Sequel: The Epilogue ›
A Place on My Pillow
.32
Before work the next morning, Polly got up and left early, her camera in hand. She had a specific spot in mind and she would probably be late. She didn’t care. She needed to get out of the house, away from everyone. It wasn’t that they were being particularly unbearable though. It was just that Polly needed to be alone and to think things through. She did that best with her camera, the shots reflecting what kind of mood she was in.
The spot she’d picked was out of the way, hiding behind the local primary school where the playground met the creek that ran behind it. There was a fence running along the bank except for one part where a bridge broke up the metal. She crossed that bridge and hiked up a small hill, humming as she went. She slipped into the woods and then through the thickening trees to a clearing. She’d found this on one of her walks with Otto the week before. She’d been meaning to come out since then, but she hadn’t had the time.
She was making time, this time. There would be no distractions. She needed to do this.
Inside the clearing, the blue sky was all she could see when she looked up, and green grass when she looked down. There were small flowers that dotted the grass and clouds freckled the sky. It was a picturesque day, the wind on a slightly chilled side but nice, as long as you wore a coat. It was the kind of day that photographed perfectly, but it wasn’t the day that Polly was trying to capture. There was a small, wooden cross stuck in the ground beneath a large pine tree, sheltered from the elements. It was painted with two words along the vertical piece of wood and a name running across the horizontal piece.
Vertically, they had painted Sweet dreams and horizontally, they had painted Maria Dolores Power. It made Polly’s heart ache, thinking of the gravestones at home, two in particular that would haunt her.
“Well, Maria, it’s just you and me right now,” Polly said softly, kneeling on the grass, raising the camera up. There wasn’t anything special on the cross, and there wasn’t any indication that it had been visited in a long while. Besides the words, it was completely deserted. But even the words had begun to chip off and fade away, worn down by the time since Maria’s death, Polly guessed.
“Smile for me,” Polly said, and she began taking pictures. Her mind turned away from the ache in her heart and the nagging in her head to the photos she was creating, the moments in time she was capturing, tucking them safely into the memory of her camera.
The spot she’d picked was out of the way, hiding behind the local primary school where the playground met the creek that ran behind it. There was a fence running along the bank except for one part where a bridge broke up the metal. She crossed that bridge and hiked up a small hill, humming as she went. She slipped into the woods and then through the thickening trees to a clearing. She’d found this on one of her walks with Otto the week before. She’d been meaning to come out since then, but she hadn’t had the time.
She was making time, this time. There would be no distractions. She needed to do this.
Inside the clearing, the blue sky was all she could see when she looked up, and green grass when she looked down. There were small flowers that dotted the grass and clouds freckled the sky. It was a picturesque day, the wind on a slightly chilled side but nice, as long as you wore a coat. It was the kind of day that photographed perfectly, but it wasn’t the day that Polly was trying to capture. There was a small, wooden cross stuck in the ground beneath a large pine tree, sheltered from the elements. It was painted with two words along the vertical piece of wood and a name running across the horizontal piece.
Vertically, they had painted Sweet dreams and horizontally, they had painted Maria Dolores Power. It made Polly’s heart ache, thinking of the gravestones at home, two in particular that would haunt her.
“Well, Maria, it’s just you and me right now,” Polly said softly, kneeling on the grass, raising the camera up. There wasn’t anything special on the cross, and there wasn’t any indication that it had been visited in a long while. Besides the words, it was completely deserted. But even the words had begun to chip off and fade away, worn down by the time since Maria’s death, Polly guessed.
“Smile for me,” Polly said, and she began taking pictures. Her mind turned away from the ache in her heart and the nagging in her head to the photos she was creating, the moments in time she was capturing, tucking them safely into the memory of her camera.