The Glare of Old Memories
Across the room, with a jolt, a picture of Agnes' high school crush,
grabbed and held her heart and her attention.
Because it was such a distant and sweet memory, Agnes was achingly aware of her senior years.
Crowding in on the memory of that first love were the smiling and animated faces of classmates, teachers, young brothers and sisters rushing to get to school, church groups or the skating rink in deep prairie winters, or pacing through the long, dry summers.
Dreaming of this mirage of days long past, the crowd of faces,
smiled at her and faded, one by one, into misty memories.
Eventually, only his face was left, a face that had never faded from her vision.
Focussing on the sepia toned image on the mantel, she quickly dried her blue eyes, glittering with tears.
Gregory, lost to her for so many years, had become someone else’s reality.
Her own life had been filled with another, who had become a very loved, and loving, husband and father.
In her eightieth year, and now without her husband of 55 years, Agnes had given up on everything but her family.
Kevin and his twin, Kenneth, lived only marginally closer to her and all were busy with their work and families.
Lonely and feeling useless, Agnes had joined a volunteer group, becoming a companion to others more lonely, and unable physically or mentally to continue actively in their own lives.
Many of those she had companioned had been quite eccentric; advanced age and eccentricities accepted as just part of being long-lived.
None of her elderly charges were alive any longer; their deaths ending bitter sweet companion relationships.
On a new assignment, she was at the quite lovely home of a young woman who wished to interview her.
Poise, so natural to her, had vanished when, in shock, she recognized that dear face from so long ago on the mantle in this elegant home.
Quickly dabbing her eyes with her ever present lacy, embroidered handkerchief, Agnes forced back the dam so ready to ruin her carefully made up face and composure.
Ready to speak with another frustrated, anxious daughter needing a companion for a lost and sad mother, she straightened her jacket and smoothed her skirt, a motherly expression softened her face.
Since Agnes had begun companioning, she had interviewed and been interviewed by many such family members.
Thoroughly well versed in interview techniques from her years in a Human Resource department of a large firm, she slipped into the familiar role as one would slip on a comfortable old sweater.
Until today, and seeing the picture on the mantle, she had truly enjoyed that special part that had been her work life she had had so little time for.
Volunteering had returned this special piece of her work life to her, and filled the empty hours since her husband had died.
Wilting under the glare of the old memories, especially of Gregory, she struggled to regain her old professionalism, denying the sudden urge to turn and run.
Xeroxed memories suddenly came to life when Gregory, as handsome as Agnes remembered him, materialized in the doorway and entered the parlor with a middle aged, smiling woman on his arm.
Zinnia, only handicapped by the gentleness of Down’s syndrome, with her father Gregory, would interview Agnes, for Zinnia’s mother had died some months before leaving a void for a new, and much needed companion.
“There are two kinds of light ~ the glow
that illuminates,and the glare that obscures.”
~ James Thurber
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