The Empty Room

The Empty Room

The cheerful nursery though filled with a bed, an oak chest and a multitude of toys, is empty. The rocking chair, silent. Stilled forever like a sculpture cast in stone. The handmade quilt lies cold and properly folded at the foot of the crib.
Lace curtains hang motionless, the window closed tight. The panes, polished to a bright sheen, wait behind the curtains and the woodwork glows and gives off the fragrance of oil soap. The whole room sits like a broken casement clock never to chime again.
The pale, melon colored carpet has a shine to its fibers. Nylon. Practical. The scent of baby powder embedded deep into the backing, causes those who enter this room now, to sob.
The wall paper, which has not been changed in two years, sports a cheerful riot of animals and today the antics of those mute animals look obscene. They are tumbling over each other playing leap frog, and peeking out from under blankets and they are smiling. Too happy, too bright.

A vibration jars the music box. Ping... Strains of tinny music echo from the walls. Thrumm... The tune plays in slow motion, as if aching to be remembered, until the music box runs itself down. Drummm...drum.

For two years this room was the center of the household. Not the warm kitchen where sounds of laughter wafted up through the vents. Not the living room with its straight legged furniture, nor the other bedroom with its huge bed that was wonderful for snuggling and jumping upon.
For two years it brought light to the grown-ups eyes and their voices held joy and raised noticeably, and they found themselves uninhibited and jabbering and sometimes even crawling on the floor pretending to be ponies.
And sometimes, they sat very still in the rocking chair and hummed, and waited for sleep.
The nursery was a room where plush animals were flung from the crib into far corners, and plump pointy fingers demanded their return, and when the furry creatures were retrieved, squeals of laughter filled the room.
Laughter filled the empty room.

Two...short...years.
Peek-a-boo and patty-cake years, and books with thick pages, and tops that spun and dolls that cried and peals of laughter...always laughter...and now this:
Next to the row of framed pictures, a top the chest of drawers, a somber card now stands. Etched on the front of the card are praying hands poised over a delicate cradle.
Inside the card, printed in cursive letters are the words "infant daughter..." and then her name. Her tiny two year old name.

John Pahl's Class Assignment: Describe a space where something has happened. Let us know that something has happened at the space without using dialogue. 1993?