by T. L. Ingham
was showing its age. The once six-foot tree had been reduced to about two and a half feet of its original stature, Eldon having trimmed it down to what he called a more ‘manageable size’. He had said people their age didn’t need all the excitement of dragging a six-footer out of the garage each year, wrestling it into the house, rearranging furniture, and then going to all the trouble of stringing the lights and tinsel. Not when he could trim it to two and a half feet, decorate it once, then slip a garbage bag over it, set it in the garage as a whole, then pull it out easily the next year. She could see the practicality in it. She had only wished they’d had someone nearby who would be willing to help them go to all the trouble she had for so many years. Fully decorating the house, turning out a winter wonderland to be proud of. It had cost them little to nothing since she was far better at crafts than she ever would be gardening, and between her trusty sewing machine, and a bottle of decent glue, she had put together some of the best decorations you would ever lay eyes on. She missed those days.
Gilda sighed with longing as she carefully trimmed Eldon’s face out of the picture, leaving behind the tiny tree, the armchair, and the little table. Then, removing the locket for the first time that day, she slipped the picture inside; carefully pressing the edges to make sure it would stay locked tight within. And blowing a kiss to her dear Eldon, she snapped the locket tight decisively. Time for bed. Minutes after she had laid the locket on the bedside table and snapped off the light, she was asleep.
The dream started a bit fuzzy, then developed into a clearer picture as it went on, becoming so real even she had trouble believing it had all just been a dream.
“How about hot chocolate instead of coffee?” Eldon was asking her. She was a bit startled, somewhere in the back of her mind she knew there was something wrong with this picture; she wasn’t sure what it was though. Befuddled as she was, he must have thought she had been suddenly struck deaf because he repeated, though a bit louder, “Hot chocolate, Gilda? Instead of coffee?”
“What? Oh- I uh-” what was wrong with her? Giving herself a mental shake she said, “Yes, dear. Whatever you like.”
“Oh, I like both,” Eldon assured her in a conversational tone. He apparently didn’t find anything awry in the scenario. “It’s just that lately the coffee seems to bother my stomach a bit.”
His stomach… There was something about his stomach. But she couldn’t quite put a finger on it.
“Anyway, I thought, with the holidays and all, hot chocolate might be nice. Maybe put a little candy cane inside,” he grinned at her hopefully. He seemed to notice her consternation because the grin suddenly faded. “Gilda, dear, are you all right?”
Snapping to, she forced a bright smile, “Of course, Eldon, just thinking. Nothing important.”
He rose from the squatting position he had attained while plugging in the Christmas lights; at his ripe old age it was a feat that was nothing short of miraculous; flipped the switch on the wall nearby, and the little Christmas tree sparkled brilliantly at them. Thirty-five white twinkle bulbs blinked at them, celebrating the holiday in the way only they can.
“It’s beautiful, Eldon.”
“It is, isn’t it?” He stepped over to her, slipped an arm around her shoulders, an arm that even after all these years, bore more strength than hers ever had.
She kissed his wrinkled cheek, and then leaned her head onto his shoulder, a habit that had started when they were very young, and neither he nor she had ever tired of.
“Maybe Scott will come this year,” she murmured.
She felt Eldon tighten just the slightest bit, for only a second, and then he relaxed again. “Maybe,” his response was noncommittal as usual when it came to this particular topic.
Not wanting to ruin the mood, Gilda quickly changed the subject. “Two cups of steaming hot chocolate, one with a candy cane (he knew she detested peppermint), coming right up.” She headed off to the kitchen, humming some Christmas carol, unsure which one, as after all these years they all seemed to have blended and become one.
Eldon stayed behind and she heard him flip on the television. No doubt looking for the news, or possibly the history channel. Once in a very great while he would watch sports, and that was primarily baseball, though not enough that you could call him a sports fanatic.
Gilda rummaged around the kitchen, filling the kettle with water and putting it on to boil. She had long ago given up the saucepan method of making hot chocolate from scratch and reverted to the powder packets. Eldon had sworn, and still did to this day, that they tasted virtually the same as the longer method, but she was confident he was just trying to save her the trouble since her hands were not as adequate as they had once been. The fright they’d suffered a few years before when her shaking hands had dropped a pot of scalding milk had been more than enough to send him to the store to buy pre-made packets telling her the little Swiss girl could do all the work.
He was a wonderful man, her Eldon. Lord only knew what life would have been like without him. Not worth living, and that was for sure. At the thought she felt a sudden strange twinge that she couldn’t explain away. Once again she had the feeling that something wasn’t quite right, but once again, she just couldn’t put her finger on what it was.
She returned to the living room a few moments later, with a tray laden down with two cups of steaming, hot chocolate and some vanilla wafers to boot. Eldon responded with the delight she had expected and her smile grew wider as they sat in the two arm chairs on either side of the round end table, sharing the cookies, and sipping their cocoa. There was nothing that could replace these quiet nights at home, just the two of them this way. She couldn’t imagine life without it. They spent the evening this way, as they had so many others over the years. Chatting about life in general, chatting about the new neighbors moving in just up the road, chatting about whatever came on the TV, and before long it was late. Later than they were used to, but that didn’t matter. With Eldon retired and her only working three times a week, bedtime wasn’t a ritual they needed to keep as strictly anymore. What did they have to get up for anyway? They could sleep in as long as they liked. Life was good she decided as they finally headed off to bed. Exhausted as she was, she was unable to fall asleep right away. She just lay in the dark, listening to Eldon’s rhythmic breathing and watching the shadows cast on the walls by the streetlamps outside. Eventually she drifted into a deep slumber, her fingers caressing her locket.
Locket? What locket? She awoke with a start to find herself alone in the bedroom, the locket clasped tightly in her hands which were pressed firmly against her breast. Her heart ached with sudden longing and it was everything she could do to keep from sobbing.
The next few days and nights were much the same. Her days were spent as usual putting books away at the library, helping students find resources, and checking books in and out. Her nights were spent in dreams. No, not dreams precisely. Dream. Only the one dream, every night, without fail. Each time it was completely identical to the time before. It was after the fourth such night that she began to get suspicious. Still, it took the fifth before she was finally able to convince herself to test her hypothesis. She may be an old woman, but she did not believe she was dotty. At least, not yet. Either way, what did it hurt to prove, or disprove as the case may be, her theory?
That night, Friday night to be precise, she pulled out the albums once again. This time she dug deeper into the pile, finding one of the oldest she owned. She hadn’t looked in the album for more than twenty years. Normally, she would find the experience quite depressing, after all, everyone captured in time by the photographs were long since deceased. Naturally, very depressing. Still, she perused the album, finally choosing an old sepia toned picture, circa 1945. It had been her tenth birthday. That was about the most she could remember about that particular picture, and that only because of the dress she was wearing. Unlike the everyday dresses she wore back then, this one was flouncy and ruffled, with pink satin bows on each of the puffy
sleeves, and a large pink ribbon wrapped around her waist. She thought it ended with a large bow in the back, but she couldn’t remember.
Carefully, it felt more like destruction than anything else considering the age of the picture, she trimmed out the picture of herself, and with a twinge of regret, she replaced the one of Eldon in the locket.
If she had set out to disprove her theory, she was to be sadly disappointed. That night, Gilda dreamt of her tenth birthday party with amazing clarity. The vivid colors, colors she shouldn’t have remembered so many years later with only a sepia toned picture to go by; the taste of her birthday cake, heavy and somewhat floury, baked by her mother the night before; her presents- mostly useful things like socks and tablets for school, but Barney! She had completely forgotten about him! It was her teddy bear; the first and only she had ever owned. She had proudly named him Barney after her favorite uncle who had given it to her, and she had cherished it beyond all things. She thought she may still have that bear, packed away somewhere in the attic, though nowhere near the pristine condition he was in now. His satin bow still a bright green color, the fabric and stitching on the pads of his paws unblemished, his fur completely intact and not careworn. It was amazing.
She awoke that morning, clutching the locket as always, nearly breathless by the reality of the dream before. What did it all mean? Could it really be true? Or was her brain, after years of use, finally skipping a few synapses? She made the decision then and there to further test her hypothesis. But how? If she continued on the way she had been it would certainly take far too long? Night after night, with the only long, endless day bridging the gap between. It was difficult at best to get through the day, without knowing, that only a few hours later she could be in bed, reliving her happiest moments in life. At least for a few hours.
It wasn’t until halfway between her normal breakfast of weak coffee and buttered toast that she realized it was Saturday. She had the whole weekend in front of her. Daunting to say the least. If the days were long at the library, they were even longer at home. No errands to run, no excuses to get out and about, and no one to care for but herself. She supposed that was why old ladies had cats; it was something to occupy their time.
She quickly bathed and dressed, then fussed with her hair for a minute. Then, she sat in front of the television, flipping channels. Nothing on, there never was. Not that it really mattered, with her mind as preoccupied as it was. Jumping up, or as close to jumping as a woman her age could manage anyway, she made a snap decision. Without giving a moment to think, or more importantly, change her mind, she slipped into a lightweight jacket, slid on her shoes, and carefully locking the house behind her, she climbed into the car. Minutes later she arrived at her destination, the local pharmacy. She spent a few minutes perusing the aisles, trying to determine what other things she might need. She did not care to arouse suspicions. A woman her age couldn’t just walk into a small town pharmacy and purchase a couple bottles of sleeping pills without people talking. Finally, deciding on cotton balls, hand lotion, and a few other odds and ends in which to “hide” the pills, she headed up to the front counter. She struck up a conversation with the girl behind the register, a young college student she was familiar with from the library. Her attempts at diversion were completely unnecessary, because what she could remember of the girl, college student or not, she was a bit of an empty kettle.
She had
