Choices, continued
Week 1, Winner
The rocking chair creaked, the celestial wind chime tinkled, and Wanda hummed a tune that wove the two disparate sounds into a haunting song. To her, it didn’t matter that a storm was brewing or that the neighbors were having another fight or that the downstairs tenant was late on their rent again — the porch was hers to enjoy and she would sit and rock and hum as long as she pleased.
Watching Wanda go through her daily machinations was one of the things I loved about my job. There was something deeply inspiring about spending time with a nonagenarian with complete control of her wishes and wants. I wasn’t inspired by much in those days but Wanda almost made up for that.
I let myself linger over cleaning the big bay window in the front parlor — that was what Wanda called her living room — bouncing between focusing on her, the task at hand, and the roiling clouds. I’d packed an overnight bag that morning just in case the weather man wasn’t wrong. Staying at The Big House — again, Wanda’s words — was more of a treat than a trial as long as I came prepared.
At that point I’d been working as her personal assistant for almost a year. When I’d found the ad in the local paper I was still getting used to the fact that the publication was, in fact, actually printed on literal paper. It was part of the intentional charm of the town, and that level of detail had played a big part in my choosing it for the place I’d live after leaving Marcus. Life with him had been so embroiled with technology and so painfully modern I admit I was looking for the polar opposite. And I’d found it — Shoal Valley was a town that had chosen to step out of time. Their council had, a decade or so before I’d found it, elected to turn their collective backs on the pull and press of modern innovation, and it worked.
Intermingled with the folks who had lived there at the time, the population of the town had grown slowly and steadily since they’d passed the resolution and started the work of stripping off the “newfangled” elements. They, wisely, chose to keep things like electricity while ditching things like wifi. Part of moving in was signing an agreement to keep your personal belongings to the standards of the town which meant no smartphones, tablets, or computers. Shoal Valley was a place of paper and conversation, not screens and streams. I had taken to it like a fish to water.
Wanda had been part of the group who proposed the change and was definitely seen as a revered elder in town. She’d put the ad in the paper at the bequest of her three children, none of whom had chosen to stay in Shoal Valley after the vote. They all lived close enough to come visit once a month but wanted to know someone was there with her as she aged. Wanda talked a good game about not caring that they’d all left but I could see in the way she gripped the side of whatever chair she was sitting on when the topic of her children came up that she had some feelings around their decision.
The wind picked up then and both Wanda and I looked at the suddenly loud wind chime. I raised my hand so she knew I’d noted the change before finishing up my cleaning. I wasn’t going to leave her trapped on the porch in the midst of a storm, and I knew she’d want to stay put until the first drops fell.
“Pull up a chair,” was all she said when I pushed open the screen door. I obliged and the two of us sat in relative silence for a few minutes. Shoal Valley, and especially Wanda’s porch, was not a place prone to hurrying.
“Do you think this storm is really coming?” Wanda kept her eyes on some far off point, not slowing the speed of her rocking or pausing to look at me.
“The wind seems to support that idea. We should probably get you-“
“I don’t think it’s really coming. I think it’s all a lot of fluff and nonsense, and that they’re just trying to get more people to listen to the morning news.”
The radio was one of the things they’d voted to continue broadcasting in Shoal Valley, but only with limited, local, reach. Franklin Tiales was the morning reporter and he was well known for his love of all things weather.
“Franklin sounded pretty convincing this morning, and, like I said, the wind -“
“Wind, shmind. I’ll believe it when I see it.”
I matched my rocking speed to hers and smiled at the predictability of her doubt. I hadn’t heard the story of why she distrusted everything that Franklin Tiales had to say and was about to ask her when she stopped her chair and turned to me, a serious look on her face.
“I need to look at the list. I want to check something off today.”
That wiped both Franklin and the weather out of my mind. There was no rhyme or reason that I could see for when it was time to check something off the list so every time she brought it up I was caught off guard. I nodded and headed inside to retrieve the list.
She kept it in the second drawer of the cabinet that stood beside her bed and, for reasons known only to Wanda, never took it out herself. Writing it up was one of the first things she had me do once she’d determined I was capable of more than cooking and light cleaning.
The wind had picked up even more by the time I got back downstairs and outside. Wanda muttered some choice words about Franklin Tiales but allowed me to help her out of the rocking chair and into the Front Parlor before getting back to the list.
“We’ll need some strong tea, I think, and then we can get to it. Make enough for the both of us, will you?” Wanda shifted around in her seat until she was comfortable. “And chocky biscuits — we definitely need some chocky biscuits to cut the bitter taste in my mouth.”
“Why do you have a bitter taste in your mouth?”
“From eating my words about Franklin, of course.” Her tone was sharp but her smile was kind.
I gave her shoulder a squeeze before retreating into the kitchen to get tea and cookies for us both. Different types of tasks called for different kinds of snacks and that we needed both strong tea (tea with whiskey) and chocky biscuits left me feeling both curious and apprehensive. As the water heated on the stove I set up the tea service and picked out mismatched cups for us. Wanda liked the formality of “a proper pour” as she called it but enjoyed a dash of irreverence by serving it in random mugs she’d collected over the years. The tin of chocky biscuits was kept on the top-most shelf of the highest cabinet in the kitchen. The chocky biscuits were something Wanda would only make on Sundays but that could be called forth any day of the week. They were tasty and pretty and filling a plate with them always brought me joy no mater what onerous task would accompany them.
“Ah, lovely!” Wanda clapped her hands as I set the full tray down on the table in front of her. “I’m going to miss your artistic touch.”
“Not for as long as I can help it, Wanda.”
“We’ll see.”
This dialog was well practiced. Wanda was not afraid to talk about her eventual death and liked to slip it into regular conversation. I think my equal comfort with it was a big part of what got me hired. Her daughter, the middle child, was the one who’d conducted my interview and she was visibly upset every time Wanda made mention of the fact that she’d be dead sooner than later — her words, not mine. It made sense to me and seemed totally reasonable coming from someone who so close to 100 years of age, and I’d said as much (though gently enough as to not further fluster her daughter). I wish I could have been a fly on the wall during their post-interview discussion.
“The list, then. What’s still on it?”
I knew that she knew very well what all was on the list, but this was part of the routine and I knew how to play my part.
“Quite a few things — do you want me to start from the top, bottom, or middle?”
“Middle.”
I unfolded the list. It was hand-written on yellow legal-sized paper with each item given three lines. We’d started with 45 things on the list but, as things were crossed off, she’d think of one or two new things to add so I’d lost track of exactly how many there were all together.
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This is a second-stage story-start — if you’d like to see where the story goes “clap” for it. My “winning” second-stage story-start (based on number of readers who clap for it) will be developed further and will become a full short story!
