I led Felix to the back of the library, to a secluded spot meant only for solitary reading. Dim light radiated like a conclave of fireflies from the antique lamp, which waited intently for whatever secrets Felix's notebook held. We seated ourselves in overstuffed cerise chairs, feeling solace from their snug depths.
The soft sounds of snowflakes hitting the window provided a calming atmosphere to languish in the mysterious confines of Felix's notebook.
I opened Felix's notebook with anticipation and began to read.
"I grew up in a world filled with the magical stories of JK Rowling, CS Lewis and Roald Dahl. My first memories of my parents are them reading me Room on the Broom by Julia Donaldson. My father would read the book and my mother would voice the characters.
As I grew older, the stories they read me grew more intricate. We went from picture books to novels. From stories of little girls with horrible parents but huge intelligence, to young wizards with emerging magic.
My mother's name was Charlize. With her Rapunzel-like blond locks and delicate features, her appearance seemed to denote a damsel in distress from a fairy tale.
But that was not the truth. My mother was fierce, kind and determined with a wicked sense of humour. She was endlessly reading and studying. She was a university lecturer who studied Shakespeare.
My father's name was Alistair. Where Mother was fair, Father was dark, with a serious, furrowed brow.
Where my mother was the court jester, my Father was the solemn knight. He loved ancient Greek mythology and would pour over his volumes intently.
We never had much, but what we lacked in money, we made up for in imagination. They instilled in me my love of books and libraries.
I was fourteen on the day my life changed forever. We were travelling on our way to school, when an out of control vehicle veered off the gravel and collided forcefully with us. I saw the moment happening as if I was frozen - my confused mind was unable to successfully process the situation. Before I knew it, I felt a sharp pain in my head and then the world went black.
On the day I woke up, I was greeted by two sympathetic looking doctors. They told me that I had sustained such a serious head injury that I had been in a coma for over two weeks. They told me that my parents had not survived the car accident.
I had survived, but I was no longer the same. I know you must have noticed that I don't communicate by talking. I write things down. The doctors call it traumatic mutism. Something in my brain was damaged during the accident. The doctors don't know if I will ever talk again.
I went to live with my mother's brother, Uncle John. He's a really good guy. Once he realised I couldn't talk, he handed me a pen and paper and left it at that.
So that is where I end my tale, Ella. I feel relieved to be able to tell someone this. Thank you for listening to my story."
I closed the book with a sense of finality and looked at Felix, who was staring intently at me. He had an expectant expression, as if waiting for me to speak.
I could tell by his intense gaze that it was imperative that I say the right thing at this point. But what were the right words to say at a time such as this?
Soundtrack
While I was writing this chapter, I was listening to:
Comments