Old Miss Gracing by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Chapter 21
Since Bonnie was always there to dispense good advice, ask the right questions and help with little Bonnie the others unconsciously took the blessing somewhat for granted, until 1981, when five year old Bonnie came running back to the main house screaming, “Mommy, daddy. Gramma fell to the floor and I can’t get her up.”
She was diagnosed as having inoperable lymphoma at the age of 81. Never one who felt at ease with sympathy, the first thing she said, when the three Carmichaels visited her at the hospital, was; “I can’t stand this idiot Reagan and really don’t want to see the rest of the garbage he’s bringing with him anyway.”
They brought her back home and many days she was perfectly fine. They’d use the opportunity to ask her everything they could think of and everything they could anticipate encountering in the future. She quickly noticed what they were doing and felt very warm and flattered, but often tried to divert the conversation to music, things about everyday life and Bonadea’s progress in kindergarten.
Bonnie struggled to give every outward appearance of being in good health for some time. She took little Bonadea on many
of her river walks, which became shorter by the week. On one trip, gramma said; “Do you like school?”
Little Bonadea emphatically said; “Yes,” as if it were the silliest question she ever heard.
“What do you like about it?”
“Everything,” she paused a few seconds and added; “I like the teacher. I like the kids...... just everything.”
They walked in silence a few minutes, when little Bonadea got another insight. “I like to hear the other kids’ thoughts about things.”
With tongue somewhat in cheek, gramma said; “I can see that you’re not going to need as much instruction as some I have known.”
“You mean Mom and Dad?”
Gramma laughed, felt a direct answer was inappropriate and for the first time told her little friend; “You can’t think like that.”
Bonnie didn’t know exactly what that meant, but couldn’t come up with a question, either. So, she stuck it in her mind and saved it for future reference.
Zeke and Morrigan saw Bonnie revert to childhood. A few times, she seemed to think that she was about ten years old talking to her mommy and daddy, telling them about all the exciting things that happened at school that day, sometime in
1910 and telling them all the new things she had learned that day. This would abruptly end when she got the presence of mind back, to realize what she had been doing. She would laugh, somewhat embarrassed and follow it with; “I guess I liked school.”
The inevitable happened on a mild winter day.
It was a bright pretty morning. Zeke was staring at the mountain, probably in an effort to get some kind of idea.
Morrigan had taken little Bonadea to do the weekly shopping.
Zeke noticed that it was already noon and he has not yet seen any signs of Bonnie. Suddenly he was certain. He walked 50
feet to Bonnie’s bright red door and knocked. He knocked again, getting no answer. He used his key to open the door slightly and called out “Bonnie”. When he again got no response he opened the door fully and he saw her lying on the couch in front of her television, which played nothing. Her right hand was on her stomach holding her picture of the wilting cut red rose in a waterless clear jar. He went numb. He didn’t feel shocked, but he was. He didn’t feel sad, but he was. He knew that today was coming, but he didn’t know when that would be, maybe unconsciously hoping that tomorrow would never come. He wondered how painful it was for her and if she knew a bit beforehand. What would she have been doing and thinking about if she knew it was her last few hours? He had no clue. He
closed her big blue eyes, which were moist, with the pupils gazing as highly upward as they could. He was surprised that they looked curious and anticipatory. He saw no fear. He held her still warm hand against his cheek. His numbness left and he cried, thinking of all the good things he wished for her. He regretted not having taken more pictures and then smiled at the inconsequentiality of that, as all her pictures were burned into his memory.
He remembered their first meeting, the tea he shared at her apartment and the walks through the debris by the river in Bayonne. He pictured himself alone there, looking over the flowing water and in his head Bobby Darrin sang; “S omewhere Beyond the Sea.”
Funeral arrangements were made. As far as the coroner and funeral director were concerned her legal name was Eloise Gracing. Morrigan and Zeke put up no argument.
Her body was on view all day Friday and was to be buried Saturday morning. The place was empty and that made the family of three decide to spend the entirety of the day there. They’d periodically walk over to the coffin and look at Bonnie’s face; taking something they’d see in her expression to ignite an old memory. Zeke kissed her cold cheek and put the small cut rose picture in her hand. The trio went home for the night.
The burial was scheduled for 10:00 AM and the family arrived at seven, unable to pull themselves away from the coffin, touching Bonnie’s face and hands, unsuccessfully trying to keep their composure.
Someone entered the room and said, “Time to go.” Zeke started to cry uncontrollably and he infested his two companions. He remembered Miss Gracing reassuring the five year old crybaby and how, now, 27 years later, he still was the same, but without her. Morrigan and Bonadea kissed her cheek, touched her hand and said; “Bye.”
Zeke touched the picture of the cut rose in her hands. He kissed her cheek, forehead and lips, finding difficulty letting go of the hand she extended to him a million years ago. He’d never remember how he was eventually taken away from Bonnie and had no memories of the rest of the day. Maybe he was with her in some other time.
Bonnie’s cabin was kept as it was naked sword dancer and all. It became little Bonadea’s play house, which was convenient for Zeke and Morrigan, as the child became responsible for keeping the place clean. The two adults regarded the little house as more of a museum, always seeing it in good order and spending time there looking at objects that previously had escaped their attention, often picturing and talking about what
they guessed the day and Bonnie’s situation was like when the artifact was acquired.
One sunny afternoon the trio came across a black and white photograph, hidden in the space between the wall and a lighting fixture. It was of young Bonnie and Hector, sitting on a simple wooden bench in front of an adobe house, on a bright, cloudless warm day. She wore a sheer, ruffled, white, ankle length summer dress. Her long black hair was partially covered with a gigantic, silly straw hat and her feet were bare. Hector was even more casual in a probably red, button-up “work” shirt, open to the lower chest and jeans that looked like he was recently playing in the mud. She had her mouth open saying something and her left arm was pushing his right shoulder. Each was laughing uproariously at something only they will ever know. This was the way Zeke, Morrigan and little Bonnie all wanted to remember her.
They had the photo enclosed in a simple, unstained wooden frame and hung it over a kiva in their living room.