The Rooms that make up a House Part I

 

The library

At the end of the corridor was a rather large library. As I opened the door I saw a man sitting in the far corner near the window who was reading a book. He didn’t seem to be aware of my presence until I sat down opposite him in one of the large dark brown leather armchairs he always sat in and lowered his book. He looked at over the edge of his oval gold framed reading glasses and smiled. He was as per usual translating a phrase from Latin and noting it down on one of the large piles of paper he had on his desk next to the window. All carefully organised and each pile was carefully tied with a ribbon to keep the many sheets together. He had a serious face, and you weren’t quite able to tell how old he actually was unless someone told you of course. That was one of his many charms. But when he smiled, it would fill the entire house and touched everyone in it and you would be the only person in the world he wanted to be with.  He got up and walked towards a large walnut cabinet and opened its double doors, it housed a record player and countless vinyl’s. He looked at me and smiled and said ‘oh you know this one’ and the vinyl started playing, crackling at first but then crystal clear. I got up and stood next to him as we looked at that cover which I had seem a thousand times and he said, ‘you know that he lived in Portofino for a while, right?’ and I answered in the affirmative. Then he grabbed my hand and we danced to the song we always danced to, as regular as clockwork. When we reached the end of the vinyl we sat down again and I poured him a small glass of whisky. I looked at him and once again he looked at me like I was the only person in the world and I felt contented. There was nothing more I needed to say to him but at the same time there were also a thousand things I wanted to say, but the way he looked at me said it all. I got up and I kissed him on the cheek like I always did and he stroked my hair as he always did. He opened his book again as I walked away. He looked at me when I reached the door and smiled, we said our goodbyes one last time, but I’m sure we’ll meet again.

The Garden Bench

In the garden stood a large oak tree near the house, and underneath that tree was a bench almost hidden from view facing the garden lawn, the roses and the overgrown rhododendrons. On the bench, in the shade sat a young man, He was slender, dark haired and pensive. He looked up as I approached and I sat down next to him. I looked at him; he had a kind face, slightly heavy lidded brown eyes which had a certain sadness to them and he pouted a little. I had almost forgotten what his face looked like from up close but once he smiled and spoke to me I was reminded of the stories he told me all those years ago and I felt how I used to feel when I was with him but I was calmer this time. He seemed older, wiser perhaps, for his face had changed, his smile was different. He was still pensive but not as confused and no longer chasing things as he once was. There was a certain quietness about him and his eyes told a different story than when I last saw him. We spoke for a long time about the years that had passed. For I felt he had travelled from far, not from a faraway land as you might think. But from a faraway place where the soul travels to when it is looking for answers perhaps? When it is searching for a way to fit past and present, ideas and feelings together in one large puzzle, and to figure out the next step. But I felt like he had succeeded in a way, that he knew what the next step was but he wasn’t quite aware of it, perhaps he held on to his old ways a little not sure of when to let go of the things that didn't serve him any longer. He always tended to ignore the fact that I could read him better than he thought and that he needn’t to play silly games in order to get my attention. He had a pleasant and soft voice, eloquent and comforting in a way. I had made myself forget the sound of his voice and the expressions he made as he was talking of which he wasn’t quite aware but I always found endearing. I looked at him and placed my hand on his peach coloured cheek and told him the things I thought about for years. I felt relieved to tell these things, they weighed upon me like letters I was never able to send, for one must always speak one’s mind, when it comes from the heart. What I told him was kind and true and full of love and no doubt comforting. But even if by chance these feelings are ignored for whatever reason, the love and kindness you shared will always return to you, in whatever shape or form, perhaps that is of comfort to the sender?  He talked and talked and I felt like the fog and the doubts in his mind had lifted, a pleasant and warm feeling, like a weight that falls from one's shoulders. As I got up I looked at him for a while, how pleased I was for him that he had found this feeling of lightness and acceptance, a certain courage. I smiled at him and kissed his forehead whilst I held his hands, for I wasn’t sure when our paths would cross again, for he knew that it was all or nothing at all when it came to matters of the heart. But regardless if they would cross somewhere along the journey, he had known what it meant to meet each other and that was enough for me even if we never spoke about it. I left him there underneath the Oaktree and he looked at me as I walked back to the house.

The Dining Room

In the dining room I heard people talk. I opened the door and stood in front of a long table and looked across the room with its windows facing the garden, the heavy curtains and the sun setting behind them. The table was set beautifully in those old and familiar blue and white plates and silver knives and forks. The candles softly lit up the room, casting a soft pink glow on the people sitting around the table. A table full of people, how lucky I was to have them there, to the left some old friends who I’d know a lifetime and to the right two boys and a girl engaged in a lively conversation. The two boys were both dark haired, but one was taller than the other. The taller boy had a kind face, with a softness you don’t come across often and with a quick intelligence on the subjects that he adored, and he could talk for hours without ever boring you in the slightest. He mainly talked about houses and paintings and travels.  The other boy had an equally kind face but was more withdrawn, he observed the table and the movements and conversations of people. He only interjected when he had something to add that was of value but in a subtle way formed the life of the conversation.  He had a certain shyness about him which flattered him, but his face always lit up when he saw me which I always appreciated. The girl on that side of the table had striking blue eyes, the bluest you’d probably ever seen in your life. She had naturally golden hair that shimmered in the candlelight and a smile so bright that it could light up a room. She was a wealth of information when it came to books and always was the person who you could count on for advice. A girl of fierce independence what I always greatly admired and who I was proud to call one of my closest friends. Once more I looked over the table with all the kind and familiar faces and sat down next the two boys and radiant blue-eyed girl. We drank our champagne and talked until pudding was served and the candles burnt out.