Stains and Scratches
Laughter and chatter was all Aurora could hear as the bus came to a stop. She arose from the seat andwalked towards the front. The weather raged around her as she disembarked. She felt her boots sink intothe snow like warm toes on butter. Aurora watched as the bus made its way back onto the icy road, thecold wind enveloped her. After a few moments she headed towards the house; each step slowly, shenoticed how her childhood abode had changed during her absence. It stood there wrapped in lacy whiteribbons of snow like a weathered monument of her past.Navigating herself onto the wooden porch, she paused. Aurora hesitated knowing that the moment sheentered through that front door she would become engulfed by many bitter memories. She thought twiceand headed back down the stairs making her way around to the back of the house. Aurora vaguely heardthe ringing of a phone as she walked and recalled the conversation held with her aunt.
“Aurora why weren’t you there at your father’s funeral.”
She pulled back her unruly hair, as severalunwanted memories started to unfold within Auroras mind.
Only meters away stood her father’s work shed; still a rustic memorial to him. Time lapsed before she felt
the courage to face the old cedar door. She raised both mitten covered hands to the ice covered pane of glass embedded in the wood and rubbed the frost away. Aurora peered through and saw nothing but
darkness. She backed away, and shivered at the black emptiness of the shed’s interior.
“It’s been years.”
A voice echoed from behind her. Aurora’s bo
dy became rigid, too frightened to face whoshe knew was there. She grasped the iron door handle attached to the door and tightened her grip. She
pushed the door wide open, ignoring the stranger’s presence. Stale air wafted towards her as she stepped
into the void. A slither of light from the tiny window pierced the darkness which allowed her to vaguely
observe what surrounded her. The scent of her father’s musk cologne and linseed oil drew tears to her
eyes, Aurora felt displaced.
“Where are Dad’s things?”
She asked. The lady stepped into the door way. Her mother’s scent of rose,
jasmine and aldehydes signaled Aurora of her physical presence. Aurora felt hesitant fingers caressing herhair. She flinched and turned towards her mother, fixing her eyes on her face. Her mother stepped back.
“I’m sorry. They’re in a pile inside the laundry…”
Aurora backed away, rushing out. Her mother turned to watch her as she disappeared into the fog.
Aurora’s ears burned within her crocheted beanie. The crisp air cooled th
e warm tears that streamed downher porcelain face. Her cheeks reddened. She stomped up the wooden porch and rushed towards the frontdoor. It was unlocked. She hesitated for a moment, questioning whether she was emotionally prepared toenter and confront the unwanted memories.
She threw the door wide, she did not care. She needed to be reassured her fathers’ item still existed for
her.In the wide hallway, the lights shun a warm welcome, even though she felt uninvited. The hallway watchedher as she quietly walked in.A re-pieced china vase, several enlarged photographs enclosed in thick wooden frames, a dried white paintstain which leaked through the crevices of the timber floors and a pair of keys; all evoked unpleasant