Change

"Light is coming from outside." Said the old lady sitting in her chair by the window.

"You don't like the light?" Asked the young man near her in the room.

"No, it is just too early in the morning for so much light to come into my room. It is too bright and I'd appreciate it if the curtains weren't opened so much, at least until 10 o'clock."

"As you wish madam." Answered the young boy.

"Good." Said she with a weak voice.

"Mind if I ask you something?" The boy wondered for a brief moment.

Turning her head with a slow pace towards him felt like an eternity for the poor boy, even though it was a short moment.

"Yes dear. Ask away."

What a relief he thought. He expected a worse outcome from her mouth with that sharp look that she had.

"If you so hate the light, why do you always sit in front of that window staring far in the outside while the sun is blazing you with hours from morning until lunch?" The boy's voice almost cracked while asking this question. If anyone was there in that room would feel embarrassed with the growing tension between these two different people; The old one staring for a whole minute without answering and the young one with a grave-like face regretting what he had asked.

"Change" she answered, after a long pause.

The boy shook his head in a peculiar manner. Not understanding her.

She went on: "I would sit for hours on our porch waiting for my husband to come home. Every day for two years. I didn't give up. Every morning I would get up, make breakfast: two toasts with loads of butter and one loaf of bread with marmalade, just like he wanted. After that I would make tea from chamomile and get out on the porch where would we drink them together. Place them on the small wooden table that his father made. And just like that I would stare in the far landscapes with my head on his shoulder. When the war came I was still staring in the far landscapes, only this time I would be waiting for his arrival. The sun would burn my skin all day long, but I wouldn't give up. A man would pass by and I would jump immediately from my chair thinking it would be him. Every time it was not.

Of course after a while his cup of tea would get cold and I would pour it left from our house in the grass. As time passed chamomile started growing at that same spot where I would throw away the cold tea.

But still, there was something inside me that made me wait for him all day long, hope never leaving me.

There were days when the sun would go down and I would still be outside. There were days when a storm would hit our small village and I would still be sitting outside all wet and cold imagining that this man is helpless in the outside and that any minute he would come out from those misty shadows in front of me and would yell my name and that I would be right there, ready to save him and comfort him." She made a sudden pause staring outside the window and continued.

"There were days when I would burst in tears alone in my room because he hadn't come home. I would tell myself: Agnes, Agnes what are you doing? Imagine what he must feel in those open fields surrounded by enemies throwing hand grenades and bullets passing alongside him. And you Agnes, you are at home warm and just sitting. I could at least be strong, not for me, but for him in such moments".

After telling this story in one breath the old lady stopped and looked at the boy.

"I am sorry dear boy if I have bored you I didn't mean to."

"No, it's alright madam."

"That's why today is a day of change." She almost said this with a convincing smile.

"I don't want to get up early and sit in front of the window, have the sun burn my skin. Let the curtains be down and let me sleep."

"From what I can see, he isn't coming home."

St. Nicholas Mental Hospital, Louisiana