BETWEEN FOUR JUNCTIONS

“I will be. I’ve decided that it’s been long enough. I am going to cut down the tree. But first I wanted to get this down.” Thrust into Donna’s hands was a tattered kite, its fabric ripped, bleeding crimson threads with gaping holes, nothing but its thin frame intact.

Donna’s face became as lifeless and miserable as the object she held, as she quietly protested, “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t . . . I thought you understood.”

“It has been over a year since the incident. I’m sorry.” She detested the way he said it so trivially, as if this ‘incident’ hadn’t caused the tsunami of pain that had washed over her life for so long.

“Please,” she looked at the ceiling, not wanting to make eye contact with the person in whom she had put her trust. “I just need more time.”

Peraltiago stared at Donna with what can only be described as pity, then sighed. “Okay.” He looked up from the broken kite in Donna’s hands. “I’ll leave it for now. But . . .” he hesitated. “You can’t do this forever. You just can’t. At some point, you have to let go.”

And with nothing more than a solemn nod, John left the way he had entered minutes ago, leaving Donna standing in both shock and the quiet knowledge that there was an element of truth to what he had said. As she sat down, Donna felt the floods of reminiscent despair wash over her, floods that she had, for the last few months, kept at bay.

Time passed, and the floods resided, and still she sat and simply remembered. Slowly, she began to walk around the house, not quickly but with a hidden sense of purpose, remembering. Every step, every lovable mishap caused by a child’s lack of judgement, every shiny school photo. Hours passed unnoticed like leaves falling from an autumn branch, and Donna found herself crying. But although the crying wasn’t pleasant, she found that it wasn’t painful anymore. It was simply okay.

Looking out of the window, she saw the moon unchanged in its beauty, above everything and everyone, and found comfort in the fact that it would continue to remain beautiful, no matter what events occurred beneath it, and finally, she saw the silhouette of a beech tree splashed onto the dark canvas before her. In that moment, Donna knew exactly what to do.

“I don’t believe it,” John muttered, tugging at the curtains in pure irate exhaustion. “What on earth is going on? At this hour in the morning?” A stream of sunlight blinded him as he looked out of the window, and John was taken aback for a moment by the amplified droning sound which he now realised was coming from his neighbouring garden. The sight that met his eyes was one that surprised him greatly, but after a moment he finally understood, and began to smile. “Donna? What on earth are you doing with that chainsaw!”