Memory Seeds – Published in Pure Slush, Anthology: Life Span Vol. 9 – February 2024
I feel an anxious flutter in my chest as I try to recall the voice, the blue eyes and auburn curls bouncing as she approaches. But my head refuses to place her. Who is this lovely woman touching my hand like she knows me? I mirror her smile. I want to ask who she is, but I don’t want to break this magic spell.
She lets go of my hand and slips off her pale pink rain jacket. She likes pink. My memory tries to open, but just as there’s hope the door closes before another clue is released.
“I stopped at the farm and picked up your favorite Winesap apples, Dad.”
Dad? She’s my daughter. I look away trying to hide my welling eyes. Winesap apples?
She passes me one, and I study it. “My favorite?”
She nods. “Yeah, Dad. I love them too.” She pulls one from the bag for herself. I watch her teeth pierce through the crisp, ruby-red skin before I follow her example. Savoring the tart juicy flavor, I feel my head bob as the memory is revived.
“Yes, I used to eat one of these every night, core, seeds and all … while reading … What kind of books did I read?”
“Detective stories, Dad. You were always devouring the latest David Baldacci or Mickey Spillane mystery along with your apple.”
I munch, savoring the memory, and stare out the window watching the heavy raindrops spilling down the glass, splashing onto the sill. I turn back to this woman sitting beside me, smiling. “Evelyn? You look more beautiful every day.” But as I reach for her hand, her smile fades.
“What?” I jump at her using an angrier tone than I intended.
“Dad,” she speaks in a whisper, “I’m Jody, your daughter.”
“Where’s my Evie?”
“She’s gone, Dad.” I hear her voice crack.
There’s a gentle knock on my door just before it opens, and a woman in a green uniform calls out my name. “Mr. West, there’s a music performance about to begin in the social hall. Why don’t you and your daughter come join us?”
I shake my head while waving her away, but something reminds me, I used to like music. In fact, there’s a picture on my wall of an orchestra. I’m in the middle of the back row playing the clarinet.
“Where’s my clarinet? Did someone steal it?” I hear someone bark before realizing it’s me. I apologize to my beautiful Evie who passes me the aged instrument case, and I smile back my thanks. Rubbing my hands over the cracked leather, I absorb the oozing history I can’t put into words then I open the case and fit the polished pieces together. I wet the reed with the sweet saliva still clinging to my tongue, and soon the solo clarinet passage from Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue” is singing from the other end of my clarinet.
I feel the joy, the peace in my soul as our eyes connect, and I set that instrument on my lap.
“Not bad for an old guy.” I wink, still hearing the music in my head.
“You’ve still got it, Dad.”
Dad, I nod. “Yeah, I’ve still got it. We better get going. The show can’t start without me.”
