If she had come home too soon, she would have known it by the shouting coming from the house. But the home remained quiet, and looked abandoned and sad. Instead, Sylvia had arrived home too late. It wasn’t on purpose. She had tried to make plans to come home; tried to make time; tried to make up excuses. Her mother would always forgive her, and that was enough.
The sun warmed the roses; their scent lingered in the air. The aroma reminded Sylvia of sweeter times; summer nights on the front porch swing, and warm conversations. It was a different world back then; back before she had been captivated by the promises of freedom. A three-month tour with the Brooklyn Dance Company, lasted eleven years. Sylvia wished she had made more of an effort to return now.
Lifting her pocketbook from the back seat, Sylvia closed the door of the rental, and locked it up with a beep. Not that she needed to protect her belongings here; there wasn’t a living being for miles. The silence was almost deafening. The only sounds were the birds flying overhead. The same birds she had watched as a girl. Sylvia always wondered why she couldn’t fly away with them.
Now, she envied those birds. She resented the time they had spent with her mother. Knowing, they had been the smart ones for returning every Spring. She wished she had followed their example. Walking down the dusty walk, Sylvia entertained the idea that her mother was inside fixing an apple-pear pie, and would be at the door to greet her. The thought had the opposite effect than she had hoped. She found herself standing before the door with tears in her eyes.
“Sylvia? Is that you?”
Her father’s shallow voice struck Sylvia by surprise. The old screen door scraped against the wooden porch as it opened. A sound that would have once drove her crazy, now just sounded right. Her father embraced her with desperation; such desperation, that Sylvia felt an extra dose of guilt for having been gone for so long.
“I’m glad your home Pumpkin. Come on inside.”
The house had not changed much over the years. The same old pictures hung on the walls. Lace doilies, and candy dishes decorated the end tables. Sylvia had always thought them to be old-fashioned. In fact, she thought everything in this small town was old-fashioned. Now it seemed peaceful, and serene. The sun shined brightly through the window, and Sylvia caught a glimmer of something silver.
“It’s a music box.” Her father lifted the music box, and then placed it in front of Sylvia. “When you left for New York, your mother missed you so much. I saw this silver music box at the gift shop in town. When I showed your mother, she began to smile. She said, “It’s Sylvia’s ballet box”, and anytime she wanted to watch you dance, she would open it.”
Sylvia watched as her father’s frail hands lifted the lid of the box. Inside the velvet padded silver box was a ballerina in white. “You see, she even has your hair color. When your mother was feeling low, she would open the box, and watch you dance. You don’t know the joy you brought her over the years; twirling in that silver box.”
Sylvia smiled, and then held the box to the light. She wound up the music box, and the simple music began to play. The notes hit high and low; the tiny ballerina graced them with a twirl. “Now…” she said feeling some comfort, “I will watch her dance in Heaven.”