The perfume belonged to my mother

The perfume belonged to my mother.

The bottle holding the amber liquid was of fine-cut crystal in the shape of a jewel, with a glass and silver topper. There wasn’t a lot of it left, and I still don’t know why I chose to keep it, or for that matter why I chose to open it today and dab a drop on my wrists. As I usually do on the infrequent occasions I wear perfume, I smelled the back of my wrists and inhaled deeply.

I was not prepared for the wave that shook me. I closed my eyes and let the air around me lift and carry me. As I glided on the warm and gentle breeze, I realized there was no image for my eyes, no sound for my ears, no sensation on my skin. I was overwhelmed by the sweet scent of contentment, security, and calm. It was happiness. I was showered with relief. I do not remember how when or why. But I knew that the smell was my childhood.

My childhood, when I was happy and I was whole.