Utah: Old But Not Forgotten by Melanie P. Smith

Utah: Old But Not Forgotten

by Melanie P. Smith

© MPSmith Publishing

https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/melanie-p-smith/

Traveling Through a Painting

by Chantal Bellehumeur

Christine was a young woman who was curious. She loved touring different cities, visiting historical sites, and going on adventures. However, she found travelling exhausting and often wished she could instantly be transported to the places she wanted to visit. Since childhood, she'd had a vivid imagination. Her wish to ‘quick-travel,’ as she called it, often made her daydream. She would look at paintings or pictures from the pages of history or art books and travel guides, and visualize walking through them into the beautiful scenery. There, she imagined herself walking around the old or modern sites.

For the weekend of her twenty-sixth birthday, she agreed to accompany her boyfriend Connor to a wedding in London, Ontario. Sebastien, his friend from high school, was finally tying the knot with his long-time girlfriend Julie. Although Connor hadn’t seen Sebastien in almost five years and Christine had never met him, they both thought it would be nice to go to the wedding together. To Christine, it was also a chance to explore a new city, so she and Connor took a few extra days off work. She really wasn't looking forward to the long car ride from Montreal though. Luckily, Connor's great-aunt Shannon lived in the city of Toronto which was on the way. She’d happily agreed to let them stay over a couple of nights, to break up the trip. Her house was still about a five and a half hour drive from where Connor and Christine resided, but it was better than going straight to London which would have taken over eight hours even without traffic. Christine fell asleep as she always did on long road trips. It was a habit she’d picked up as a baby, because her father used to bring her on car rides whenever she was fussy and refused to sleep. When Connor pulled into the double driveway in front of his great-aunt’s red-bricked house, Christine stirred in the passenger seat and slowly opened her eyes. "We're here," Connor told his yawning girlfriend. "Finally," she replied before opening the door of the small blue rental.

It was a nice summer day, and the sun shone on Christine's pale face as she stepped outside. The sound of birds chirping made her smile, and she slowly started to come back to her ‘own world’ as Connor always said when she was in a daze.

The sound of the car trunk being closed brought Christine back to reality. She briefly saw somebody walking a dog, but barely noticed that person. Her focus was entirely on the beautiful furry husky on the leash. "Coming?" Connor called as he waited for her at the top of the paved driveway, near the large double garage door.

Christine joined her boyfriend and walked with him on a flat, narrow stone path towards Shannon's front porch, letting him pull the large rolling suitcase they’d chosen to share. Flower beds filled each side of the curving path, and Christine noticed a few buzzing bees flying from one bright flower to another. Connor lifted the heavy luggage up the three steps onto the wooden porch and Christine dreamily followed behind him. He rang the doorbell while she looked at the perfect lawn and waited for Shannon to greet them. Christine admired the pretty flower garden with decorative gnome statues in the middle of the green grass. In the centre was a tilted barrel full of dirt and flowers of various sizes and colours spilling out.

A short rock path on the dirt led to a stone birdbath. A finch dampened his brown and white feathers and shook his tiny body to remove the excess water.

Two brown squirrels zoomed by, one chasing the other. Christine watched them run up a small tree that had been planted on the nextdoor neighbours’ front lawn. She knew it was an oak because of the fallen acorns, and tried to imagine it as big as the ones she’d seen in the woods.

Her eyes were drawn to a birdfeeder hanging from one of the thin branches. Two sparrows flew around the long plastic container, and landed on short perches to take some of the birdseed.

"I wonder what it would be like to be a bird," Christine dreamily said out loud. "I imagine you would feel free," Connor replied. He then jokingly added, "although if you were a bird you might not go far because of your fear of heights." Christine playfully hit Connor on the right shoulder in response to his comment, just as a short grey-haired woman opened the door. She was dressed in perfectly ironed beige pants, a wrinkle-free flowery blouse, and a pearl necklace. In contrast, Connor and Christine had comfortable jeans and t-shirts on. "This is my violent girlfriend Christine," Connor told his great-aunt. "She abuses me all the time."

Christine was about to hit Connor again, but realized it would only make his statement appear more truthful so she let out a sigh instead. Shannon obviously didn't take Connor seriously. She’d laughed at his comment. “I’m happy you finally made it my dears!” she exclaimed and gave them each a tight hug. Her strong flowery perfume filled their nostrils. With a welcoming smile on her face, Shannon invited her young guests inside her big house. Christine instantly fell in love with the tidy place. It looked like it was full of memories and potential stories.

From the entrance, she could smell a flowery scent and see the living room as well as the dining room with its antique furniture and lighting, vintage rugs, decorative knickknacks, crystal candy dish, taper candles in elegant silver holders, old hardcover books, and photographs. There were also many framed landscape paintings on the Victorian-styled wallpapered walls.

Her favourite was one with a doe standing by a partially frozen river in a snowy wood. "Do you paint?" Christine asked as she removed her black sporty sandals from her small feet.

"Yes. I do," Shannon responded with a touch of pride. Christine heard the hint of an Irish accent which surprised her despite her knowledge of Connors' Irish heritage. He had the stereotypical ginger hair and freckles. "I paint a lot of winter scenes even though it’s not my favorite season," Shannon added and laughed. The accent was stronger now. "I guess I just love how pretty the snow looks, and spattering paint with my brush is quite fun. But, I'm not a fan of the cold."

Christine could relate to the woman's statement. She enjoyed watching the sparkling snow fall during winter, but despised the cold. During the colder season, she didn't like being outdoors. Instead, she enjoyed reading a good book in the comfort of her apartment with a warm blanket and a cup of mocha or hot chocolate.

As Christine and Connor climbed the wooden stairs to the second floor, led by Shannon, Christine noticed more framed paintings hanging on the beige painted wall. They all had Shannon’s signature on the bottom right corner. "They’re beautiful," she told the artist. "I feel like I can almost walk right into them." Connor told his aunt about Christine's desire to quick-travel which made her blush. It sounded silly when somebody said it out loud. However, Shannon didn't react in a way that made Christine feel odd. Instead, she admitted that she also sometimes imagined herself traveling within her paintings. "It would be nice if I could simply paint a destination and just go there by walking into my canvas. It would save me time and money." "Exactly," Christine enthusiastically replied. She was glad somebody understood. Shannon arrived at the top of the staircase and turned right. She stopped in front of the first bedroom on the left. "Well, this will be your room during your stay. I changed the bedsheets and pillowcases this morning and put an extra blanket on the bed." Christine noticed the thick quilt. "I doubt you'll need it," Shannon continued, "but just in case." "Feel free to use the dresser," the woman added as she pointed to a long antique wooden unit. It had a golden rimmed arched mirror above it and a small silver bowl with potpourri inside. "The drawers are empty. Same goes for the night tables." Christine noticed that the wooden tables on each side of the queen-sized bed matched the antique dresser. Each one had a white circular crochet doily with an old lamp on it. "The towels and facecloths are in the bathroom," Shannon told them, pointing in the direction of an open door to the left of the stairs. "Let me know if ever you need anything else my dears." Both Christine and Connor thanked Shannon for her hospitality, and were left alone to pick a bedside and unpack before dinner. Christine chose the side closest to the large window. She loved the white lacy curtains and the way the bright sunlight shone into the room. Plus, on her end table was an antique jewellery box and she was curious to see what was inside. It turned out to be empty. The box still held something of interest to Christine; she found a metallic winding key at the back. As soon as she cranked it, Connor turned his head towards her with a mortified look on his face. He knew what was coming; classical music.

To Christine's content, the melody of Beethoven's "Eloise" started playing. She closed her eyes to better enjoy the harp-like music.

Connor interrupted the peacefulness by throwing his thick leather wallet and two sets of clinking keys onto the bed near Christine. Since they landed so close to the edge, they slid off and landed on the hardwood floor with a thump. Connor asked if she could put his wallet and keys inside the musical box. "For safe keeping," he jokingly told her. Christine placed the items in the box, and cranked it a second time to listen to the music again. She pretended to be a ballerina by going on her tippy toes for a few seconds. Then she attempted a pirouette, but ended up almost crashing into the long oval mirror standing in the corner of the room.

Connor laughed, and she reacted by throwing a pillow at him. She turned her attention to the mirror; not to look at herself, but rather at what was beyond the glass. “As a matter of fact, I am. Have you ever noticed that things look more interesting inside a mirror?” Connor responded that it looked the same as what the glass was reflecting. Christine rolled her eyes at him and sighed. “Never mind.” She continued looking around while Connor unzipped the suitcase and began unpacking. The oil painting hanging above the bed's old wooden headboard caught her attention; another Shannon O’Reilly original. It was of a narrow dirt path between two tall stone walls which led to an archway in front of another wall. There, the path divided in two.

“If one were to walk to the fork,” Christine thought, “they would have to choose between going left or right.” "I wonder where each path leads," Christine said. Connor didn’t comment. He just went on unpacking, and eventually Christine started doing the same. By the time they headed downstairs, Shannon had already set the table in the dining room. Dinner was almost ready. They joined Shannon in the large kitchen and took in the pleasant aroma of tomato sauce cooking on the stovetop. “I was kind of expecting stew,” Christine whispered to Connor. “Because my great-aunt is Irish?” he said half laughing. “Yes,” Christine admitted and blushed. She hoped Shannon hadn’t heard in case she got offended.

“I thought about making my traditional lamb stew,” Shannon casually said before giving Christine an amicable wink. “But, I wasn’t sure how you would feel about it.” Christine informed her host that she wasn’t picky. "Connor told me that pasta was your favourite, so I made

spaghetti and meatballs. It's actually an old Italian recipe a good friend of mine gave me. Her Nona used to make it."

"I can't wait to try it," Christine replied. Her stomach gurgled loudly as though it was replying as well. Soon they were all seated at the long dining table, eating delicious pasta and garlic bread off fancy white plates with golden rims and drinking red wine from crystal glasses. Shannon had also taken out her special silverware. For dessert, Shannon brought out a variety of homemade goodies. “I have cookies, brownies, tarts, and my special quicksand chocolate pudding.” Intrigued by the quicksand pudding, Christine decided to try it first. She loved it so much that she took a second helping before selecting a couple of cookies. “If I continue eating, I won’t fit into my dress on Saturday,” she joked. “Oh dear,” Shannon responded. She soon looked deep in thought, then excused herself from the table. A few minutes later, she surprised Christine with a small birthday cake. Connor sang “Happy birthday” along with his great-aunt as she walked out the kitchen with the candlelit cake.

"Connor told me chocolate was your favourite," Shannon said and set the plate down in front of Christine. "Now, think of a wish and blow out the candles, my dear." Christine didn't believe in birthday wishes because hers never came true. She could never keep them secret though, and according to stories she’d read as a child it was essential not to tell anyone what it was if you wanted the wish to become real. Also, all the birthday candles had to be extinguished in a single blow. If it took more than one try, your wish evaporated with the smoke.

"I wish..." Christine started out loud. After a short pause, she continued in her head. "…that I could walk through pictures and paintings." She smiled, took a big breath, and blew out every one of her twenty-six candles. Connor and Shannon applauded Christine and inquired about her wish. "I'm not saying or it won't come true," she answered and laughed. She didn't actually believe that she would be able to walk through pictures or paintings if she kept her wish to herself. She was just playing the game. The home-baked cake slathered in creamy chocolate frosting was cut in slim even pieces, and eaten with tea or coffee depending on personal preference; Connor drank black coffee, while the women shared a pot of Irish Breakfast tea with cream and sugar. At first, Christine had felt nervous about visiting Connor’s great-aunt but was now completely at ease. She liked Shannon and thought she was a sweet woman, not to mention that they shared a lot in common including an imaginative mind. Despite the major age difference, Christine felt that conversing with Shannon was like talking to a close friend.

Long after the desserts and beverages were consumed, the three of them remained at the table chatting. The periodic chimes of the old grandfather clock in the adjoining room went unnoticed; as though it could not be heard until it struck ten.

Everyone seemed to jolt awake, yet it was time for sleep. They each did their part in clearing the table, and leaving the dishes for the morning they made their way upstairs. "Good night my dears!" Shannon said before heading to her room. "Good night!" they replied and walked into theirs and closed the door behind them.

Shortly after getting into bed with Connor and closing her eyes, Christine opened them again. "Are you awake?" she whispered. Connor didn’t answer and was soon snoring.

She tried to sleep, but had difficulty. The painting above her head with the dirt path between the stone walls seemed to be lighting up and it distracted her. She soon realized that streetlights were shining on it. Unable to keep her eyes closed and feeling restless, she examined the painting. It looked inviting, and when she touched its bumpy surface with her manicured right hand it went right through. The rest of her body soon followed. She found herself inside the oil painting, in her cotton pyjamas, staring at a framed portrait of the guest room she’d just been in. Connor was sleeping peacefully in the bed. "Connor!" Christine shouted, but he didn’t stir. The frame she looked at started shrinking on the wall until it completely disappeared. In a panic, she touched different parts of the wall searching for a way out, but only felt the hardness of the stones.

"How do I get out of here?" she asked herself. She turned and saw the archway at the end of the dirt path. Barefoot, she ran towards it and found herself at the fork. She looked in both directions and concluded that they looked the same.

"Which way do I go?" she said. Nobody answered.

Finally, she chose to go left, and it led her to another stone archway. She turned left again and followed the path until she came to another archway which gave her three options; left, right, or straight on. After a moment’s hesitation, she went straight ahead. Reaching an archway on her right, she walked through it. She turned left and started jogging, then running. Each path led her to new archways and paths. It was quite dizzying. Eventually, she hit a dead end. "Great! I'm in a labyrinth!" she shouted almost out of breath. She stood still to catch her breath and caught an overpowering scent of flowers mixed with the hint of herbs and tomatoes.

As she wondered what to do, she thought she saw a bearded gnome wearing a pointy red hat poke his head around the corner. “Hello?” she called feeling ridiculous. She received a silent response. Finally, she headed back the way she came, this time at a normal pace, until she found an archway and took a left. To no surprise, it led to another stone archway. This one had thick roots growing around it. Still unsure where to go, she walked through the archway and again turned left. As she followed the path, she saw that the stone walls on each side of her had an occasional red brick lodged into it. Roots grew from them, and various types of flowers slowly bloomed in front of her like magic. Bees materialized to pollinate the new flowers.

Christine felt a burning sensation on her right foot and noticed part of a stinger sticking out of a newly swollen area. A bee had stung her, and it looked like the other winged insects from the colony were about to attack her too. She ran as fast as she could and removed the barbed stinger when she finally felt safe. At this point, she found herself standing in a large patch of green clover. When she looked up, she saw a lamb as white as snow advancing towards her. It gave a cute little baa, then ran off between two rows of potato plants. A whitetail doe that strangely seemed to be wearing a pearl necklace approached in the distance, past planted vegetables, by a frozen river. Christine could have sworn that it spoke to her with Shannon’s Irish accent. A stag with large antlers appeared in the falling snow beside the doe, and Christine heard her boyfriend’s voice call her name.

Thinking Connor and Shannon could see her in the painting, she yelled to them. Neither one answered, and the two deer looked at her blankly with big dark eyes. She decided to walk towards the deer, where the sound of the voices had come from, thinking she might be near an exit. Unfortunately, they galloped away before she could get close. The doe knocked down a random barrel as it raced away with the stag. Dirt and flowers spilled onto the snowy path and seemed to spread out more than it should. Christine followed the hoof prints in the melting snow and dirt, but after going through two archways the impressions suddenly stopped as though the deer had mysteriously disappeared. After taking another step forward, she realized why. There was quicksand. She managed to step out of the dark unstable mixture before it consumed her.

Having no other choice but to go in the opposite direction, she did so and soon saw a big dog in the distance. It looked like a husky, but the closer she got, the more it resembled a

wolf. When the morphed canine bared its sharp teeth and menacingly growled, she ran away. Flocks of finches as well as sparrows flew past as though they too were fleeing from the wolf, and Christine wished she could join them in the air.

She had an urge to jump up as high as she could with her arms spread out, so she did. Rather than land back on the ground, she remained in the air and seemed to soar alongside the birds.

Feathers as white as her long flowing hair started growing on her bare arms which soon transformed into majestic wings. Christine gracefully flew with the birds and got high enough in the cloudy blue sky to see the inside of the labyrinth. It was huge and seemed to have no end. As a whole, the inside contained all types of landscapes; mountainous, flat, and coastal. The further out the surreal labyrinth went, the wider apart the walls were and Christine could see hills, woods, rivers, lakes, rainforest, waterfalls, jungles, desserts, farmland, empty fields, snowy mountains, glaciers, cliffs… "How am I supposed to get out of here?" she wondered. She’d hoped to somehow be able to fly back to Shannon’s, but that was not the case. The birds flew towards an opening in the labyrinth which had a large oak tree in the centre, so Christine followed their lead.

The birds scattered and gracefully landed on the tree branches. Christine’s fear of heights kicked in, so she made for the safe ground rather than join the birds in the oak tree. Some birds flew down and headed towards a stone birdbath. They played around in the clear water, loudly chirping away. Hundreds of acorns lay on the ground near the birdbath. Some were lined up together forming borders to a dirt path. She slowly made her way between the borders and walked on. It led to a large opening in front of the oak tree. A brown squirrel climbed down from the thick trunk, got on its hind legs and looked at Christine. It then headed for the opening, stopped, and looked behind at her before continuing inside. Christine took this as a sign that she should follow the bushy tailed rodent.

Once inside, she saw the squirrel head down a set of wooden stairs and Christine did the same. When she reached the bottom, she found herself in a candlelit room with random objects piled on top of each other; clocks, hardcover books, silver candleholders, jewellery boxes, figurines, statues, silverware, tea pots and matching cups, fancy plates. They all looked like antiques. Drawn to a large oval mirror within a fancy golden frame, she stepped in front of it. Her reflection showed that her wings had turned back to normal arms. Looking closer at the mirror, she saw the inside of Shannon's dining room.

Thinking she could walk through the mirror like she had with the painting, she lightly placed her right hand on the glass. Nothing happened. She tried again with more force, but the only thing she accomplished was to break the nail on her index finger. She looked behind her and saw that the vision in the mirror was simply a reflection of what could now be seen in the clean glass window of a tall grandfather clock. Christine tried to go through the new-found glass, but that didn't work either. She saw a tiny keyhole and realized that the glass window could be opened like a door. It was locked though. "Where could I possibly find the key?” she said. The brown squirrel ran up the pile of abandoned antiques, making some of the items fall. Music started playing and Christine recognized the tune of "Eloise" so she looked for the music box. When she found it, she opened it and saw a small antique key. She took the ornate brass key and walked back to the grandfather clock. Luckily, the key fit perfectly into the keyhole, and she was able to open the glass door. Although it was a tight squeeze, she crawled inside the grandfather clock and came out the other side into Shannon's dining room. When she stood, Christine saw herself sitting in a wooden chair with her head resting sideways on the dining table. She was wearing her jeans and t-shirt from earlier. Somebody, most likely Shannon, had wrapped the thick quilt from the guestroom around her shoulders. “Am I having an out of body experience?” she wondered. She walked over to the figure at the table and her soul instantly connected with its body. Her eyes burst open to the loud chime of the grandfather clock, and she found herself all alone in the dark dining room. The full moon shone in the starlit sky through the patio door. "I fell asleep?" she whispered as the grandfather clock continued to strike, stopping only after its twelfth count.

Christine drowsily managed to drag herself up to bed with the quilt. When she woke the next morning, she felt exhausted.

"I had the strangest dream," she told Connor as she got out of bed. She noticed that her feet were dirty; they were full of dried up dirt. So were the bottom of her pyjama pants. She also

noticed something green between two of her left foot toes. She bent to remove it and found herself holding a four-leaf clover. In addition, Christine realised that the nail of her right index finger was broken. While Connor continued to ask about her dream, Christine lifted the bedsheet and saw dirt at the bottom of the bed, as well as a dead bee.

"What are you doing?” Connor asked. “Are you going to tell me what your dream was?” "I... Can't remember," she lied. She didn't really know what to say and discretely grabbed the bee to throw it in the garbage. As she did, she noticed that its stinger was missing. “Huh,” she exclaimed.

Connor was looking at her strangely so she had no choice but to show him the dead bee. She hoped he could see it. “Did it sting you?” he asked in concern. Christine was relieved to find that she wasn’t hallucinating. “I think it did while I was sleeping, although I’ve no idea how it got here.” Connor shrugged his shoulders in response. Christine wondered if she had been sleepwalking even though she had no history of doing so. She asked Connor if he’d ever seen her walk around in the middle of the night. He denied ever witnessing her getting out of bed at night, but was a sound sleeper. “Why do you ask?” She still didn’t know what to tell him so she simply answered, “No reason.” As she gathered toiletries from the shared suitcase to prepare for a shower, she spotted the small purple envelope containing the wedding invitation. She knew there was a picture of the venue inside, and it made her wonder if she could travel directly there. "This is ridiculous," she said out loud without meaning to. "What's ridiculous?" Connor asked.

Part of her wanted to tell him about her odd adventure that included her birthday wish coming true, but she knew it would sound crazy. She determined that it had to be a dream; most likely inspired by everything she’d seen and heard the previous day. She realised there was no logical explanation for the dirt on her feet, pant legs, and sheets which Connor did not seem to have noticed. As far as she could tell, there was no dirt anywhere else, nor any footprints on the floor or dark decorative woven carpet by her bedside. She opened the bedroom door and peeked into the hallway. There was no dirt on the hardwood floor there either.

"Am I imagining it?" Christine wondered. "Am I going crazy?" "What's this?" Connor asked, pausing from making the bed. Christine turned to see him holding an antique brass key and her jaw almost dropped. “Where did you find this?” she asked, stunned.

“Under your pillow.” "What’s going on,” she wondered with a puzzled look. She debated telling Connor the truth. After all, they were supposed to be honest with each other. "What is the truth," she then asked herself.

"I found it," she answered and took the key from him. She almost expected it to vanish but it remained in her hand.

“This is real, right,” she asked. “Yes… Are you okay?” he said. “You seem more spaced out than usual this morning.” Christine nodded in affirmation. Whatever she’d experienced could not be shared with Connor at the risk of getting made fun of, but she knew exactly who would appreciate hearing about her adventure. While Connor took a shower, Shannon made a pot of Irish Breakfast tea. Then she listened to Christine’s story with great interest as she sipped the hot liquid. Christine left no details out.

When Christine showed Shannon the antique key, the woman claimed she had no memory of ever seeing it before. “My mind isn’t what it used to be though,” she admitted. Christine’s adventure remained a mystery.

Chantal Bellehumeur is a Canadian author born in 1981. She has several published novels of various genres as well as numerous short stories, poems and articles featured in compilation books, magazine, plus a local newspaper.

For a complete list of publications, including free reads, visit the following website: author-chantal-bellehumeur.webnode.com/ products-/

On Being Grown Up

by Stan Phillips

Do you ever lie there at three in the morning with your mind on fire? I do.

And you're full of grown-up thoughts running round your brain. Responsibilities. Jobs that need doing, People who have to be advised. Even chastised.

Bills that need paying, And cars that need repairing, Children to feed and clothe. Shopping to be done, Gardens need to be tended, Walls to be painted.

It's all like going down a hill, On a bike with no brakes, slow motion. And it's so long since Your mind was clear of concern. Since you were seven. With nothing to think of.

And it was summer, warm. School's off and you're free. You could walk without a care in the world. Floating on the winds of youth. Socks round your ankles, Lying in a park, on the grass.

Watching days drift by. The glory of an unappreciated life Gone in a twinkled eye. Do you remember that feeling?

And if you had a wish, what was it? Probably to be grown up. How strange.

Stan Phillips is a poet, musical podcast maker, part-time wannabe male model, and occasional stand up comedian. “I used to be a psychotherapist/counsellor when I had an honest job. I was born into prewar London, and attended 17 schools (my father believed they couldn’t hit a moving target) and I eventually finished up here in Ireland. Still wondering what I will be when I grow up — but enjoying writing my quirky poetry as I do so.”

Discover more about Stan on Mom’s Favorite Reads website: https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/stan-phillips