The Weaved Path

The entire property was surrounded by 8-foot massive walls that would appear like Grand Canyon walls to a 5-year-old. Ira never liked them.

“Is it open?” Nick asked.

Ira shifted her gaze back to the only entrance: the wrought iron double gates. The rusty lock on the floor, the giant chains that were once used to shackle the gates, were dangling freely.

“We can get in without any hassle.”

Ira exerted all of her weight onto the gate with her hands, trying to push against the ungrabbable stone-cold railings, to make her way towards the main building. The gate creaked.

“Should we head back? This place looks like abandoned ages ago. I don't think whoever you are looking for is here.”

Hearing Nick’s uneasiness, Ira took long strides towards the door belonging to what she remembered to be the main building. Every step she took towards the door left the dry leaves crunching beneath her. This place did give her the creeps, but she wasn’t alone. Ira smiled sheepishly.

Her childhood sweetheart would always come after her no matter where she goes. She wondered how this man managed to break down her iron walls of scepticism and distrust for people and weave his way into her heart. Maybe it was how he foolishly but loyally waited on her to emerge from her 8-year coma. Or how he remained by her even after hearing that she was diagnosed with PTA (Post-Traumatic Amnesia) after her coma.

The doctors, as always, never had an answer to every question. They couldn’t gauge when Ira would wake up from her unconscious state. When she awoke, they didn’t know when she would recover from PTA. But they knew. They knew that as weeks of her PTA passed, the odds of her having a good recovery would diminish. Nevertheless, these things, much to her surprise, never made her man run.

Three months; Ira was stuck in a state of prolonged disorientation, unable to recall crucial information; who she was, her name, who was her family. She had become an alien to her loved ones and herself.

“Ira, is this that place you remembered when you woke?” Nick interrupted her train of thoughts.

“Positive.”

Ira could still feel the lingering touch of someone patting her head when she had first awoken from her 8-year slumber. She had seen a face blurred by the bright opalescent light behind them. The warmth from their touch had enveloped her and in her hazy state, she wasn’t able to distinguish whether it was a dream or reality. However, the doctors confirmed that no one had visited her on that day when she had gained consciousness. Of course, they didn’t believe her non-sane self. However, just a week ago, the recuperating patient could finally make out that face.

“Helena Prisky,” she muttered under her breath.

“What?”

"Her name is Helena Prisky,” Ira said, now louder. “She is the directress of this orphanage.”

“Or was?”

Somehow managing to catch up to her long strides, Nick was now standing beside her.

They were facing this enormous solid, sun-bleached wooden door. It was scratched, dented with chipped brown varnish and spotted with years of water damage. Yet, the 19th-century brass lion head with its mouth gripping the ring still acted its part as the guardian to the home. Reflecting daylight, the lion glimmered with pride and power. Ira got hold of the ring and knocked three times. Threes always a charm.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Nick stared at her in disbelief.

“What? You never know. I don’t want to break in. Yet.”

Being ridiculed for knocking the door of a deserted house, she turned around back towards the gates, waiting for a response.

Her memories of that site came back to her rather vividly. They were standing at the main building which had a small main hall and the directress room. The directress room was to the far right-hand corner and the main hall branched out into the bedrooms of the children. There was another building on the right of the current one which she recalled being the laundry house. The space between the buildings was a yard with a playground. Though now it had fallen to pieces with nothing much left, as a kid she recollected playing there. Helena would stand by her office window, keeping an eye on them at all times. She was a no-nonsense woman. Lovable but strict. She never cut slack for the kids. All the kids looked up to her. She was more like the mother they never had.

Without warning, tears welled up in her eyes. She surprised herself with this sudden emotion that was swelling up in her throat after almost twenty-four years. Ira desperately tried to blink away her tears. She missed Helena very dearly.

Nick cut into the silence.

“Not once did you ever mention your orphanage days. I remember asking when I first met you as a new neighbour. We were, like what? 6 years old? Even the Naumann couple would ask if you miss anyone back from your orphanage. You always avoided that topic and would go silent all of a sudden. Your parents came to understand and never bothered you with that later. They love you with all their hearts. What made you come here now? I figured you hated this place. So, why that tantrum?” She couldn’t blame him for being concerned. She had thrown a tantrum right in front of the doctors.

“You know they were never planning to let me go till I did that. Never believed me till the end. Only when mum stood up, saying she remembered Helena, did they even consider. I should have discharged earlier. Heard them talking. They think I am hallucinating. PTA after-effects.”

Currently, labelled insane. That head-on car collision had done a number on her. A broken head. Thirty percent blood loss. Nearly dead. Diagnosed with TBI (Traumatic Brain Injury). Coma. Eight years of void. She woke with PTA. Memory loss. Uncoordinated newborn-like body movements. Three months of rehabilitation. Now, seemingly hallucinating.

She knew that she was lucky. Other than her head, she escaped the accident unscratched and everything else intact. They said it was a miracle. She had not one single broken bone, only sustained bruises and contusions all over her body. Lucky that car didn’t overturn.

"I know that. But you still need rest," Nick input.

Ira let out a suppressed sigh. He meant well. However, she couldn't hide her frustration. She opened her mouth to refute when the wooden door opened into the black nothingness. Its creaking noise sent shivers down their spines. Both jumped away from the source of the sound with Ira gripping onto Nick’s arm tightly.

“What the h….” Nick paused.

“My apologies. It was never my intention to scare you, youngsters. We rarely have visitors. Can I have your names?” A figure stepped forward.

Ira gazed at the old woman present before her. Her face, deep and sunk, the time had drawn lines on her face. But her litheness and the echo of youth in her speech reminded Ira of someone. She stared at the old eyes. Although ringed with milky-grey cataracts, she could see a fire lit in them filled with stubbornness. These pair of eyes have looked at her numerous times in the past.

“Yurien?!”, “Yurien, is that you?” Overjoyed by the familiar face, Ira rushed towards the woman. She didn’t imagine meeting the half-Korean caretaker after all these years. She could remember getting reprimanded countless times: once when she ran into Yurien holding laundry. Yurien was a warm person. The children loved her. Working together with the Helena, they made this place a haven for the kids.

The old lady squinted her eyes at the excited young lady in front of her. She just couldn’t make out who it was, acting overly familiar and daring to address her first name. Just then, golden rays fell upon the young lady’s eyes, reflecting her deep-set almond eyes with emerald-green orbs. They were glittering like polished green jewels. An image flashed over her: that child of Helena’s. How could she forget?

“Ira? What are you doing here?” Yurien gasped. “After all these years? It’s just like Helena said. I can’t believe this.”

“Thank god Yurien! I am so happy to see you. How is everyone? How is Helena? I miss everyone. This is Nick, by the way, my fiancé.” Ira paused. She caught Yurien staring back with brooding eyes just to gaze off in deep thought. “Yurien?”

“Let’s talk inside.” The caretaker ushered them inside.

The interior was as she recalled, simple and well-taken care. There was a kitchen on the left opening up to a tiny living room with a table, TV and sofa. She didn’t remember it to seem so small now. They made themselves comfortable.

Ira started filling in Yurien about her circumstances. From the accident to her coma.

“So, where is Helena? She isn’t running the orphanage anymore?”

“Don’t worry you will get to meet her soon. Helena, she…” Yurien paused to look over at Nick. Ira understood her hesitation.

“Yurien, it’s fine. It’s fine if he knows.” Yurien nodded and continued.

“You know how Helena finally decided to make you her daughter. However, that day the Naumanns showed up from nowhere wanting to adopt you. Adopting you wasn’t an easy decision for her to make since a hand-full of the higher-ups were against it. After all, it wasn’t a common thing in institutional care. Since no one ever offered to adopt you, she used that as a key factor to persuade everyone to agree. But, on that day of adoption, a couple wanted to adopt you. I know how much Helena loved you like her own daughter. The two of you appeared like a family to others. Even the other kids thought she was your mother. Though not related by blood, there was a resemblance. Was that a coincidence or fate? Broken inside, she didn’t have an excuse now. It was only right to give you away. The couple seemed pleasant. So, she decided,” with that Yurien stood up and went back to her room.

Ira never hated the Naumanns, but she would have stayed with the Helena. Who would listen to a 5-year-old’s wish? Helena never said a proper goodbye. Ira remembered how Helena avoided her eyes when she left. She never attempted to explain or apologize for the turn of events. Ira leaned back on the sofa, head in her hand and let out a hesitant laughter. How would Helena feel if she met her now? Would she grimace at the sight of her? Would she cry tears of relief? Suddenly, Ira had an urged to leave afraid of what is to come. Intuition? The painful lump in her throat worsened.

Nick fixed his gaze on Ira. He might have never met her if Helena hadn’t given her away and that shook him to his core. He moved in to sit closer to her and held her other hand.

Yurien came back holding folded sheets of paper and handed it to Ira.

“What’s this?”

“Read it.”

It was a hand-written by Helena. Ira scanned through it. A will.

“She is passing whatever she owns to ME? What about her family?” Ira was at a loss for words.

Helena was married to a husband.

“Please Yurien. Where is she? I have to talk to her.”

“Follow me,” Yurien monotonously replied.

Ira tailed behind her, out of the main hall and rounded the building towards the yard. They passed the old playground towards a land plot surrounded by spiked, black fences. Helena used to have a small cottage behind the orphanage, but it was past a piece of land. It came back to her once she walked past the gates onto the central lane path. As they were walking down the lane, the stones came to sight; some were cracked and crumbling due to weathering, others covered with mould, some were smooth black marble with new white writing. Rows of tombstones stood erect to the left and right down the lane. Ira used to hate walking down this path to Helena’s house. It was spooky.

“Is Helena well? What does she do these days,” Ira repeated in vain to break the eerie silence.

“You will see,” Yurien muttered.

Ira quickened her pace to leave behind the never-ending graves. She made a note to herself to persuade Helena to leave this place to live near her. That way, she could keep an eye on her. Catching the sight of the small cottage, Ira rushed pass Yurien, leaving Nick with her.

“Helena, it’s me!” she knocked on the door. No response.

“Is she resting?” Ira turned back asking Yurien. She noticed how they were still far off at the entrance. Tracing her steps back, she caught Nick looking at her. Yurien stood there, facing another way.

Suddenly, Nick hugged her. His chin vibrating, “I’m so sorry.” Ira couldn't see he face but, she could tell that he was about to cry.

“Just what?” Ira shifted her gaze to Yurien and traced her gaze to a white marbled gravestone with black engraving. The headstone inscriptions caught her eyes: Helena Prisky, 1938-2005, “The greatest gift in life is love. I hate leaving you behind, but we’ll meet again one day. Live to the fullest.”

“No. No. No. No. No."

Nick hugged her tighter, burying his face onto her shoulders.

Ira’s vision blurred and tears streamed down her cheeks. It came dawning on her. She started to remember. Her voice. Her laughter. Ira will never see her again. Never. She was only left with reminiscing and indulging in what the past was. There was no future for Helena. It was too late. She was too late. She had passed away when she was in a coma. She was wailing as pain clutched her heart and throat. There was nothing she does.

“It didn’t work out with her husband. She decided to move on. She was just too tired. She worked for too long. Helena passed away in her sleep Ira. It’s been 5 years. Natural death. She wanted you to look after this land. She said that you could do whatever you wanted with her place.”

Ira cried and cried in her lover’s arms for what seemed like aeons.

---

There was a face, with a blur of opalescent light behind them. The warmth of the touch had enveloped her. “You are very dear to me. I will always be there with you.” the voice trailed off. Ira blinked. She was lying on the sofa, on Nick’s laps who was asleep. She had cried herself to sleep. Disoriented, she tried to pull herself up.

“Awake?” Yurien was there, sitting right across her.

“That young man is kind. You never get to meet such souls these days. Helena will be pleased to meet him,” she gestured towards Nick. “He never left you.”

"I know.”

“Ira, you should come back again to complete the technicalities. You should leave now.” Yurien stood up. Nick stirred from his sleep.

Leaving the main hall, they walked back alone towards the iron gates. Nick had his fingers interlocked with hers all along walking ahead of her.

“ Ira, let’s get married.”

Ira halted to look at him. “What?”

“Let’s get married,” Nick repeated, bringing the back of her interlaced hand to rest on his heart.

She can’t turn back the time she had lost. She nodded her head slowly. Ira had to allow herself to be loved by those dear to her. She had to return that love and that was all that mattered.