Francine
Francine woke up in a panic. It was her eightieth birthday, and it had suddenly occurred to her that it wouldn’t be too terribly long before she died. Actually, that part wasn’t a sudden realization. What was, though, was that all the things she knew and felt and had experienced would disappear with her heartbeats when she passed.
All the stories and memories and knowledge about Native Americans and sod houses, and weaving, and making linen from flax were all in her brain and would all just go “pzzzt” and leach away into the ether when her body’s electrical circuits went dark. Everything she knew or experienced or dreamed would be gone like an Etch a Sketch turned upside down and shaken.
There was to be a party in her honor that day, but she had other things on her mind, which was the whole point. She called her son, and he arranged it. A camera, lights, microphones, and two chairs. One by one her children and grandchildren and friends and neighbors and even a police officer, who was brought in for his expertise at interviewing, sat in one of the chairs while Francine reigned like a queen on the other. It was like a daytime talk show set.
Everyone had to ask ten questions of Francine, and she answered them in great and glorious detail with texture and joy and colors and sounds and feelings that had been somewhere down deep inside for decades. Hours passed and all the partygoers gathered around, transfixed by her sharing of her life, her knowledge, her experiences, her loves, her passions, her angers, and her hopes.
The questioners took up the challenge to find keys to open the pathways in her memory and in her heart and in her soul. After many hours cake was served, Happy Birthday was sung, and presents were opened, even though she hadn’t asked for any. People stayed and stayed, and the conversations continued with cell phone cameras running the entire time so as not to miss a thing. At bedtime she was so tired, but her mind was flitting around here and there and now and then and him and her and so many things. She smiled when she thought it would be really something if she died in her sleep that night. It would be like tying her life up in a bow.
In case you were wondering, she didn’t. She made more memories.
No comments:
Post a Comment