Miss Cricket says: Py, I've got a story for today that someone wrote at a recent Joyful Again! retreat for widowed people.
Madame Python: Who wrote it? Wicky, I'm just not going to be listening to something that is sad or boring.
Miss Cricket:
Madame Python: Sorry. Right. Go ahead. If it is good enough, I'll consider publishing it for the author. How's that?
Miss Cricket: Just listen, Py. Here goes...
Charles Dougherty stepped out onto the damp sidewalk in front of his house. He used to hate mornings, but as he had gotten older, he had needed less and less sleep. Now mornings were bright-eyed, early and curiously noisy with the greetings of neighborhood birds calling to one another: "Good morning!" and in return "Good morning!" and yet again "Good morning!"
Charles made it a point to take little adventures on his morning walks wandering around new corners or down to the river. One morning he found himself buying a coffee at a 7-Eleven at the place where Main St. disappears into soy bean fields as Route 16. But no matter his wanderings, he made it a point to always pass 212 E. Euclid.
Every day Charles would look for the telltale white wide brimmed hat that moved from plant to beloved plant in the garden at 212 E. Euclid. Little curls of grey hair framed a pale face with large light blue eyes. The corners of her mouth were perpetually turned up in the slightest of smiles. She wore light green gardening gloves and walked with the help of a cane. Every day she would glance up at Charles from under her wide brimmed hat and smile with her eyes before returning to the care of whatever plant she was coaxing into brilliance. She would listen to each of his neat footsteps as they faded away toward his house on Pine.
Every single morning since mid-March Charles had smiled his toothy smile as he passed 212 E. Euclid - until yesterday. Yesterday started out normal. His heart gathered speed as he began to scan ahead for a glimpse of the white hat busy at work. But no white hat was to be seen. "Maybe she is bending down and I can't see her yet," he thought. And then, "Maybe she has gone to the back for something." And after a bit, "Maybe she is in the house." And finally, "Maybe I am not going to be able to see her today." Charles walked the rest of the way home with his hands in his pockets.
And then yesterday when Charles went to eat lunch, he realized he had forgotten to eat breakfast. He washed a load of clothes with dish washing liquid, brushed his teeth three extra times, and found his slippers in the hamper. He combed his hair one way and then another and then back again. He drove to the store, forgot why and came home via a silent E. Euclid Ave. Trying to read a Miss Marple mystery turned out to be a terrible way of getting to sleep and Charles had been waiting hours when the morning finally arrived.
The damp sidewalks told of the gentle rain that had fallen in the night. Only once at 4:30 in the morning had large drops of rain made tap tapping noises on Charles' windows. The neighborhood birds were slow catching up on the morning's news and Charles was trying to force himself not to rush as he turned onto E. Euclid Ave.
"Where is the white hat?" he craned his neck to see. He walked with equal amounts of deliberation and trepidation. Her pastel dogwood came into view. Then her ruby red rhododendrons. Then her dewy pink azaleas. And then her hat.
Charles bounded forward. She looked up and smiled a broad smile of small gappy teeth. He stood still, smiling, his hands clasped in front of him like a little boy holding a bouquet. She held an empty pink metal watering can with both hands.
The birds called out around them.
"Good morning!" and in return
"Good morning!" and yet again
"Good morning!"
Copyright 2013, Elizabeth Cricken, All Rights Reserved
image credit: http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/591095948/bird-photo-booth-experience-nature-like-never-befo
listen to a finch: http://birds.audubon.org/birds/purple-finch
