Bright light is flowing through the windows. Not the soft yellow kind, but the kind of white light that happens when it’s cold and cloudy. The black of my dress clashes with the orange scattered around my living room. The velvety void consumes the warm hue of a pumpkin. And there are many. You insisted on decorating this season, and who was I to stop you. You did so without hesitation– placing a pumpkin in every open space. Some ceramic, made of foam, wrapped in twine, and even made of twig. I can’t help but notice a piece of you in each amber squash.
There’s 4 around the TV. The TV you watch for hours. And the title card of your favorite show is burned into the screen. I close my eyes and hum the theme song, only it’s your voice I hear, not mine. 2 round pumpkins sit at the corners of the fireplace. I see your face, lit by the ember, but it doesn’t exactly look like you. You’re drowning in dads old coat, and your ears are poking out of your cap. You haven’t worn a cap in years. The imagined warmth wraps around me for just a moment before the cold seeps back in; goosebumps grow on my arms. 6 more pumpkins align on the mantle above. They all look identical and I’m sure you made sure of that. The hours you spent shopping were out of character and the surplus of plastic bags are piling under the sink. Above the mantle hung a family portrait. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten a good look at it until now. The typical half smile you give is not seen. It is genuine. Your arm is thrown around me and it’s genuine. I sit down on the couch below me; the cushions give into my fall and the weight of this nightmare.
It’s not fair. Anything you wanted, you made it happen. You wanted to look older, so you wore dads jacket and insisted it fit. You wanted to make mom happy, so you held a smile in scorching summer heat. You wanted to make fall feel like fall again, so you did. All I want is to have you back, but I don’t have your power.
I glance around the room, my eyes burning a little more with each movement. And I count them all several times over.
There are 42 pumpkins in total.
I let my head drop back in finality and I hate it. That word, final. Like the final time you needed me to drive you somewhere, like the final time you slept in your own room. Like the final time you could walk without aid. And the last breath you took.
I turn to my right. 43. A plush pumpkin lays by my side. It lays in your spot. The spot which is plump and untouched. The spot where you should be.
The house is still, but it is not quiet. I’ve never heard anything louder than the echoes of sadness reverberating through the walls of this house. The whisper of what once was embodies that of a family portrait and 43 pumpkins. I allow the cold to consume me and the blazing bright light to blind me. I wonder if maybe… this is how you felt.