The Woman found herself alone in her car, driving north, into the mountains. She had to get away. Away from her responsibilities, all begging attention. Away from the crushing burst of family deaths, all gone now. Just a couple of days. Sunday of a holiday weekend, the air filled with grilling meat and frosty beer. A warm holiday for May, unusually warm.
The Woman needed the quiet away from the city, away from the sales and movie openings and stuff to do. She wanted Nothing. To. Do. She drove for hours, her cell phone in the bottom of her purse, a silent fish, the ring shut out of it.
“More coffee, hon?”
The middle-years waitress smiled from under her upswept ‘do, a single blonde tendril on leave by her brow.
“Yes, thanks. It’s such a beautiful day, isn’t it?”
“Haven’t seen a Memorial Day weekend like this one in a decade. Feels more like Labor Day to me,” as she pulled the coffee pot away and turned back to the burner. The Woman placed two dollars by her breakfast plate.
“Thanks, hon. You enjoy the weekend now.”
Enjoy the photos, the Woman thought, the memories so fresh the pictures still breathed. All happy faces, hers too, so excited at the Big Day. Only she looked old, older than she remembered being. The birthmark always invisible to her suddenly big and brown, like a third eye on her cheek. Tired looking. But no. She just looked her age.
The Woman wandered into an antique shop. On The Hill, the sign on the door announced. A red door with gold trim.
“What does “Chick” stand for?” she asked the owner, pointing to a silver ID bracelet behind the glass.
“Don’t know. I can’t recall how we came by that piece. It’s been here a while. Maybe a nickname.” Then, with a glint, “Maybe a state of mind.”
Maybe, the Chick thought, as she tried it on for size and walked out into the May sun.
Daughter’s Featured Fotos are Thinking Philly
street scene
exposed but capped
window box
no worries