It’s a good Sunday; at least we can say it today. Because Mary looks relaxed and at peace today. She has nothing to do. She will just sit and relax. She is not cooking; she is not doing laundry or dishwashing like every day, like she has been doing it for years. Her countenance signals peace, but her eyes signal uncertainty, worry, and acceptance at the same time.
A wooden floor touching her feet makes her feel more gratitude, close to nature, close to herself for the first time. On other days, she would be rushing on this floor from morning to night, and her legs would feel tired. A wooden doorframe with open doors is her place of choice now. Lying her back completely on one side of the frame, she has stretched her legs as far as she can in the direction of the other side of the frame. Her legs are folded, and her knees are in the air. She has covered the whole lower part of the frame, the doorframe.
The sunlight is getting filtered through the curtains (of the only window the house has), which she bought with excitement when the whole family went shopping last year. She really liked the colour and embroidery on the curtain, and bargained with the shopkeeper for some discount; her husband and son were watching in the corner, feeling embarrassed. However, reaching home, both praised how she bargained and saved money, and she felt a sense of achievement.
She loves home, where she feels most free. She talks confidently, cracks jokes, feels happy, and watches TV. But what is outside the door? A small farm, with swaying crops, dancing in waves. The air is going left and right, yet it somehow makes its way inside the house, lifting the curtains playfully off the windows and gently placing them back. Beautiful right?
But she is sitting in the frame, alone. Getting rest. She won’t go outside. Her husband is out of town for some days. Her child is on a school trip today. She gets restless when she has a thought of her child, husband, i.e., family being away from her, but she cannot do anything but wait. She hardly gave him permission to go on the trip; no one can understand how it feels to let your piece of heart leave home and go away. If school was not important, she would not send him to school. She has worries, but she just accepts, for the good of the child.
Accepting and waiting are her daily tasks. In the time between, she fills her day with house chores.
She is quietly sitting in the frame. She won’t go outside now, like she used to play in the farms when she was a child. Her mom used to yell at her, but she wouldn't listen. She would feel pride in running barefoot into the farm, playing with soil and climbing the trees. The best part of her life is in her memories, which will die with her.
Nothing is exciting for her in going outside now. After years, she just wants to rest. She watches outside the door, but never gets out.
Her freedom lies till the boundary, the doorframe.
Waiting for her loved ones to come home.
Good Ending:
She saw her son come home running, bringing a smile on her face. She made him his favorite food, and listened to all his stories of the trip with curiosity.
When Mary was at peace? A few moments ago, or now.
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