I was sprawled out on the couch, listening. Her voice was so soothing, as though a jar of honey was broken over all that was within me. Her laugh was a buoy—a…promise that wherever the winds may take me, everything would be all right. She, my mother, in those numbered days, dispelled the weariness of a thousand battles.
I stared, trying to commit their faces to memory—of my mothers, of my sister. I realised though that I wouldn’t forget, couldn’t, marked as I have been by the love of these kind hearts.
The diary entry was dated January 16, 2019. As Peter walked out of their offices with Max at the end of the day, Max had asked him what true happiness was. Peter didn’t have a straight answer but he had a memory. Of home. He looked up from the digital diary and decided to walk the entire way to his quiet apartment. He switched apps and after a few strokes, put the phone to his ear. He shrugged deeper into his tweed overcoat, walking and listening to a ringing sound.
Pete. He could hear the lilt in her voice. You doing alright?
Yes Momma. I’m sorry I haven’t been by to see you and Dad.
It’s okay. I figured work was keeping you away. Are you done for the day?
Yeah. I’m just walking home actually.
Oh, did something hap..?
No,no. I just really felt like walking.
Alright then. Do be careful And try to eat some real food when you get home, not just junk.
“There it is”, Pete thought with a broad smile. I will, Ma.
Now hang up and keep your focus on the road.
Tell Dad I said hi.
I will. Take care. And give your sister a call sometime. She says she hasn’t heard from you in weeks.
Peter walked the last three blocks to his building. A shadow moved across the window in his apartment overlooking the street. He waited with bated breath as a huge figure climbed the ottoman just near the window and met his eyes. Peter smiled broadly as the Siberian wagged its tail furiously, and started up the stairs.