The Smallest Parallel

Chapter 11

Now, you must be thinking that I've gotten the story mixed up. You likely believe that this is an unreliable narrator scenario. Let's take a step back to Marguerite's doctor's appointment. Back to the moment when she walked out of the door and toward Adrien's car.

            She knew at once that Adrien would begin by asking her a series of questions that she wasn't quite ready to answer. Holding the door handle, she considered what she might say in this situation. She'd never been asked for medical information before, and she'd certainly never been a patient. She'd never even been around cancer. Everyone in her life had died due to the choices they made.

            Maria had died because of complications with her health five years after she had decided to go out and purchase groceries around the same time that Gwyneth had been driving home drunk. Gwyneth had died due to her choice to be an alcoholic who gambled not only with money but also with her life. Marguerite did not choose to have cancer. She didn't understand what she had done to deserve this. She didn't see life as random; she believed in karma and in some sort of cosmic balance. She must have tipped the scales some way.

            Perhaps she should have listened to Geoffrey when he told her that life was, indeed, a series of random occurrences and choices that branched off into different paths when set into motion. She didn't understand why it was so hard to let go of the idea that life pushed one in specific directions and that those who got sick in this way must have done something to deserve it. She never saw her own beliefs as absurd, even though she believed in witchcraft and fairies. There had even been a brief period during which she had believed in Roman mythology, but that's besides the point.

            Marguerite had never considered herself a bad person, and she didn't believe that she was deserving of cancer. She'd spent her entire life keeping to herself and attempting to be a true neutral, attempting to be a part of her own universe rather than the one she was born into.

            She pulled open the door to Adrien's car and sat down in the passenger seat, waiting for him to speak.            

            "Marguerite," he said softly, "Would you like to share the news."

            She didn't speak. In fact, she remained silent for the entire drive home. When they arrived at her farm house, she planted a light kiss on Adrien's cheek and told him that she would explain everything at a later date.

            Marguerite ran inside and walked down the hallway of illusions. In the middle of the hallway, she pulled the string that hung down from the ceiling, revealing the ladder in the attic. She peered up into the black, wondering if this was the right time to open the door into the past.

            She put one foot on the bottom rung and tried to gather the strength to climb. She placed her left hand onto a higher rung and pulled herself up, bringing herself closer to the darkness and to the things that she had dreaded exploring for so long. She was uncomfortable, but this night was unfolding in such a way that she didn't care. She was fright, nervousness, and bravery all packaged in a floral dress and a pair of loafers.

            She finished her climb, flicking on the light switch and revealing the largest collection of dust bunnies living in a single space. She choked on the air as she bent over, compacting her body so it would fit under the low ceiling. The dust scattered as she made her way toward the trunk at the back of the attic.       

            The trunk was just as she remembered it when it sat beneath the window sill in Maria's room, the only room in the house that was now permanently locked and retired from use. She had turned Gwyneth's room into a dark room so she could develop her pictures.