Mozart Chronicles: The Fluffy Flower, Pt. 3

Incredulous, I sat up while the moonlight filtered into the room through the cracks in the shade, and looked long and hard at Mozart and the ghost of Fluffy. Finally, Mozart shifted on his feet and said, "Pat!" and then very firmly emphasizing each word, "Write it down."

"Yea yea I will Motzie." I marvelled at the specter of Fluffy snuggled up next to her great love, Mozart. I had never seen a ghost before or since.

And on the second anniversary of her death, we found ourselves coming home that day with arms full of new flowers and once again hanging a pot full of pink flowers up over her nestbox on the stoop. "There it is," Chris said proudly after hanging it, "the Fluffy flower."

"And today is the day you know, July 8th," I said. I knew he hadn't remembered consciously.

"That's weird," he frowned and looked at the flower. That evening we sat on the patio and Chris softly played guitar while I sang the song we had written three years earlier for our Fluffy girl.

Fly away Fluffy fly Away from the pain, away from the hurt
Fly away and don't forget to come back this same day
Be Free Be Free Be Free

It had been six years since Fluffy had died and now Mozart was gone too. We had just moved into our new house and I was making sure that precious photos of them were carefully stored in a safe place. Amid all the boxes to be unpacked, I wanted to put a photo of Mozart, deceased only weeks before, on a nearby box as I unpacked so I could see my dear old friend.

I picked the little framed picture up and noticed again for the umpteenth time, the white blob in the photo above Mozart's head. Gazing absentmindedly at it, I realized I could see the shape of a cockatoo's beak and head and then a dark spot where the eye would be and wings flapping. It was Fluffy! Her spectral image had been in this photo all this time and I had never realized it!

I ran to show the picture to Chris. "Chris look at this white blob right here, do you see this dark spot?" He saw it immediately, "It's Fluffy!" he yelled, "Oh my God!" He gave me a startled hug and both of our eyes misted up. I looked at the calendar and gave another start, "And today is the day!" We looked out at the sizzling hot day and waved to the pink sunset, "Namaste Fluffy! Namaste Mozart!"

I returned to the task of unpacking and carefully unpacked the gold plated mug from Tiffany's which an opera composer had once given to me and in which I had kept Fluffy's eggs all this time. I picked up the egg which sat on top of the two other eggs in the cup. Holding it in my hand, with a sudden sting of sorrow and remorse I realized it was heavy and not hollow like the others. It had been fertile! Inside it were the remains of a baby chick, Mozart and Fluffy's child! I cried suddenly, I had not only lost Fluffy, then Mozart but also their baby who also appears spectrally in the photograph mentioned above with his back toward the camera, just below Fluffy's head as the brightest spot in the picture.

That night I dreamt of a golden haired boy who was trying to call me at work. I didn't want to take the call and my assistant said "it's from a young man who says you met him only right after his father died." I knew it was Mozart's son, who had died in the shell of that egg, contacting me from wherever it was that he and Motz and Fluffy all lived now; Camelot.