The Farewell
written by: Nelly Shulman
Alice missed the funeral.
The slow train dragged her to the provincial station after the whitewashed church’s bells had already chimed and sung in honour of her late grandmother. Having visited this remote town only as a girl, Alice remembered the chalk hills, towering over the blue sea, the rickety house and lush garden, but she had almost forgotten Granny Annie, who always sent her fragrant apples and jars of cloudy honey. In the last parcel, she’d found a note in Granny’s diligent but already trembling script, asking her to come.
Alice remembered this letter only after receiving a postcard with unfamiliar handwriting, where the curate informed her that Granny was dead and buried. The house keys waited for Alice at the neighbour’s place.
Leaving the station, Alice paused by the memorial to those fallen in so many wars, and her heart skipped a beat. Boys kicked a ball in the tiny park, and the old buses still clustered in the square. Her phone indicated she only had to walk about ten minutes.
A vague memory flashed through her mind. The scorching thickets of nettles had burned her skin, and, inhaling the smell of wet burdock, Alice found herself standing next to a picket fence. The trees soared into the sky, and bees buzzed around pink hollyhocks. Opening the gate, she timidly stepped into Granny Annie’s garden.
Passing through thorny raspberry bushes and the emerald glow of gooseberries, Alice spotted the glowing red of fallen apples scattered on the ground. The wind rustled in the treetops, and she gasped at the size of the seemingly small garden.
Picking up a ruby cherry, Alice stained her fingers with scarlet juice. The young grapevine shoots curled along the shed walls as she tried to steady her fluttering heart.
“I need to get the keys,” Alice remembered. “The door is locked.”
The bells tolled in the sky, and Alice inhaled the smell of ripe apples.
“Good that you came, dear,” Granny Annie said. “I missed you.”
Embracing her, Alice disappeared into sweet oblivion.
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