Monika

Monika

My years of life have flirted with time. Now, near to the end of my time, I heed the call. And before I fade into the dimming light, I struggle with regrets to relive my story. A story of my youth, and how it moulded my future. A life filled with love, adventure, and hope. With Gods will, I will find the answer to life, perhaps with —my last breath.

* * * * *

It is one of those hot sticky afternoons, with the sun directly above me as I ride Old Buck bareback from the cornfield. I pull back on the reins and watch as an old green Ford comes down the gravel road toward our farm. The dust follows as though it is pulled along by the car, eventually settling on the shrubs and tall grasses in the shallow ditch. The vehicle begins to slow as it winds along the curvy country road.

Mother is busy in the garden, hoeing and pulling weeds around the flowers beside the white picket fence I painted for her a week ago. She stands up when she sees the car enter our driveway. With one hand, my mother holds her straw hat from blowing away as the vehicle comes to a stop and the cloud of dust settles.

“Come on, Buck. Let’s get a move on.” My horse begins to move slowly toward the yard. Buck is hesitant the closer we get to the farmhouse as the car backfires, sputtering and eventually stalling, sending gushing steam under the hood. I continually nudge Buck onwards. Nervously, my horse comes to a stop near the picket fence.

A young lady with shoulder-length blonde hair gets out of the car. She is wearing a white dress with sparsely spaced pink flowers printed on it. Her dress clings to her body tightly, perhaps because of the heat, or maybe it is my imagination. The breeze causes her hair to sway as she stands at the open car door and waves to my mother. Keeping one hand on her straw hat, Mom drops the hoe from her other hand and waves back to the young lady.

I am captivated, and in a way, spellbound when the lady turns to me and smiles. I am in awe and unsure if I smile back. I slide off Buck’s back and tie him to the fence. The young lady walks toward my mother and starts talking to her like they are old friends; maybe they are.

Steam is coming from under the hood of the Ford car. “Damn car,” says the driver loudly as he gets out and lifts the hood. I stand there silently, surprised, thinking he is her boyfriend. He’s dressed in a sand-coloured air force uniform. His tie is undone and hangs halfway into his jacket pocket. He’s frustrated and quickly takes his hand off the hot radiator cap, then says, “Sonny, can you fetch me a pail of water from the well?”

Quickly I run to the well in the middle of the yard, pull up a pail of water and carry it back. With his tie, he opens the radiator cap allowing more steam to rise. He pours the water into the radiator, then closes the hood. “Monika, did you get the directions,” he says, a bit annoyed. “Come on, let’s get going.”

“Yes, Leroy. Hold your horses; I’ll be there in a second,” says the young lady as she kneels and smells a cluster of yellow flowers along the fence. “They’re lovely,” she says to my mother.

The lady walks toward the car and waves to my mother before getting in —but doesn’t notice me.