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Mrs. Perfect
Peace
Short
Fiction/ Short Story Contest
Word Count 3,259
"Throwing
myself into bed, half-dead-feeling, I glanced over to see what time it
was: 3:30am. Another extremely long, stressful, and unfinished day
behind me, and, in three hours, an even longer, more stressful day was
about to begin. ‘What kind of life is this?’ I thought to myself, almost
loud enough to wake my wife.
Rolling around, kicking off covers then
covering up again, flipping my pillow over every few seconds and pushing
the side of my face into the newly cooled surface; shoving my wife’s leg
off me- which she seemed to keep putting across my legs- and then
turning on my side to cool down my back, which was sweating because the
humidity was so heavy: at some point in all this, and I am not quite
sure when, I fell asleep.
Upon my arrival into dream-land I was
suddenly pulled back by the intense aroma of fresh baked gingerbread
cookies and hot cocoa; just like my grandmother would make whenever I
slept over as a child.
As I swallowed in deep: the magical
fragrance, I slowly cracked open my eye lids and was met by an array of
lights dancing on the ceiling; reflecting from somewhere down the hall.
I saw red, blue, white, and yellow streams of shimmering luminous
beams; like a dancing constellation putting on a show for the universe.
I watched the ballet for a few minutes and then slowly sat up on the
edge of my bed.
There was a surrealness about the night.
The air seemed to be charged, it reminded me of those warm summer
nights, back when I was a child –nights which seemed to last for days.
My brother, sister, and I would run around catching fireflies in glass
jars. The air was filled with cotton-seeds, floating on unseen wind
currents, and the green-blue lights appearing here and there from the
fire-flies made for some amazing entertainment. This night had the same
feeling of peace and goodness.
I blinked a few times, rubbed my eyes and
then stood to my feet. Grabbing my robe and sliding into my slippers I
made my way down the hall towards the kitchen. It felt like a dream, but
at the same time it was more than real; I felt all five senses alive and
taking-in what was happening around me.
Coming to the end of the hall I could see a
person’s shadow moving around the tile floor from around the corner.
“Matthew,” a sweet, caring, grandma-like
voice said, “Come in, sit down.”
I walked up to where the hallway stopped -
going into the kitchen- and peered around the corner. “What are you
waiting for? Come. Sit.” She said.
She was standing at the oven. She had long
curly white-grey hair, white-faced with chubby cherry-red cheeks, and
dark blue eyes which seemed to be full of the ocean. She was all of 4
foot, 10 inches. She wore a long red dress with a white lace lining and
collar, and a white apron gracefully laying over it all. She was every
bit of what I thought, as a child, to be Santa’s little wife, but I knew
that she wasn’t.
She turned to me and smiled; her big blue
eyes sparkled, and her teeth shone bright, like a string of freshly
polished pearls. “I thought you might like a snack, so I’ve baked some
goodies for you.”
“Who are you?” I tenderly asked as I walked
to the other side of the island in the middle of the kitchen to sat on a
bar stool.
“Questions, questions, always asking
questions; you are always inquiring, no time for a break. No time to
just stop and be still. No, Matthew, no answers, no information to
figure out, no riddles to solve, just peace. Be still.”
She brought over a plate of cookies. I
think they were gingerbread, but more. I took a bite and chewed it,
slowly, to experience every morsel of flavor. As I ate, warmth covered
my body like a blanket. ‘Wow!’ was all I could think.
I watched the little lady as she cooked and
cleaned and poured me a hot cup of cocoa. She was as graceful as a fawn
and every time she looked at me my heart sped up a few beats, warming me
up all over again.
Then she took a variety of cookies and
placed them on a crystal plate, she grabbed a pitcher of hot cocoa and
walked slowly into the living room. I quickly grabbed a handful of
cookies and my drink and followed her.
I entered into the living room where she
sat down in a big dark burgundy recliner in the middle of the room
facing the fireplace. It didn’t take me but a second to realize that
this was not my living room. Looking around the room, I quickly
noticed everything that was not mine: the fireplace, the big
wooden mantle above it with a picture of Jesus- kneeling over a huge
rock praying in the garden, the hardwood floor that shined with the
reflection of the flames- which were jumping around in the fireplace. A
few feet from her was another recliner, separated by a circular brown
throw-rug on the floor with a little oval shaped antique wooden coffee
table sitting on it, upon which, she had set the plate of cookies and
hot cocoa.
I walked over to the chair and sat down.
The recliner reclined, the cushions softened in places they needed to be
and in other places they firmed up. It made itself- for me- a perfect
fit. This was just one of those moments that I was so comfortable that I
couldn’t think about work or any other obligation I felt I had, even
when I really tried hard.
“Matthew,” she asked after
taking a sip of her drink. “Why has it been so long since your last
visit?”
“What? My last visit…I have never been here
before.”
“Sure you have. You used to visit me all
the time.” Then she tenderly laughed as she remembered, “You used to
come play in this very living room, fall asleep in that recliner that
you are sitting in right now. You loved my cookies; you would stuff your
mouth full of them and try to wash them down with milk, but your little
cheeks were so full of gingerbread that milk would dribble right down
your chin and onto your shirt.”
“I’m sorry,” I said a little taken back and
confused, “but I don’t remember any of this…or you.”
“It’s because you have gotten too busy with
stuff. It’s easy to forget this place when you’re running after
all those things out there. You have been so focused on
business that you haven’t been able to stop and enjoy the gifts you
have been given- much less visit me.”
“What gifts?”
“Your wife and your two little babies for
starters.” She said as she leaned forward and picked up another
wonderful cookie. “Look at the amazing abilities and talents you have,
but neglect. Those are gifts too, you know.”
“I adore my family, but I don’t have time
for all those other things.” I said almost whispering as my mind ran
back to earlier years. I could see myself painting, writing, singing,
playing my guitar, and just…having fun. “Time’s going so fast and
there’s never enough time to play around.”
“That is the talk of a hopeless old man who
has given-in to his end. That’s not you Matthew.” Steam rose into the
air as she refilled my cup. The streams of steam came together as they
rose high, dancing like a little ballerina until it disappeared into the
ceiling.
“I know, I know, I just can’t shake it.
It’s like I am living in a moment that’s about to end, and I want to do
so much but, I feel bound to do what life says is necessary for a
husband and father to do…you know?” I looked over at her and she smiled,
sweetly. “I have so many passions and things to offer, I feel, but I
have been crucifying those things since I…”
“Decided you had to grow up and be a man?”
Her tender voice interrupted. She smiled out of the right side of her
mouth and tilled her head to the side. Her ocean filled eyes turned a
dark green and the dark green walls of the living room faded into miles
of green fields. Instantly we were transported to the top of a short
grassy hill in the middle of many rolling hills stretching for miles in
every direction - but we were still in the living room, I was almost
sure, because we were still reclining in front of the fireplace.
The warm wind blew across my face, and I
could smell the fresh smell of rain in the air, although there wasn’t a
cloud in the sky.
I looked over at her in amazement. Without
a word she directed me, with her eyes, to turn around. As I turned I
noticed, about a hundred yards away, a boy lying on top of a grassy
hill, arms crossed behind his head, and looking up at the sky. The boy
was me.
Looking at me over there lying down brought
feelings of freedom. Although I was doing nothing over there but looking
into the sky and daydreaming; watching me meant so much more. It took me
back to those days at my grandparent’s ranch in Northern California.
Days full of running through their 5,600 acres of rolling hills, horse
rides, cattle drives, and four-wheeling. It reminded me of the
not-a-care-in-the-world feelings I had as I would go camping out in the
middle of nowhere with my friends; jumping from the old oak tree, which
had fallen down over the Pleasant Valley waterfall. I reminisced of days
swimming in the ice cold creek water that came from the melting snow up
in the mountains, fishing for cat fish, and going on snake hunts - where
we never caught the snakes we found because we were more afraid of them
then they were of us.
Those were the days; the golden memories of
my youth.
“Do you know what you were doing over there
in the grass?” The sweet little lady asked me.
“Probably day-dreaming of better days” I
replied.
“You’re right. You were. You were dreaming
of better days to come.” She said. “You were dreaming of days not
yet born. You were dreaming of getting married, having kids, and being a
world changer.” She continued. “You knew that there was a problem with
society a problem with the hearts of men, and you, Matthew, you had
decided that you were going to change the lives of millions. You were
telling God that you were going to dedicate your life and death to being
an answer to the hurts of humanity. You said, with your own mouth, that
you would not be normal, but instead, show everyone that it was ok to be
abnormal: to love everyone abnormally, forgive each other abnormally,
help, care for, encourage, and embrace diversity with an abnormally
deep, honest, consistent, and uncompromising depth. That was you,
Matthew.” She said.
I put my head into my lap. “I have been so
overcome with normal life…haven’t I?” I cried, “I am what I dedicated
myself to stop.”
When I raised my head we were back in her
living room. The green miles of rolling hills were swirling and blending
into her green walls again; changing back into its original solid, warm,
and comforting surface.
Up until this point I didn’t recall hearing
the squeaking of our recliners, probably because of all the other things
going on around me, but now, I could hear the soft high pitched
squeaking. Up down, up down, yet for some reason even the soft squeaking
which seemed to be following a perfect rhythm, was soothing.
The wonderful old lady, angel, fairy
God-mother, or whatever she was (I am sure she was not mortal) slowly
leaned forward and brought herself out of the chair. “I have something
that belongs to you.” She walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a
little black box, about half the size of a shoe box; snapped shut by a
simple metal snap.
“You didn’t have to get me anything; this
amazing place is more than what I have needed.” I said graciously.
“I said that it belongs to you.” She came
back and stood by my chair and sat the little black box on the coffee
table that was in between our chairs. I reached over to grab it but she
quickly took my hand. Her eyes looking into mine brought such peace and
tranquility that I nearly hugged her in appreciation.
I took the box into my lap and rubbed it
with my right hand and then touched the metal snap. I wanted to open it
quickly, and at the same time I was unsure of what I was about to open.
I popped the metal snap open and lifted the lid. I opened the box up
and, confusingly enough, there was only a pair of glasses.
There was nothing special about these old
brown wired frame glasses either; they were not new, name-brand, nor did
they have any kind of style to them. They were just a plain old pair of
glasses. I took them out of the box and held them out to inspect them –
although there was nothing more to inspect. “I don’t get it.” I said to
the little old lady.
“Don’t worry, Matthew, you will, once you
put them on.” She said. “Once you put those glasses on you will
remember.”
“Remember what?” I asked.
“Remember what you wanted to live for, your
passion. Matt, you were given these glasses years ago as a gift, from
the Master. These glasses are specially made, unique, for you and you
alone. These glasses give you sight, they give you vision- your vision
for the future. But you lost them a few years ago. Lucky for you, when
one losses such a special gift, it usually ends up here. And here it
sits, waiting for the owner to visit and claim it again.”
“I don’t fully understand what you are
saying.” I said.
“Look around my house. There are many
treasures and amazing things in every room. None of these things are
mine, they all belong to those, like you, who have lost and misplaced
these special gifts, from the Master. I’m just the person who keeps them
safe and gives them back when one of those poor souls come knocking.
Like you.”
“I didn’t come here.” I responded quickly.
“I was asleep, and the next thing I knew I was smelling cookies.”
“Matthew, you called for me last
night. You knocked, you sought, and you asked, and then
you found me.”
I took the spectacles into my hands and
opened the frames and slowly brought them to my face. Then I closed my
eyes, took a deep breath, and pushed the glasses all the way on.
Suddenly I felt a swirling of warmth in my head and it got hot. It
traveled down through my back and into all my veins. It felt like fire.
I opened my eyes and saw multitudes of people; hungry, distraught,
afraid, and just, in need. It was the valley of dry bones cracking in
eager desperation for the words that would bring them life. I could see
the faces of those who long for a touch from another compassionate human
being, reaching out from their various places around the world. The
streets were all full of hungry people, bedrooms with crying abused
spouses, and children suffering neglect weeping to be loved.
In that moment, looking through those
spectacles I realized what I had been lost. But now Peace had found me,
quieted my own storms and gave me back what I so needed. I had lost my
vision. I had allowed myself to walk away from the passion that had
fired me up with purpose as a young man. I had dropped these glasses
somewhere along the road years ago, and in loosing this vision I had
also lost my way to find Peace.
Almost as if she was reading my mind, the
little old woman grabbed my hand and with tears in her eyes said, “Yes,
Matthew. But it’s ok, because you have found me again. Without your
vision you could not fulfill you purpose and without that ability you
lost me… Peace.”
My chest began to pound hard as the fire of
passionate purpose and destiny regained, made its way into the deepest
chambers of my heart.
“I prayed for peace! You, you are Peace…
Mrs. Perfect Peace!” I almost shouted. “That’s your name; that’s who you
are!”
We spent a few hours there at her house
talking about the past, and things to come. I walked through her house
looking at all the items that were lying around, just waiting to be
reunited with their owners. You could almost hear some of them calling
out to be found.
For the first time in years I was at total
peace and rest. Not only was I at rest and completely stress-free but my
vision was back. It felt so amazing to be seeing through my glasses
again. I guess I really never noticed how blurry my life was without
them.
After I had finished off a few more cookies
and cups of cocoa Mrs. Peace came over to me and patted my back. “Now it
is time for you to go.” She began to walk me towards the hallway that
led to my bedroom door. “You have found what you have needed, and have
found me. If you keep those glasses on you should never have a problem
finding this place again. When you are living as you were destined to
you will always be able to rest here. Just don’t take those glasses off
again.”
Mrs. Peace walked me down the hall and to
the bedroom door, which was closed; she gave me a big hug, burying her
little white head into my chest. “Go now, there’s a lot that you must
do. You have got to get busy. Don’t dilly-dally round. I have others
showing up soon to serve and restore lost items to. Come back and visit
me soon Matthew.”
“You know I will.”
She turned around and walked back down the
hall towards the kitchen to bake someone else something amazing. I stood
at the closed door with my hand firmly gripping the door-knob. Who would
believe this story? How would I try and explain this to my wife, who was
sleeping soundly on the other side of this door? Would I tell this to my
friends or family? I guess that the only thing that matters at this
point is how my life will change once I take this next step.
I have found Peace again, and in the
process regained my vision. This night of mystery and revelation has
caused me to understand and see things more clearly. It is time for me
to get back on tract, time to live by hope and passion, time to make
history; be a world changer.
It was time to walk through the door.
I slowly turned the handle and took a step
forward. Somewhere in the darkness behind me I could still smell
cookies.
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