Memories - A Short Story

You turn on the radio, twisting the dials left and right, looking for the old-timey songs you enjoy listening to. It's your mother’s radio, and your son fixed it up to you for your forty-fifth birthday. It reminds of being a child when your mother would give you a piece of cookie dough to bake as played in the kitchen, a static-y voice singing on the radio in a language you didn’t understand. You carefully place the radio on its designated shelf. Next to it is your father’s pocket watch and your grandfather’s compass. The pocket watch is a family heirloom, and you plan to give it to your daughter, Emma for her fourteenth birthday next fall. Your grandfather's compass you plan to give to your son, who aspires to be a swimmer. You hope it will give him direction in life, just like it gave to you.

You pull out a threadbare rag that was once a part of Emma’s bib. You can see the faded outlines of a jumping cow. It reminds of you when your children were toddlers whom you could swing around and cuddle. You wet it, the gushing water cooling your skin. You methodically wipe it across the kitchen counters, wiping away the fallen sauces and drops of ice cream and coke the children hastily poured out for a movie night with their father. You can hear the shooting of blasters and suspect it’s a Star Trek rerun.

Emma steps into the kitchen like she does every night. She opens the fridge and pulls out two chocolates. They’re both white chocolate, something you and her love, and your husband and son hate. She offers one to you, and you take it. For a minute, you both enjoy the sweetness of the chocolate and each other’s company in silence. Tonight, she offers to braid your hair, which is falling out of your messy bun. She carefully undoes the bun, letting your brown-red hair fall to your waist like a cascading waterfall. She deftly tucks the strands, and carefully braids your hair. It reminds you of your older sister, who always made sure she looked beautiful for all her parties. They had the same thick, wavy hair which had wandered in from another part of their family. Emma finishes the braid with a flourish and smiles in satisfaction.

She kisses you on your cheek and leaves the kitchen. It takes you a second to realize that Emma no longer had to stand on her toes to reach you. Your heart aches a little as you realize that your children are growing.

You clean the cloth and step outside the kitchen into the living room. The lights are dimmed, and your children are curled up on the couch watching TV. Your husband smiles at you, momentarily lifting away your weariness. You smile back and begin wiping the table.

Left, right, up, down.

You return to the kitchen, and click of the radio, and turn off the light. You stand for a moment in silence in the darkness, the fan whirring softly. You close your eyes and sigh, ready to sleep soundly under the moon.