The Last Hug

The Last Hug

A Story by Ana Calil
"

When we lose the ones we love it's hard to start over again.

"
It was five in the morning, the Sun trying to break through another monochromatic mid-winter day. The cat yawning by the headboard over the bed, aristocratic, its languid look exhaled the confidence of the winners. The animal seduced her with its eyes attracting her to its blue depths; how could a feline exert that much fascination and envy in such a beautiful butterfly.
               The sleepless night, the marble-like sky, fat gray clouds playing hide-and-seek with the moon. The pupa, warm and cozy, was among the memories which had been replaced by emptiness; it was time to transform, to let go of the common-place and gain the world, to take off. 
               A whirlpool of feelings swirled in her chest; somehow she knew her life would never be the same. Amid the silence of the twilight, the shy and frail butterfly-girl could hear at the distance the melancholic sound of a piano, the sad notes invaded her dazed body bringing the perfume of what she had left behind: the square, the church, the band stand, the dancing waters of the fountain, the colorful bushes, the sweet taste of ice cream.
               The memories tasted like Christmas morning; little by little the girl let the good memories take over her, but the cat standing there mocked that butterfly. His malicious smile seemed to hide the truth, the cruel truth: the clock would neither stop nor go back, those happy times were gone forever.
               It was irrational, perhaps, she knew that, but the cat made her realize that nothing had remained the same. How she wanted to hate him at that moment, kick his rear and silence his seductive purr. What was that smug self-confidence for? Why torture her with facts she already knew? Why not let her relish her memories and drown in them?
               “Damn cat, let me drown in illusions.” �" repeated the voice inside her chest. “Let loneliness take its course.”
               But the feline seemed determined to show off his austerity and security. How could he be so insensitive? How cruel!
               “How dare you caress my hair? Leave me alone.” �" she voiced in supplication. “Go impose your happiness elsewhere.”
               “Out, fur ball, let me be miserable. Let me sink in self-pity.” That placid look was disturbing. 
               “How insensitive!” Rationally, she wanted to get up, to say goodbye one last time. But, what if she didn’t? The world would understand that just one morning, among many others, she refused to get up. No cat would change her mind; she would stay inside until the pain went away, until the memories stopped hunting her, until the perfume left her nostrils. 
               But, “until when?” It wasn’t rational to give in to pain so easily.
               “Damn cat!” If not for him, everything would be solved. If only he stopped emitting that annoying sound of happiness, of life.
               “Shut up, stupid cat, let me die of sadness.”
               The butterfly-girl with broken wings wanted to fly, life inside her begged to take off. But, how? If the wind had stopped blowing? If the air failed her and the hiccups drowned her voice? Her memories insisted on repeating the farewell, the colorful balloon getting smaller and smaller in the sky like a butterfly, the last butterfly leaving after the spring. If only she had known she was seeing him for the last time, so many things would have been different. How would the last hug have been if she had know it was the last? The last kiss if there were no other lips to tough her forehead and ease her cries? Would she have answered the phone in a hurry? Would she have left without looking back? Would she have refused a Sunday afternoon in front of the TV? 
               The last hug had been long, tender and, when she closed her eyes, she could still feel the firm arms, the open smile and the sweet smell. But, had she known it was the last, everything would have been different; she would have asked how his day was over the phone; she would have held him tighter and inhaled his sweet smell; she would have looked back to see him one last time.
               Getting up had been difficult. Getting up meant looking reality in the eyes, facing the truth, when all the butterfly-girl wanted was to drown in the emptiness of the memories of what was gone. All that was left was the crowns of flowers, the cold and colorless body, the strange people offering comfort. 
               “How could they know what I’m feeling?“ �" repeated inside herself. The cat had recruited other people, contaminating them with his irrational optimism. How bold!
               “Who can assure me everything is going to be fine?” �" she thought after each hug. 
               The only thing that the butterfly-girl was sure of, at that moment, was that her father was gone forever. No matter how hard she tried, she wouldn’t find him within his books and clothes, not even if she was drunken by his bottle of cologne, those objects, lifeless now, did not contain the essence of what life had taken, so prematurely, from the butterfly-girl. She knew the perfume of what she had lost and she begged for more.

© 2011 Ana Calil


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Added on October 26, 2011
Last Updated on October 26, 2011

Author

Ana Calil
Ana Calil

Uberaba, Minas Gerais, Brazil



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