The Sound of the Steamer Iron

The Sound of the Steamer Iron - A Short Story

The reddish morning sunlight was scattered here and there in the room, and I was looking at my father's old steamer iron lying on the table.

"Abba, how does this work?" I asked.

He smiled. "You see?" He poured water into the iron and pressed the button. Steam rose, and the wrinkles in the cloth disappeared.

"That's just like life, son," he said. "With heat and steam, you can remove every wrinkle."

I picked up the iron. In his hands, it used to feel completely different, light and easy. In my hands, it felt heavy. Maybe because his hands had held it for years.

Today, he is no more. But whenever I use the steamer, along with the steam, his smile rises and spreads through the room. The wrinkles disappear, and I feel him close to me.