INSTEAD OF WINGS, A BOOMERANG BEHIND MY BACK
“Ill ruin you all! Youll see!” screamed my brothers wife, her words echoing down the hall like an air raid siren.
“For what, Laura? I gave you the full amount. What more do you want from me?” My mother, bewildered and worn, stood her ground.
“And wheres that written, eh? Where are the witnesses? The receipt? You and Sam owe us half that flat!” Laura was adamant, barring the doorway.
“Enough, Laura. Off you go, please. I witnessed the handover. Is that good enough for you? Oh, and pass my regards to my brother. He really should keep you in check. And dont come back,” I stepped between them, the tension thick enough to cut. Mum stood defenseless.
“Youll regret this, mark my words! Ill go to a psychic, curse you all!” Laura shrieked, storming out.
After Dad died, Mum sold the old house in the countryside and moved in with me, into my three-bedroom flat in Bristol. I was widowed already, raising my five-year-old son, Edward. Welcoming Mum was easyit brought a kind of comfort to our household.
“Mary, will you mind if I give half the house proceeds to Sam? Hes my son, after all. Lauras been going on at him, saying he doesnt provide, hes useless,” Mum looked at me, hopeful.
“Oh, Mum, no trouble at all. Of course, give it to him. Its only fair,” I said, genuinely believing it.
We invited Sam and Laura over. Mum put the money in Sams hands, plain and simple. Two years later, Laura was back, demanding more and more, raining threats and curses. I threw her out, locked the door, and tried to forget her. Years passed; my brother and Laura became like strangers to us. It was as if a black cat had crossed our path, and ever since, troubles poured over us like an endless storm. Sorrow pursued uslike the old saying, you flee from grief only to find it waiting on the riverbank.
Mum became bedridden. I fell ill, inexplicably. Edward broke out in weeping eczema. Misfortune made itself at home: in our medicine-stained flat, everything broke, crashed, and shattered. The old wall clock stopped at midnight. Forced to retire as a police officer on my years of service, I had planned to work longer, but I needed to care for Mum and treat Edward. Strangely, money slipped through my fingers.
Our flat turned into a sanctuary for violetsI grew them everywhere, multiplied them, sold them at the weekend market. Those dainty flowers saved us from debt; violets sold briskly.
Once a year, relatives would visit for a week. They brought us clean but worn clothes, groceries: beef, pasta, rice, flour We were grateful for everything. When they left, the cycle started again.
Poverty, ailments, apathy.
To fend off despair, I broke ground for a flower bed outside the blocks entrance. In spring, I sowed seeds. Simple blooms sprouted: snapdragons, stocks, marigolds. That little patch became my sole lifeline.
One day, Michaela neighbourpaused by my flower bed, examining it:
“Afternoon, Mary! How about I sponsor some flowers for you? Fill the place with beauty, let everyone envy your blooms,” he said, handing me money, slipping it into my robe pocket.
“Go on now, you lovely gardener! Dont be shy. You bring joy to us all,” Michael encouraged.
With new funds, I bought exotic flowers and shrubs. My garden blossomed into a riot of colour. The neighbours gasped and cooed at the paradise Id conjured.
Michael, stopping often, would marvel: “Only a good soul can make flowers grow so wild.”
He offered sweets, chocolate bars, ice cream: “All for your tireless hands, Mary.”
His gestures stirred something gentle inside mea kindness I hadnt known for years.
Time passed, and things gradually improved at home.
Mum, with treatment, recovered and grew cheerful again. Edwards skin cleared. Suddenly, I felt like a woman in delicate lace, wanting to love and be loved regardless of autumns approach.
Having watched his grandmother suffer, Edward decided to be a doctor. He entered medical school easily, worked shifts in the hospital, then assisted in surgeries. Soon, neighbours sought him for diagnosis, injections, infusions.
Edward became an anaesthetist.
Together, we repainted the flat. Edward bought a used foreign car. He planned to marry his colleague, Lucya cardiologist. Life, finally, felt calm and steady.
Out of the blue, Laura rang, her voice hoarse: “Hello, Mary. Could you visit me? Im laid up in hospital.”
I went to the address. In a shared ward, I found Lauras bed.
“Whats happened to you, Laura?” I asked, startled by her haggard eyes.
“It happened like this, Mary… My husband and I were walking in the woods. We found a human skull in the grass, brought it home. Cleaned it, varnished it, made an ashtray out of it. Six months later, your brother died in a crash. Two months after thatour son was found dead in a garage, drinking with his mates. Now Im sickpneumonia. Oh God, why did we bring that cursed skull home? Thats when the misfortunes began,” Laura sobbed heavily.
“No, Laura, it started when you went to psychics and witches. The skull was just another consequence,” I replied, unable to hold back. She’d brought so much darkness to our family.
“Youre right, Mary. I confess. I cursed you, sent ill wishes. My anger was like black tar. In the end, I condemned myself to loneliness. Forgive me. Lets forget those wretched quarrels. Once, I had wings behind me; now theres only a boomerang. I feel its burn,” Laura slumped, quietened, grieving.
I told Edward everything. He was moved:
“Mum, lets transfer Aunt Laura to my hospital. Shell be looked after properly. Shes still family.”
“Yes, son,” I forgave Laura completely. She needed compassionleft alone with her sorrow, having lost her husband and son.
Michael, living one floor up, made his proposal:
“Mary, why dont you move in with me? Well keep each other company. Youre a widow, Im a widower. Therell be plenty to talk about. What do you say?”
“Yes, Michael,” I said, not quite believing in this unexpected happiness that warmed my soul and lit up my days.
Mum smiled for me: “See, Mary, your fate was always close, quietly waiting for you. You earned this happiness.”
Laura recovered quickly and asked to visit. Should I invite her? Ill talk to Edward and MichaelI hesitated, the memory of her venom trembling at the edges of my heart. But Mums gentle hand touched mine.
“Invite her, Mary,” she whispered. “Healing grows in unexpected placesjust like your violets.”
So, I did. We brewed tea, set out biscuits, and when Laura came, her eyes softened seeing the garden and the filled roomslife renewed, hope blooming. She wept quietly, and I wept with her, not out of pity but relief, for old bitterness at last had faded.
Michael poured tea for all of us, laughter rising gently, like spring sunlight after a long frost. Edward and Lucy joined us, their faces bright with youth and promise. Mum, her hair silver and her smile serene, watched the grandchildren chase petals across the hallway.
Outside, my flower bed glowed with colour. Neighbours passed by, calling greetings, and I felt the gentle presence of peaceearned, lost, and returned.
As evening gathered, Laura pressed my hand: “Thank you, Mary. You taught me that kindness turns curses to blessings. Sometimes, even a boomerang comes back bearing forgiveness.”
I smileda new chapter open, old wounds closedknowing that sorrow is only a shadow where love can grow.
And all around, violets shimmered in the dusk, proof that beauty persists, if you let it.
