Pink Ribbons
Standing on the covered porch of the old log cabin,she closes her weary brown eyes that are almost
hidden by the lined folds of age.
Humped over from years of arthritis. Her hands
gnarled and twisted with knots and pain. The cane
shakes from the "miseries" she has had since her
eightyfourth birthday. Now, ten years later, all alone,
except for her forest friends and one stray kitten,
Addie lingers at the sunset of her life as the
day dies before her, sending magnificent colors across the
western sky that seem to radiate a message from the
heaven she longs to see. The gentle mountain breeze
whispers "come home." Knowing what lies ahead of her,
she turns, leaving the day to itself, and enters the shadowed
comfort of her tired and tattered home.
The cabin holds no electricity, only kerosene lamps flicker
illuminating limited space. Never needing or wanting
the glare of modern day lighting because it truly hurts her eyes
and is too stark for her liking. She enjoys the quiet glow of a flame
that warms the world around her. Her feet shuffle slowly,
allowing the orange calico kitten to scamper
between her bright red slip-on sneakers
(a present from her great-grandson or was it
the boy down the road).
She moves to the lace covered cedar chest. Her hope chest,
made for her by her pappy many, many years ago, holds
the treasures of a life past. Her white hair, long and braided
down her back, was black as a crow's eyes when she first saw
this chest given to her on her sixteenth birthday. With trembling
hands, Addie removes the dusty knick-knacks collected and kept
for a reason she does not remember. One by one,
she sets them aside, focusing only on opening
the lid to her memories.
Darkness fades all outside light leaving her the cast of
the soft golden sheen of the lamp as she peers into the opened
and aromatic chest. She breathes in deeply, as deeply as
she can since the last bout of pneumonia. The scented wood
sends her into the time of her girlhood. She notices the cracked
mirror she once held as a teenager. Its ivory handle and frame
are smooth and cool. She lifts it to her face and sees not
herself but an old, haggard woman. Addie stares and then smiles.
Her teeth, she has them all, are white. She tends to them
meticulously using baking soda to clean them.
Her mammy taught her that.
Then she sees it. The bundle tied with pink ribbons. Tears well
up in her eyes causing them to glisten. As she fumbles with the
satin strings, she notices the lock of auburn hair entwined in the bow.
Gently she pulls it out, clinches it in her fist and cries. Her tears
fall upon the bundle. With each drop, a stain is left upon
the yellowed paper. Using the hem of her patchwork apron,
she dries her face, stops her crying, and smiles again.
"Dearest Adeline", written in his eloquent style, graces the
face of the envelope that lay beneath the lock of hair.
She pulls the bundle to her breast and clinches it there as
she remembers each day she received each letter. Long ago,
while fighting a foreign war, he would write to her,
telling her only of his love.
She slides her feet toward the quilt covered rocker that
sits at just the perfect angle next to the open fireplace. She
uses the cane to stoke the fire. She lays it down then picks up
the last piece of wood in her home. She tosses it into the burning
embers. A fire blazes, mesmerizing her into a trance. She sits
and looks into the flames. Lost in her memories,
with her husband's letters lying opened
on her soft and ample lap,
she dies, smiling.
kathy lockhart
10/10/06
Short story by Kathy Lockhart
Read 773 times
Written on 2006-10-10 at 02:18
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