February 10, 2012
Figment Daily Theme: Through your writing, return to a place that was once significant to you that you've not visited for years. What is clear in your memory? What can't you quite remember? Where are the holes? Go to one of those holes and using what you can remember as clues, invent what might have been there.
In addition to Figment's prompt, recent news inspired this piece.
PlaceDanna
February 10, 2012
Figment Daily Theme: Through your writing, return to a place that was once significant to you that you've not visited for years. What is clear in your memory? What can't you quite remember? Where are the holes? Go to one of those holes and using what you can remember as clues, invent what might have been there.
PlaceDanna
She stands on the uneven grass before her grandfather's grave and lays her flowers down. He was a man who was clear in his actions and affections. He didn't have much use for granddaughters. Or daughters.
Her daughter is playing among the dead, running between the headstones, careful not to step on the graves, as instructed. She is pretending to read the engraved words and says
goodbye to each as she runs. People gathered in small groups smile as she skips past them.
The woman small talks about her iris bouquets and the heat, until she realizes she no longer hears her daughter's singsonging. Time freezes and a small fist pounds inside her ears. She sees the blond halo of her daughter's head and her breath returns. Her daughter is standing silent and completely still twenty feet from her.
Her daughter turns, a serious expression on her small face.
Momma, come here.
The woman calls to her daughter to come back, but her daughter is resolute in her demand her mother come to her. She is ready to join in the game until she recognizes the name on the headstone. Her daughter is standing before the grave of Mr. Schoenfield.
Momma, come here. He wants to say hello.Something close to a scream rumbles through her and she rushes to her daughter, grabs her up, and hurries to the car. Her daughter screams,
I want to go back! I don't want to go! Quiet, she says.
Once inside, she turns the air conditioning on high, and hides her furious tears behind sunglasses. Her hands grip and release the steering wheel.
I don't want to go! I don't want to go! her daughter screams and bucks against her car seat.
The woman thinks to drive to a nearby store and buy a knife, return when the crowds have left for their Memorial Day family picnics. She will leave her child with the sitter and come back and tear the grass over his grave to shreds as warning to stay away from her child.
She is sorry that Mrs. Schoenfield must spend eternity in the ground next to this man.
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