright pink bathing suit and her hair is dripping wet. The boy standing next to Pilar must be Danny. He's wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and no shirt, holding a fishing pole in his right hand. I can tell by looking that he's in his very early teens, although I've never been quite sure of the age difference between Pilar and him. The smile that dances across his face in the photograph makes my heart ache, as I remember the way Pilar described Danny's difficulty dealing with their father's death. Picking up the second photograph, I instantly realize that Pilar took it, not only because she's not in it, but because it is an absolutely breathtaking shot. It's a close-up shot of Miguel and Danny, apparently sitting on the front porch swing. Sunlight softly streams across their faces, and from the looks of the tousled curls on Danny's head, the wind was blowing as well. Their faces are inches away from one another, as they stare into the camera lens, and the expressions on both faces tell the story of a father-son relationship like no other. Softly, I trace my finger around Danny's chin, finding my way to the lips that curl into the most beautiful smile I've ever seen. Looking at him in this picture, so happy and so full of life, I can't imagine that he's spiraled into the depths of sadness and grief, the way Pilar says he has.
"I certainly hope someone can help you, Danny Santos," I say to myself, as I gently put the picture back in it's place. "There is life left to live. You just have to find it."
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The sky is now completely dark outside, and the stars shine brighter than I’ve ever seen them. I never realized how much the intrusion of the city lights impeded the celestial glow of the night sky. After a light dinner that included a scrambled egg, two pieces of toast, and a handful of red grapes, I found my way here - to the front porch swing. I know that I should be writing, or at least trying to, but I simply cannot remove myself from the almost ethereal feeling I have, breathing the night air and staring up into the sparkling heavens. All at once, I’m transported back in time, to the last time my mother and I were together at our family’s cabin, and suddenly I realize why the brightness of tonight’s sky has affected me so deeply.
With lightening speed, I practically sprint back inside the house to the table, where I’ve set up my makeshift "office". My lap top sits, ready and waiting, on the table top, along with the photograph of my mother and me. Quickly, I call up the file that contains chapter seven of my book - a chapter I haven’t looked over once since I wrote it. Tears stream down my face and quiet sobs steal through my body as I read my account of what I felt when I returned to the cabin for the very first time, years after my mother’s death.
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Kris slowly stepped through the cabin’s front door, still not able to fully believe that this was the last place her mother had been before her car careened off the road and broad-sided a huge oak tree. Searching the wall for the light switch, she found it easily, right where it had always been. The soft light quickly illuminated the room, and Kris’s heart fluttered, realizing that everything was just as she remembered. She hadn’t been here in years, and she wasn’t sure what she was expecting - that perhaps the cabin would seem different… empty… ugly… with the curse of death hanging over it. But that wasn’t the case. Every piece of furniture was in place, every curtain hung the way it always had, and the small lamp next to the bed still had no shade to cover the bulb. For the briefest of seconds, Kris could envision the sweet moments… moments when her family was happy… together. She could picture herself and Kyle sparring with each other, the way older brothers and little sisters always do. In her mind’s eye, she could see her parents in the kitchen, her father cussing a blue streak because he couldn’t get the coffee machine to work, and her mother, quietly and gracefully taking over, brewing a fresh pot of coffee with extreme ease. Everyone who knew her said that Paula Daniels was a natural mediator, and that’s the way it always was with her family. Her mother neutralized every situation, whether it was her father’s ineptness with appliances or a fight between her and her brother.
But as quickly as the memories came, they left, and the real reason for Kris’s visit came flooding back. Her mother was gone… dead… never coming back. It had been years, but more often than not, the pain was as fresh as the day it had happened. She wasn’t sure why, but for some reason she believed that she needed to come here, to this place, to the last place that was filled with her mother’s presence, as if it would somehow put this horrible nightmare into perspective. She was now seventeen years old, and she hadn’t been here in years. After her mother’s death she refused to come here, even with her brother. The memories of her father in this place were unwelcome guests, and as much as she hoped that one day she wouldn’t blame him, she couldn’t help but fear that she always would. How she wished that she could talk to her mother one more time… to ask her how she could forgive him, how she could go on living without harboring such bitterness. Kris knew that her mother would know. She knew that her mother would know just the thing to say to comfort her, but now, in the situation that demanded her mother’s wisdom the most, Kris would never hear her mother’s voice. Or would she?
Without thinking, Kris walked across the floor of the small cabin, and out the back door on to the tiny deck. The darkness was surprisingly soothing, and as she stared up into the sky, she could almost feel her mother’s arms wrap around her. The tears spilled silently from her eyes and down her cheeks, as she allowed her imagination to win out, if only for a moment, and conjure up the image of her mother’s embrace.
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Reading the words again, combined with my earlier admiration of the starry sky, brought it all back to me. I can’t believe that until this moment, I had forgotten all about the last time I was at the cabin with my mother. It was a beautiful autumn weekend, just before the temperature dropped, making the night air too chilly to enjoy. Dad and Rick were sleeping, and snoring, and Mom and I ventured out onto the back deck together, in the middle of the night. It was one of the many special memories shared just between the two of us. Wiping the tears from my eyes, I begin to type the first inspired words I’ve written since I came back from Europe.
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Breathing deeply, Kris’s mind ventured back in time, to one of the many special memories that she shared with her mother in this place. As if it took place only yesterday, the conversation came flooding back to her.
"Do you see the stars, Kris?" Paula asked her daughter.
"Of course, Mama," Kris answered.
"Do you notice anything different about them?" Paula inquired.
"They’re a lot brighter," Kris replied.
"That’s right, Kris," Paula said. "Do you know why?"
"No," Kris said. "But they’re always brighter when we’re here."
"It’s because there are no city lights to interfere with the starlight," Paula went on. "That’s why the stars are always brighter when we’re here."
"I never thought about that," the pre-teen Kris admitted.
"There’s a lesson in that, Kris," Paula instructed her daughter. "Love is a lot like starlight."
"How Mama?" Kris inquired.
"Love is the brightest light there is," Paula said lovingly, carefully brushing her daughter’s wild, curly hair out of her face. "It will shine brighter than anything in your life, if you let it. But, just like the starlight, if you let too many things interfere, it will dim the love in your life, until it’s difficult to see it."
"You mean the city lights?" Kris questioned. "I shouldn’t let the city lights dim the love?"
Laughing gently, Paula continued. "That’s right, just like the city lights dim the stars, there are things that can keep love from shining. Things like anger and self-doubt. Never, never let those things, or anything else, drown out the love that shines in you, Kris. You have so much love to give, and I don’t ever want it to dim."
"I promise, Mama," Kris said. "I’ll always have love to give."
With that, mother and daughter embraced one another, the way they had done many times before, but this time with a deeper understanding of what it meant to love one another, and to share that love with the world. Kris’s life would never be the same.
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Too emotional to write another word, I swiftly save the file and close the screen on my lap top. The tears have stopped, but my body still shakes with the memories of that night at the cabin. It was such a significant moment in my life, and I can’t believe that the pain of my mother’s death buried it so deep inside me that I didn’t remember it until tonight. Have I caused her disappointment because of that? Is she saddened by the way I’ve withheld my heart from the world? Can I somehow repair it if I’ve caused her pain? Is it too late?
Walking back in to the living room, I pick up the picture of Danny and Miguel before I even realize what I’ve done. Staring down in to the face of the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen, with eyes that both haunt and fascinate me, I say out loud, "Is it too late for both of us, Danny? Have we hurt our parents beyond repair, by the way we've lived since they left us?"
Sadly, I have no answers for either of us.