What Could Have Been

06/19/2023

Prompt: Write a descriptive story using all 5 senses.

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The sound of dying leaves crunching underfoot broke the silence of the still autumn morning. As I walked along the winding dirt path, my face stung from the cold brisk wind that whipped at my face. I could see my breath in front of me as I pressed on, the smell of damp earth and decaying life filling my nose. It was that time of year that things slowly died, with the promise of being renewed in a distant spring. In the gloomy chill of the new day, I still saw so much beauty in this darkness, this decay. Turning my head up to the sky, I could taste the fresh water droplets upon my lips as the rain fell softly, almost silently, around me. I paused for a long moment where I stood, letting the sensation wash over me. I closed my eyes and steadied my racing heart as I reminded myself why I was here. 

I took a deep breath as I opened my eyes and refocused my gaze on the path ahead. The trees arched over the dirt road on either side, their black gnarly branches stripped of leaves and looming threateningly overhead. The branches resembled outstretched arms, with bony hands that looked as if they would reach for me and trap me in a vice grip, intent upon imprisoning me here forever in limbo between where I had been and where I was going. The faint sound of the few remaining brittle leaves in the trees brushing against the bare branches intensified as the wind began to blow in large gusts, threatening to blow me away. It felt as if nature itself was warning me to turn back before I ventured too far. It knew what awaited me at the bend in the road; I had been here before. But despite Mother Nature’s warnings, I carried on. 

When I rounded the corner of the worn path, the familiar structure came into view. It was so lovely and full of promise, once upon a time. The dilapidated two story home was still standing tall, in a tangle of weeds and brambles that held it captive for so many years as it slowly decayed. The old house appeared to have finally given in, surrendering to the will of time in my absence. The windows were dirty, so much so that there was no way to see in, at least from a distance where I stood. The paint had long since chipped and faded away on the exterior, making the sight even more bleak and gloomy, matching the mood of the dreary day. I stood there admiring what the house once was as I felt a pang in my chest for what it had become. Despite the doubts I had about returning here, I willed my feet to carry me forward. 

I stopped at the foot of the stairs and gazed up. The old house towered over me, hostile and foreboding. I was surprised to see that the age-old bones remained upright, standing tall despite the state of disarray it was in. Dark clouds began to materialize in the sky above, looming and unwelcoming as I stepped onto the first creaking step of the porch, trailing my hand along the weathered railing as I slowly made my way to the front door. Old loose boards threatened to give way, groaning under my weight as I took the final step and approached the entrance. 

The door was made of pure mahogany, weathered in such a way now that it resembled an ancient door to a battered and sealed tomb. I lingered a moment, recalling a time long ago when it was beautiful and new,  just like the rest of the house had been in another lifetime. Time had been none too kind to this place, to my dismay. What once was untouched by the elements had become warped and misshapen, scarred and discolored from a life of neglect. The knob of the door was cold to the touch, and it wiggled loosely as I grasped it in my hand. With my other hand and my shoulder on the door, I braced and pushed with all my weight until it broke free, its hinges creaking loudly from rust and disuse as the entryway opened for the first time in decades.  

The overcast sky outside provided little light as I stood in the doorway, letting my sight adjust to the dark shadows within. The smell that filled my nose was an overwhelming mixture of stale air, dirt and memories, so strong that my eyes began to water. Whether it was the smell of the musty air or the rush of memories from being back here that caused my eyes to moisten I could not quite say. I could feel the worn and splintered wood beneath my fingertips as I leaned on the doorframe for support. As my eyes adapted to the dim light, I took in my surroundings. Cobwebs decorated every corner, covered every surface. All the trinkets and photographs that remained were buried underneath a blanket of dust, a veil of time long passed that had remained untouched all these years. 

Gathering myself, I stepped into the dark foyer. I ran my finger along the filthy table, rubbing the dirt between my fingers as I glanced at ancient pictures in gilded frames. Dust tickled my nose and blurred my eyes as I blew the particles off of one picture in particular, one I now held in my trembling hands. I could feel the grime on my fingertips as I wiped the dirt away to reveal a young man and woman. They looked happy, standing in front of the very house that I stood in now. It was a sight to behold in its early years. The brambles and weeds were gone, the windows were clear, the paint was fresh and the wood was brand new. I could feel the sting of dust in my eyes once again as I looked at the black and white image. Sniffling and wiping my cheek hastily, I set the photo back down on the table and continued through the ruins of the old home. 

  Just down the hall I found the kitchen. My feet echoed on the linoleum tiles as I entered. The chair at the head of the dining table looked as if someone had to leave in haste before pushing it back into place. I walked up to the chair, running my hand along its wooden back before I rested both hands on either side, grasping it lightly. When I closed my eyes, I could almost taste the meals that would have been prepared here, enjoyed with people who loved each other and who dreamed of filling this table with a beautiful family one day. I could smell the pies that no doubt would sit in the open window, cooling on a magnificent spring day as the birds sang in the trees outside. The distant echo of laughter filled my ears as I imagined this now abandoned home full of life and love. 

Moving through the house once more, I began the slow ascent upstairs, the wood sighing beneath my feet as I climbed. Despite the clear signs of aging and decay on the stairs themselves, the banister remained relatively smooth to the touch as I slid my hand carefully along to maintain my balance on the warped stairs beneath me. Only two rooms lay before me down the hallway upstairs. One was to my right and the other was straight down the hall. Not ready for what awaited me in the room beyond, I ducked into the room to my right. I crept into the bedroom silently, the carpeted floor cushioning my footfalls to a non-existent whisper. I was thankful for the quiet, afraid to awaken any old memories or lingering ghosts that resided in the shadows of this room. 

The bed was as it had been, properly made and undisturbed since I had been gone. A faint ray of light shone through the dirty window. Through it I could see the dust dancing in the air, swirling around as it settled onto the faded quilt. At that moment, a shimmer caught my eye, and recognition flooded through me as I focused my gaze on a familiar object on the bedside table. As I made my way over to the age old trinket, my breath caught in my chest. It was a jewelry box. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears as I lightly touched the object with wavering fingertips. 

It was a small wooden piano, gilded with swirls and floral accents. The paint had begun to chip and the wood underneath had begun to fade on the outside of the box. Staring at the box in my hands, I had to take a moment to collect myself, for I knew what I would find when I opened the box. Wiping the dust off the piano keys, I lifted the lid of the jewelry box up slowly with a single finger, my eyes closed all the while. The tinkle of musical notes filled my ears as the music box inside began to play, hidden underneath the red velvet jewelry tray. It was a classic tune, an old familiar favorite. Nostalgia filled my senses with overwhelming clarity, conjuring a flood of memories as I recalled receiving the trinket and the person who gave it to me. The ghost of a smile spread across my lips before my stomach did a somersault. 

Realizing there was something I forgot about this trinket, I reluctantly fluttered my eyelids open. There was a small envelope inside the jewelry box, right where I left it, that I had dismissed for a blissful moment while I was lost in my recollections. With unsteady hands, I slowly reached inside and touched the paper. It was yellowed and thin, rough to the touch. I remembered opening this letter a lifetime ago. Picking it up to get a closer look, I noticed that the edges were tattered and it was covered in dust. My name, barely visible in the dim light, was scrawled in elegant calligraphy on the old letter. The dust in the air stung my eyes once again as I unfolded the parchment and read its contents. 

20 October 1944

My Darling Bev,

I am missing you more than words can say tonight. I hope this letter finds you well. I have been thinking of you every day that I have been away.

Tonight I found myself reminiscing about our wedding day, two years ago now. It feels like another lifetime and a world away as I stare up at the night sky, wondering if you are also looking up at the same stars under the light of a glowing and beautiful moon. I know if you are, there is truly nothing more beautiful than you tonight, my dearest Beverly.

I hope your family is treating you well while I am away, taking care of you like I desperately wish I could right now. I cannot wait until I am finally home, with the woman of my wildest dreams. We will build the life that we always talked about, the life we always dreamed of. I can already see the happy home we are going to build, full of love and laughter. I can see our family.

Be patient with me sweetheart, and I will be home soon to fulfill every promise I have made to you, to love you and cherish you for eternity and beyond. Take care my love, until we are in each other’s arms again. I hope that through my lovestruck ramblings you are able to understand that I love you more than words could even begin to describe. To put it plainly, you have completely bewitched me, Beverly Davis. I am under your spell, always and forever.

All my love,

Glenn

Tears spilled over, streaming down my face as I read the familiar words. I remembered reading these words every night as I waited for my husband to come home. Knowing that this was the last letter he wrote, the last promise he ever made to me, made it all the more heartbreaking. At that moment, I allowed myself to look at the picture that rested on the nightstand next to my old jewelry box. I saw my face smiling back at me, a glowing bride at the time, alongside a young man in formal naval dress. It was an intimate wedding, simple and elegant, with only close family and our dearest friends in attendance. The church was a beautiful and ancient cathedral, the stained glass windows sparkling in the light of the sun behind us as we held each other in a warm embrace. We were so young, newly in love during a war torn time. 

The rush of memories made my heart swell, but it was then that I remembered the reason I fled this house to begin with, the thing that robbed me of my future, a future that would never come to pass within these godforsaken walls now. My stomach lurched at the thought. Clutching my gut, I took a shaking breath between sobs. I knew there was one more room I had to see before I ran away from this haunted place forever. I folded the letter I was holding, placing it back in the envelope and back inside the tiny wooden piano where it had been undisturbed for decades. The jewelry box closed with a light thud. I made my way to the bedroom door, peering out and down the hallway. The door at the end of the corridor was slightly ajar, allowing a dim beam of light to shine through, almost as if it was beckoning me forward. I slowly approached the door, hesitant as I prepared myself for the final room in this house that would continue to be damned for the rest of its days. I could feel the chipped paint on the door as I laid my palm against it. I took a deep breath and pushed it open. 

It was going to be the nursery. The walls were painted long ago, a pale pink that faded as time passed in this abandoned room. The only piece of furniture in there, coated with years of dust and neglect, was a crib in the far corner. As I walked into the room, the familiar creak of the floorboards broke the silence. I was taken aback by an unexpected crunch underneath my foot. When I looked down, I saw another piece of paper, face down on the floor without an envelope. I stooped down slowly, picking up the telegram and turning it over in my hands. Blowing the dust off the aged paper sent a swirl of dancing particles into the air, the light catching each individual speck as they danced in the dim light. I coughed as it stirred around the room, my throat suddenly dry from the musty air, but even more so from the memories that came rushing back in that moment. As I straightened up, I observed the old crumpled paper in my hands.

WESTERN UNION

31 GOVT

WASHINGTON D C 625PM 11-19-44

BEVERLY DAVIS 26 CARDINAL LN FARMERSVILLE TX

THE SECRETERY OF WAR DESIRES ME TO EXPRESS HIS DEEPEST REGRET THAT YOUR HUSBAND LIEUTENANT (LTJG) GLENN DAVIS WAS KILLED IN ACTION ON 24 OCTOBER 1944 IN THE PHILIPPINES

VICE ADMIRAL JW MORROW THE CHIEF OF NAVAL PERSONNEL

Grief struck my heart anew, as if I was receiving the news for the first time all over again. Suddenly my mind was somewhere else, decades away, as I recalled answering the door at this very house, being handed a letter that no one on Earth thinks they will ever receive. The events that followed were shrouded in a numb daze as I took the letter from the messenger and made my way up the long winding steps, up to the very room where I now stood, almost fifty years before. I approached the crib of the child who was long since grown from the baby she once was, a crib that wasn’t used long. The thought of my husband never coming home to the place we promised we would build was too much to bear. The walls seemed to close in around me, and the air became suffocating here the day I realized my newborn child would never know her father. When I let myself accept that he was never coming back, I took what little possessions I could live with along with our child and I never looked back. Until now. And here the house remained, after death and time took its toll. The pain was just as poignant as it was on that cursed day when my dreams were ripped away, back when I was young and naive, merely a girl with a dream.  

I gripped the weathered crib and hung my head as I cried, tears falling on the old worn quilt I sewed for my daughter, faded from the elements and the sunlight. We had purchased the home when he returned on leave, the same leave on which we got married. Once he went back, my family helped me take on the impossible task of fixing up the old home in my husband’s stead. I was determined to make something of the house while he was away, putting all the love and care I could muster into the fixer-upper so that we would have a home to call our own when the god forsaken war was finally over. The nursery would be ready upon his arrival, along with all the other repairs and renovations I completed in his place. I couldn’t wait to share the surprise of the baby as well as our new home. Our life together was about to begin. Once upon a time, this house was full of so many possibilities. I was also naive enough to believe that a long and happy life with the man I loved would come to pass here. 

Snapping back to the present, I mourned one last time for the things that would never be. I laid the telegram in the crib before making my way out of the bedroom, down the stairs, and out the front door. I didn’t stop or turn around until I was halfway down the worn path. As I looked up at the once beautiful home, I tasted the familiar taste of my tears and felt an unbearable ache in my throat as I bid the past farewell, once and for all. I wondered if someday, far in the distant future, if I could return here, to the place of ghosts and memories of my ancient past. I wondered if I would ever be able to move on. A closed chapter that never truly began stood before me, a reminder of what could have been. Unsure if this would be the last time I laid eyes on this place, I silently made my amends with the old house, with the old life I was forced to abandon within those now ancient walls. I hoped this old and looming beast did not resent me for turning my back on it for so many years, neglecting it when all it ever wanted to do was fulfill the dreams that I had in another lifetime, somewhere far away from this now haunted place. It was going to be something so wonderful, but that opportunity was stripped away from the both of us when I turned my back on a lost dream that could never be replaced. I hoped that one day I would see this place again. 

The morning mist had given way to a heavy downpour since I had entered the house. I stood there another moment, letting the cold droplets hit my face as I closed my eyes and lifted my head up to the sky once again, letting the season of death and decay wash me clean. I hoped after the long winter that followed I would be able to look forward to the promise of spring, a season of hope and light after such a long period of darkness. Without another glance, I started back down the old winding path, the squelching of my feet on the soaked earth and the sound of the wind in the bare trees the only things I heard as I disappeared beyond the bend in the road. 

THE END