'' Our Lord ! grant us good in this world and good in the hereafter and save us from the torment of the Fire '' [Ameen]
-
{in Arab} :->
Rabbanaa aatinaa fid-dunyaa hasanatan wafil aakhirati hasanatan waqinaa 'athaaban-naar/-
(Surah Al-Baqarah ,verse 201)
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Seriously, who was that guy anyway? Probably some hired help my dad
had gotten in order to retire at an early age. He sure looked like
labored help, with all the dirt he carried.
I shook my thoughts aside and studied the farmhouse. The porch ran
around the whole house, with a swinging seat that was perched out in
the front, and if you stared out toward the eastside of Denvers Drove.
You could spot Point Lakefrom there.
The tarnished wood underneath my high heels protested as I crossed
over the threshold and into the foyer.
It was just how I remembered: Small, musty, and cheap. I wrinkled my nose.
The family room sat on my right, while the kitchen was to my left.
Further down the hall a staircase wound up to the bedrooms, along with
the bathroom and toilet.
It was a four-bedroom cottage, still very small, considering my
grandparent's mansion in Manhattan housed fifteen rooms with four
bathrooms and two en-suites—one in mine—and the other in my
grandparents room.
Plus, their hotel apartment they kept for when I turned eighteen.
Isighed. I was definitely visiting.
"Willow...? Is that you?"
I was startled out of my thoughts when I heard a familiar voice address me.
I turned to the husky female voice coming from the family area. It was
Mrs. Heins, or as I used to call her 'Aunt Retha'. My eyes settled
onher tiny frame, and I tried my hardest to hide the shock on my face,
after noticing she was bound to a wheelchair.
She looked like she had lost a lot of weight—almost to the point to
where her bones were jarring out of her clothes.Though she was always
thin—looking at her now—she'd looked almost anorexic. Her curlyblack
hair cropped at herjaw line, as her piercing light green eyes stared
atme attentively.
Her olive skin was what made her look young, but whatever had taken
her to this road, made her seem fragile. Most of where Satchel got his
looks from was his mother.
She'd always been a beautiful role model to me.
"Aunt—I mean, Mrs. Heins?" I caught my tongue because I wasn't sure if
it was appropriateto call her Aunt anymore.
She nodded with a big smile and wheeled herself a little closer.
Dipping to give her a peck on her cheek, she pulled me into a tight bear hug.
Had she been anyone else? I would've squirmed and pushed myway out of
it, and protested about having to crinkle up my Valentino, but this
was Satchel's mom.
In fact, I'd remembered when I was little, I used to dream up that she
wasmy real mom, and Satcheland I would claim we were brother and
sister.
She'd always been a woman I looked up to, soI'd adopted her as my own
Aunt. I'd wondered how she ended up in a wheelchair. Her eyes looked
me over as if she were struggling to see the Willow she once
remembered. Quite frankly, that Willow had sailed her ship along time
ago.
"Wow, you've grown up so much! I hardly recognize you with that blonde
in your hair," she said in that husky voice of hers, marveling at my
appearance.
I smiled, flattening my three hundred dollar dye job down and flicking
it back over my shoulders. Iswept my bangs to the side.
Biting my lips, I nodded."Yeah, I guess I grew out of that brunette
phase a long time ago," I admitted, remembering back to when Aretha
had last seen me.
I used to have mousy brunette hair that was sothin; it was impossible
to stay in a French braid. I guess I still had that mousy kind of
hair, just blonde. Her smile never wavered, rubbing my arms
endearingly.
"Well, it's good to see you. I'd show you to yourroom, but you don't
needhelp with that do you?"
I shook my head. "I'm sure I can find it." I smiled as she wheeled
away, squeezing my hand before she left.
Sighing, I cast my eyes upto the winding staircase. Just visiting, I
chanted in my head. I mounted the stairs, cringing at the creaking
sounds as I did, and turned into the first room that sat to the left
from the top of the stairs.
The door squeaked as I opened it, and I was met with a familiarity I
thought I'd left behind. My old room was just the way I had left it.
A single bed to the right, a window seat and a dresser drawer that
looked like it had lived through centuries of storms. The room had
that musty smell again, and the colors of my comforters were a white
yellow: Plain, and boring.
It looked like vomit. I grimaced. Just think of it as a field trip.
You'll be out of here before you know it, and then home sweet home.
I whipped my head around to the sound of a big thump. I glared whenI
saw that boy again. He'd just dumped my bags at the doorway like they
were some cheap garbage! I couldn't stand for that...
My lips curled back, and my eyes burned holes into his cowboy hat.
"What the hell! You just threw Louis Vuitton on the floor?!" I
exclaimed, biting back a string of curses.
His stupid cowboy hat still hid his face, so I had nothing to stare at
besides his chest. It wasn't a bad sight either;with his broad
shoulders and his olive tanned skin.
He shrugged. "Who and whatever Louis is, I'm sure he doesn't mind the
floor," he said in a bored tone.
He was leaning on the doorframe with a smirk on his face. Ugh! He was
impossible. I marched over to him and retrievedmy luggage, in an
attempt to save them from him mistreating them any further.
"Louis is not something you just chuck on the ground! Ugh! What would
you know? You live on a farm!" I said in disgust, swiping away any
visible dirt that it may have conjured from the trip it took from the
carriage to my room.
He tilted his head, amusement littering his lips. "I don't know
what'smore entertaining: You naming your bag, or the fact that you
have blondehair." He scoffed.
I narrowed my eyes at him. Was he laughing at me?
"Are you mocking me?" I demanded of him, fistingmy hand up in a tight
balland scowled.
He shook his head. "Just that my mom is right. Youreally have changed."
I glared, unzipping one of my travel bags for some refreshing spray to
kill the musty smell. "And how would you know that? You don't know
anything about me!" I said bitterly.
"Nope. Not anymore…it seems," he muttered in a voice that was barely
audible. I noticed the wistful note in his voice.
He tipped his hat with hisright hand and a smile tugged as his lips
and then turned on his heels.
"Welcome home, Willy." He bid his farewell and I froze.
Only one person called me that, and that was Satchel. I watched his
retreating figure disappear down the stairs and stood there fora
moment lost in thought.
That was Satchel? I struggled to see any resemblance. Sure he hadthe
same color skin, and the chocolate brown colored hair, but he'd grown
it out.
I'd remembered him being so little, that I was practically taller than
himand I was five. He was seven back then. He was almost six foot now,
and a body fit for a man.
Wow, he'd really grown out of the boy I once knew. I guess I wasn't
theonly one who changed.
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And Allah Knows the Best!
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Published by :->
M NajimudeeN Bsc- INDIA
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