Usually I don’t make wishes, but I wish that Sunday, I had ditched work to visit Anna. I only telephoned her on my lunch break (video store job), a measly “get well” through the wire. They think she knew. She told my brother something like advice, one last piece of her experience. Anna sounded herself on the phone; despite having that stale cough that was two months passed its sell-by date. Three mornings later that following Wednesday, although her heart still beat, she wouldn’t wake up. Having not felt the sensation of surprise these passed few years, I was surprised: the sort of shocker that occurs when a sudden noise at night is heard. I skipped class that morning to visit her. But she didn’t seem like the Anna who I grew up with; She looked slimmer for a round woman, as if gravity was pulling her, flattening her onto that rolling bed, the years on her face spilling quietly onto the sheets. And where was her glow ? The man wearing a medical mask couldn’t be certain what was going on with Anna, and would not until several confusing days later. He told us that we might need to prepare. We stayed for more than ten shifts of the hour hand, and Anna still slept without waking. Because night fell, we drove home. I was in the kitchen soon after we returned, when they called. Anna had moved on, the rhythm in her chest stopped. That prickle of surprise began to overwhelm me again, so much so, that I never did cry, not ’til recently one evening when I fell sympathetic with a television character. I never got to talk with her face-to-face, the last moment being a month and a half ago. And although born with a sweet tooth, I’ve seldom found any sugar granules in the sorrow of her parting. I should have ditched work that day, to receive something like one last piece of her experience.
“Did you bring my CD ?” — “Be good” — “Go to bed earlier” — “I love you all”
20 July 1932 – 5 April 2006
Copyright© | B.Meddlesome | 16 Février 2008