Memento
#4 of Esoterica
This is a somber short story I had written during the winter time just before Christmas. I liked the idea of a more emotionally involved holiday to contrast the rampant commercialism that I'd been bombarded with literally everywhere. It was a way of remembering what this holiday was like for me when I was younger and the importance of being around my family.
She quietly stepped through the doorway, careful not to make too much noise as to alert any of the sleeping tenants upstairs with the sound of claws tapping against the dark hardwood flooring. Only a small click could be heard as she gingerly closed the door to the study behind her, being sure not to close it too quickly. The hinges had been recently greased during the home renovation that fall and it was a saving grace, as the old heavy door usually creaked profusely with the slightest nudge. It had been many years since Daggi had entered this room and she had many fond memories of time spent with her grandfather here. He would read to her from his collection of wondrous books, which lined the floor to ceiling rosewood shelves of the room, as he sat in his antique red velvet chesterfield armchair. He spent the majority of his time resting here by a large stone fireplace that was older than even the house itself. He would drink from a cup of strong black coffee that sat on the lone matching rosewood table near the chair as Daggi lay on the floor in a blanket shawl.
The short grey rabbit took off her hat and long pea coat, hanging them on the coat rack to the left of the door. It was the dead of night, but the room was very much illuminated by the thick beams of moonlight that poured through two windows on the wall to the right. The light fell upon the armchair, table, and dormant fireplace as if to stage them perfectly for her arrival. She twitched her nose and gave pause for a moment, caught up in the nostalgia and familiar scent of coffee which had been long since beaten into the fibers of every fabric present. She turned back to her coat and removed a small package from the inner pocket. It was about the size of her palm and done up with sheets of coarse brown paper and twine. She held it very delicately, as one would hold a child, before turning back around to face the room.
Her memory floated to her grandmother, who periodically checked on she and her grandfather to make sure Daggi didn't fall asleep in the study during one of those fanciful stories. "Raymond, it's getting late. Shouldn't the young one be off to bed by this hour?" she would ask from the doorway to the main hall. "Ah, just a few more minutes Margaret. We're nearly done and by then end she'll be ready to go up and sleep. How about a cup of your tea to help her along?" he would reply with a warm smile peeking out from under his large silvery mustache. The way the light from the fireplace would catch his fur as he poked his head above a book always added to the warmth of his expression. Daggi so enjoyed her grandmother's tea and she could never figure out what was in it. On several occasions she had been in the kitchen watching her brew the ingredients, but was always too enamoured by the small brass acorn shaped infuser she would use. It was the last surviving part of a tea set that her husband had purchased for her shortly after moving into their first home, but unfortunately it had been lost long ago during the move to their current home.
Daggi could feel her heartbeat quicken as she took a step onto the large plush moroccan carpet that covered the entire center of the room. It felt soft against the pads of her feet and she remembered how comfortable it was to nod off by the fire before being carried up to her bedroom and placed under a thick comforter. She'd lived with her grandparents throughout her childhood due to her father being deployed in the war and her mother passing on from tuberculosis when she was still a kit. Her father would write very many letters and send pictures of himself with his air force squadron when he got the chance; his work only allowed him to visit very rarely.
Daggi took another step, narrowly avoiding a hidden creaky floorboard, as she made her way over to the table and armchair in the center of the room. She caressed one of the arms of the chair and smiled, before placing the small package onto the adjacent table. "You always were quite the charmer," she whispered to herself in the dark. Just then the large clock on the far end of the room struck the eleventh hour with mechanical chimes that hammered elegant brass rods. Daggi took this moment to swiftly exit the room, collecting her hat and coat on the way out. After the door was shut and she had made it down the hall, she let out a short sigh and quietly snuck her way up to her bedroom. She had tirelessly spent the entire day running around town completing a most important errand before the day had ended. Within only a few moments she had been whisked off on the winds of night towards Hushabye Mountain.
The next morning Daggi awoke to the familiar scent of her grandmother's precious tea wafting through the house with its lovely grip. She was quick to get herself ready and make her way downstairs to taste such a delicious flavour. She knew her grandmother would be in the study on this particular day, as she always is, so Daggi's first impulse was to greet her with a warm hug. As she approached to door to the study, she could hear the light sounds of crying and the voice of her father speaking something in a gentle masculine voice. The door had been left slightly ajar so it wasn't too imposing for Daggi to enter without first knocking. She cautiously stepped into the room and gazed upon the scene of her father, now a retired veteran, standing by the chesterfield with a paw on his mother's shoulder. The elder woman sat in the armchair with an opened package clutched in one paw and a small handkerchief in the other, which she used to dab away a few rolling tears.
They both looked up at Daggi as she entered the room and stood there shyly by the door. "I spent all of yesterday asking around town if anyone had seen it," Daggi said in a quiet high pitched voice. "I- I know how much it meant to you and I wanted you to have it back." Her father smiled as his eyes welled up a little, then her grandmother set down the package and raised her arms to beckon for an embrace. The three of them stayed locked in a teary hug by the heat of the fire, as the light reflected off of a small brass infuser that was slightly obscured by its brown paper wrapping. Daggi looked toward the dancing flames and brushed the tears from her eyes, then spoke, "Merry Christmas, Grandmother."