Norah (Agatha Willowgrove)
Norah looked out the window. The sky was covered by a gray, satin blanket of clouds. The rain began to fall, a strange comfort in her time of sorrow. She knew with an almost frightening sense of certainty that she had made the right decision. However, that sureness did little to cope with the tumult of emotions that threatened to burst forth any moment. Why couldn’t she cry? Even now. Alone in her modest excuse for an apartment. She wrapped her sweater tighter around her body and, with eyes devoid of interest, surveyed the now vacant park next door.
Torrents of rain were mercilessly slamming against her windows. Wind whipped the trees and hedges. Small rivulets of rainwater ran down hillsides and through gutters, draining into the river. She watched as the remains of a quickly abandoned picnic lunch were blown across the neatly cut grass. She noticed carnations had been planted near the river, all along the well-worn, cobbled path. The petals shone resplendent in shades of pink and red and the purest white. Many petals had been torn from their home and scattered across the grass or plunged into the deathly chill of the river’s embrace. Despite the abuse, the flowers stood tall as if in defiance of the storm itself.
Somewhere, in the back of her mind, a memory stirred and began coming into focus. A slight smile reached Norah’s eyes as she began to hum the melody of a long-forgotten song. As she hummed, she tidied up the kitchen and made a strong cup of coffee. She walked back to the window and stood observing the carnations as she sipped the brew. With a deep sigh and final sweep across the park and around her apartment, she tiptoed downstairs and took a seat at the piano. Her pale, delicate fingers placed the mug on the window sill, and with shaky voice and hammering heart, she began to play.
Tears fell, one by one, splashing lightly on her fingers as they moved gracefully along the keys. As her song drew to a close, she began to feel a small lift in her spirit. The rain thundered on, as if unaware of the emotional war coming to a standstill within the heart of this beautiful, young woman. Norah left the piano bench to go wash her mottled face, and then curled up in a ball on the couch. Wrapped up in her blanket, she fell into a blissfully dreamless sleep, the remains of her coffee forgotten.