This was reminiscent of a prompt I had to do for college about if I had to travel back in time, what moment would I pick to relive. This prompt came right after my grandmother's passing. She and I were close because I was her only granddaughter. I knew she was going to pass a few weeks before she actually did. All of the signs were there but I couldn't bring myself to call her. Immediately after she died, I had a dream about the moment I chose and I knew everything was alright. I will also post the memory I did for the college prompt in the next chapter.
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Frozen in place, the raging heat was no longer a concern to me. Rivulets of sweat formed streams that tattooed the back of my thin cotton t-shirt. Twenty-seven minutes had passed since the gorgeous man in the dirty bomber jacket and ripped, stained corduroys handed me the box. Such a tiny, insignificant thing with so many heavy ramifications.
I was late for work but time didn't matter. One word- he only said one word that sparked so many questions, "Don't." His dark eyes seemed to burrow through the very fabric of time. He silenced my ability to vocalize any questions with one finger to his lips. That's when I saw it- his watch. The red strap matched the color of the box in my hand. The face was hard for my brain to conceive, but once I stopped concentrating on it, it snapped into place. The clear bubble face held what looked like a golden ball of ribbon that kept folding in on itself. The chime of a thousand clocks in and out of sync. I knew what he'd given.
Random passers-by either shoved by me or gave me wide berth. It was like none of them witnessed the exchange. The chimes grew louder and the tiny box suddenly weighed a ton. It pulsed in time to my heart beat. The chimes turned to the old familiar song. The old folk drums grew louder, my breathing grew heavy. My heart made a slow, difficult ascent to my throat only to be stopped by the ball of emotion. The red box was suddenly littered with the golden swirl patterns from her favorite red caftan. Fat tears blurred my vision as the bow started to unravel. An achingly sweet burning started in the pit of my stomach and I could smell her. The lovely smell of Rêve D'or.
I fell to pavement. The hem of my ripped cut-off jeans rode up leaving the skin of my knees burning from the pain of the harsh impact. I didn't care. I needed to hold onto her. My fingers cramped, my shoulders convulsed. All I had to do was say her name and she was mine again. The moment was mine again. I could feel the drums now. I heaved, hunched over and was ignored.
Convulsing from the sobs, tears blended with sweat and the burden of my heart poured onto the scorching pavement. The breeze from that day hit me square in the chest and for a moment I was suspended. The pain subsided, a hand closed over my eyes and I could hear the ticking again. The drums faded and the heat returned. The box was plucked out of my hands. I felt lighter than I had since she'd gone.
He whispered in my ear but it was her angelic voice, free of fear and replete with peace. "M'ap vole."