She stood in the middle of the apartment, as if for the first time. She liked to do that once in a while. Even now… Most people would probably consider the place messy: a hoarder’s space. Maybe… the shelves were packed with books, the walls layered with picture frames that featured things so different one might have wondered if there was any purpose in it. A place that resembled its owner: eclectic, wild. Like the crazy cowboy boots that crowded the dressing. Did anyone truly need this many? Most certainly Holly would have answered: one of each colour to wear with different outfit. One couldn’t decently mix red boots with an orange skirt for example, you had to wear brown or black… No one of each colour definitely was necessary. She loved her boots.
It was the photo albums Haether loved the most though. She picked one and laughed. There was a photo of her at the back. She didn’t like her photo taken, but this was a candid shot that she liked. She flipped through the pages… a moorhen on a lake, stairs of colours from somewhere in Europe, an elephant in India, a photo of her mother on the elephant laughing as if she were the happiest woman in the world. Another photo… she knew that one: a wild love affair with an Italian dandy in Roma. Symbolized here with a wooden souvenir and 2 roses. She couldn’t remember what it was exactly and she couldn’t see well enough on the photograph but she knew it was there somewhere in this treasure trove.
So much love in the photos, such happiness. Her mother had embodied these things despite everything . In spite of or maybe because of the Damocles’ sword over her head, Holly had embraced, embodied the concept Carpe Diem. Ever since the diagnosis, she’d tried everything she’d always wanted to do but never did because it wasn’t proper, because she shouldn’t, because… whatever excuse she and society could find. And this apartment, its content, the memories it held, they were her true legacy to Heather. At least that was what she told her daughter. To make memories, to live life before it’s over. She only had the one. She should make it worthwhile. And that had nothing to do with utilitarianism and everything to do with love and laughter and wildness and dreams. Yes, her mother’s apartment was a place of dreams made true by their dreamer.
In response to Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie’s prompt #153 collage #20