Done-yet another one: GRAYING ASHES

I’m lying in bed, near enough, not too near Ben to rouse or arouse him.
The AC vents are open. I am comfortable in my shorty cotton p.j.s. Moonlight squeezes thru the Venetian blind slats that are not tightly closed. My eyes are getting heavy and I succumb, let the result take me back to where I was most of the afternoon, sorting old memories, faded photos in black and white. The pressed flowers I trash, report cards I keep.

 

Guests are doing the Bunny Hop, laughing at somebody’s Bar Mitvah. I try to remember who’s party it was but can’t. My father comes over to me and asks me to dance with him. I take off my patent leather Mary Jane shoes, hand them to my mother, then stand on my Daddy’s feet. He goes in circles, round and round the other dancers until we both are dizzy. He sits me down at our table and asks my mother to dance. ‘Sit there. Don’t go anyplace,’ he tells me. I sit. They look pretty. I wave to them and they wave back.

 

Something is crawling up my back. It makes me nervous. I twitch, turn over, look at Ben. He doesn’t feel the tiny tap I give him and sleeps on. I open my eyes and there is Katy. What’s wrong, Honey. Are you sick?’

‘No, I’m scared, Mommy. Can I get in bed with you and Daddy?’ ‘You must have had a bad dream,’ I explain. ‘Did Bad Robert throw stones at you again?’ Katy looks angry. ‘No, Mommy, somebody was in my room, a man, older than Daddy, was standing near me, was ready to take me away.’ With all the kidnappings, murders in the news every day, I am frightened too. I turn on the bed lamp, wake Ben and show him the hush hush finger. ‘Wake up. Katy saw a man in her room. Go check!’

 

Ben is groggy and makes fun of Katy and me. ‘Honest Injun, Daddy. There was a man in my room. He was very old, smiled at me but didn’t say anything. Then he walked out and didn’t even close my door.’ ‘Ben, maybe he is still downstairs. Maybe we should call the police. Katy wouldn’t make up such a story, would you, Kate?’ Instead of being careful, Ben puts Katy on his shoulders and gives her a ride back to her bed. She starts to cry. ‘No, Daddy. Let me stay with you and Mommy. I’ll be quiet. Of course, we let her cuddle between us until morning.

 

I’m the first awake. With trepidation, I go downstairs. Nothing is out of order. The morning is totally normal. By two I open  the last memory carton. The photos are much like those in the arranged boxes except on these everyone looks a lot older. My mother’s gray hair is dyed a nice Titian red that belies her wrinkled face. My dad is almost bald and should have bought a hair piece. He still stands tall, erect. I kiss them both, and leave them on the floor when Katy comes home from pre-school. She gives me a quick hug and heads to the kitchen for her milk and cookie treat.  Like a nanny goat, I follow her, enjoy our private time. She tells me what games the class played and shows me how she  can now write her name in block letters.

 

‘How about helping me a little today, Honey Pie? I can use a smart gal like you. Race you to the den!’ She takes the short cut thru the dining room and beats me. ‘Katy, I’m almost finished straightening all the old pictures of Dad’s family, mine and ours. Look at these really old ones before I put them in a special plastic bag. This was my grandfather. He loved me so much. Oh, my. I remember that cane he is holding. I wonder what happened to it.’ Nostalgia is rising in my heart, my throat, my eyes. Loving tears form.

 

‘Mommy, don’t cry,’ Katy says. ‘I know where that cane is.’‘What did you just say, Dear? Where is it. It’s not in this house for sure.’ Katy doesn’t hesitate. ‘Oh yes it is, Mommy. The man who came into my room last night looked just like your grandfather and he was holding that cane.’

 

‘Stop this nonsense, Katy or I’ll have to stop the cookies after class. My grandfather has been dead for 25 years. You could not have seen him.’

 

Katy takes my hand and leads me to her room. She opens her closet door and there is the cane, leaning against her snow boots. My knees turn to rocks. I can’t walk. Katy picks it up and hands it to me. I feel its strength, touch the carved wood antlers and poof it turns to dust in my hands. 

 

I get a dust pan, clean up the mess and put it into a clean empty mayo jar, close it tight and put it in with the old memories. Then tape the boxes shut.