The Riddle
by Gail Balentine
She had entered and left through that gate countless times during childhood and beyond. As she went through for this last visit, the usual squeak announced her arrival. She looked at the house and was sad to think of her parents in another place. Even though she and her brother had left years ago, it was still "home" as long as their parents were there.
She walked up the path, into the house, and through each room. Family meals, pets, fights with her brother, Christmas parties, and friends' faces came to mind. And then she remembered the summer of her junior year and sat down on a stair to let her memories play out like a television rerun.
She and her twin brother were 17, filled with thoughts of all the "cool" things they could do if only they had a car. Dinner discussions were dominated by efforts to wrangle the Chevy for Saturday nights.
One particular evening, their father tried to introduce something different. Concerned they were racing so fast they would miss important moments, he cautioned them to pay more attention to details, to really look at their lives and the people and things in it. The advice fell on deaf teenage ears.
Not one to give up easily, the next night he had a proposition. Whoever could solve his riddle in the next week could have the car every Saturday night for the summer. The riddle was: "The answer I seek is a representation of our family, something right in front of you that you see and touch every day, something that speaks when you touch it, and something that I doubt you ever really notice."
Her brother, bragging he could get the car if he solved the riddle, turned to football buddies for advice; they were clueless. She went to the library and looked up famous riddles but after reading them was no closer to solving her father's particular riddle. Both of them put their minds to the task. They searched the house, the car, and the school for answers. she remembered her mother saying it was, hands down, the quietest week since they'd been born.
The deadline came and went with no answers found. No amount of begging got him to reveal any more clues. Instead, he replied that he was confident one of them would figure it out one day and gave them his oft repeated advice: "Just try to slow down a bit and pay more attention to what's going on around you." The episode faded into family lore and while now and then she'd thought about the riddle, time passed and no solution had presented itself.
She stood up and went to check that all doors and windows were locked. The new owners were signing the papers the next day and her father had asked her to make one final round. She sighed as she went onto the porch, stepped down, and paused for a last look around the yard.
Finally, her eyes focused on the gate and there it was-"something right in front of you that you see and touch every day, something that speaks when you touch it"and certainly some-thing she never really noticed. When she was small, her father had replaced the gate pickets with five he had carved to look like a man, a woman, a boy, a girl and a dog - together they were a representation of their family. She lovingly touched each picket before she left.
She was grinning on the way to her car as she reached for her cell phone.....
She walked up the path, into the house, and through each room. Family meals, pets, fights with her brother, Christmas parties, and friends' faces came to mind. And then she remembered the summer of her junior year and sat down on a stair to let her memories play out like a television rerun.
She and her twin brother were 17, filled with thoughts of all the "cool" things they could do if only they had a car. Dinner discussions were dominated by efforts to wrangle the Chevy for Saturday nights.
One particular evening, their father tried to introduce something different. Concerned they were racing so fast they would miss important moments, he cautioned them to pay more attention to details, to really look at their lives and the people and things in it. The advice fell on deaf teenage ears.
Not one to give up easily, the next night he had a proposition. Whoever could solve his riddle in the next week could have the car every Saturday night for the summer. The riddle was: "The answer I seek is a representation of our family, something right in front of you that you see and touch every day, something that speaks when you touch it, and something that I doubt you ever really notice."
Her brother, bragging he could get the car if he solved the riddle, turned to football buddies for advice; they were clueless. She went to the library and looked up famous riddles but after reading them was no closer to solving her father's particular riddle. Both of them put their minds to the task. They searched the house, the car, and the school for answers. she remembered her mother saying it was, hands down, the quietest week since they'd been born.
The deadline came and went with no answers found. No amount of begging got him to reveal any more clues. Instead, he replied that he was confident one of them would figure it out one day and gave them his oft repeated advice: "Just try to slow down a bit and pay more attention to what's going on around you." The episode faded into family lore and while now and then she'd thought about the riddle, time passed and no solution had presented itself.
She stood up and went to check that all doors and windows were locked. The new owners were signing the papers the next day and her father had asked her to make one final round. She sighed as she went onto the porch, stepped down, and paused for a last look around the yard.
Finally, her eyes focused on the gate and there it was-"something right in front of you that you see and touch every day, something that speaks when you touch it"and certainly some-thing she never really noticed. When she was small, her father had replaced the gate pickets with five he had carved to look like a man, a woman, a boy, a girl and a dog - together they were a representation of their family. She lovingly touched each picket before she left.
She was grinning on the way to her car as she reached for her cell phone.....
I love this one, Gail. Your writing always makes me think!
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