Ah the aches of the weekend painting have faded and normality has returned. Yesterday I felt like that old joke: I just flew in from Albuquerque, and boy are my arms tired. I think the action of using the roller made me feel like I was flapping my wings, so to speak. But the aches are gone and the room looks nice. So I’m happy. And so we begin our tuesday morning prompt. Timer’s set? write my lovelies, write!
I think this is something I can work with. The Arthur bit needs a bit of tweaking but I think once Ida comes around the story gets interesting. This is something to mark for later work I think. I love when that happens.
Tuesday, February 9th: Arthur dropped by for dinner.
Arthur dropped by for dinner. It wasn’t unusual to see him there as he was at the table with the rest of them more often than not these days.
It wasn’t something anyone mentioned.
They just left the chair empty at the table and assumed he would be there to fill it.
For eight year’s prior, Arthur was absent. He calmly stated one day that he was leaving and then he walked out. There was some communication in the eight years he was gone, but it was always well controlled by Arthur.
On Birthday’s and holidays he would call at a time when he suspected no one would be around. Then he would leave a brief message wishing all and sundry happiness and joy before ringing off. There was never any comment about his life, where he was or what he was doing. The calls let them know that everything was more or less okay, or at least okay enough for him to feel comfortable contacting them, but there was no way to ask for details.
At first there were attempts to trace the calls but they all came to nothing. Eventually he just became the voice that was left on the machine. The machine was never replaced and the land line never disconnected, as if doing so would end the voice and possibly bring harm to Arthur.
Then one day he simply appeared. He walked in at dinner time as though it was a normal evening. He sat down at the table. Flabbergasted no one asked any questions they just passed the peas and hoped he didn’t disappear. He was polite during dinner but when the shock faded and questions started to arise, it soon became clear that Arthur was not going to answer any questions about his life. No one pressed him, lest it cause him to leave again, this time for good.
At the end of the meal, he helped clear his plate and sometime during the clutter and confusion of clearing the table, he disappeared. The next night they all held their breath in anticipation and exhaled slowly when he walked in. For the first few weeks everyone expected that this dinner would be the last. As Arthur’s visits continued, tensions gradually eased.
His first missed dinner cause panic around the table but the following night he returned as though nothing was wrong. From then on he would occasionally miss a night, with no explanation offered, but he would always return. Ida was only five when Arthur left and remembered only bits and pieces of what happened before. In her memory there were a few nights where muffled voices could be heard arguing behind closed doors and then what seemed like weeks of silence before Arthur broke the silence with the announcement of his departure. To Ida that silence of those few weeks before he left were still there in the house. It floated around sliding between moments in conversation and then when Arthur was at the table it hovered in the air, stealing words before they could be spoken. She wanted to ask why he left, and why he returned but that silence seemed to steal her words as well and she held her tongue. It was only when she came across the box in the attic, that a few of the secrets began to slip out of the silence.
Ten til Midnight 