Chapter 2, Part 2: A Memorial Song

Side Note: Part 2 is a tad bit different, a little (or lot) more poetic. My brain seems to function this way lately. When creativity calls one must grab it, whatever form that may be, and what comes out might be strange but we're all somewhat peculiar. It's acceptable in the writing world.

Chapter 2, Part 2: A Memorial Song

“Tsk, tsk,” said Mr. Weatherly shaking his head
as he straightened his suit and bothersome tie.
He cricked his neck, once to the right, and once to the left.
“Truly, we should be more careful,” he sighed,
“of who and what we allow inside.”

Beth nodded. “In total agreement am I,”
as she giggled and shivered from toe to eye.
The bitter winter of Mr. Weatherly’s firm had swarmed, at last,
into the bloom of spring.
And the ceiling sang out with morning glory,
clusters of grapes cascading,
as the fragrance of jasmine entered the story
when summer tales began.
The rushing sounds of waterfalls springing loose from rigid walls
as the cherry blossoms drifted soft over the crystal falls …
settling below on the pinewood floors
then wafting away through open doors.

But Beth she looked beyond the falls and noticed her family in stress,
as Gabe retracted invisible wings and he led them away like sheep who don’t sing,
like sheep away to slaughter.

“Where are they going?” she cried.

“Ms. Beth,” Mr. Weatherly said quite sad,
“It is better you did not know …
it is better, for now, and maybe for more
to keep your sanity and just let them go.”

“You’re not sending them there—?”

“Oh no,” he said.

“but they do have some choices to make,

and they have their own journeys,

their journeys of love,

forgiveness and heartaches.

This journey is tough.

But they will be back for mercy’s sake,”

he whispered, “I hope, and soon we pray.”

Beth took a deep breath, not saying a word,

but only for a while,

before changing the topic and then she sighed

and let out a horrible cry.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

“I wasn’t there,

I missed grandpa’s funeral.

I had such a bad day.”

And a few tears dribbled from her hazel eyes

onto her sun-kissed skin.

“Caleb was sick,

the baby, too,

and not one babysitter without the flu,

I lost my job without severance pay,

and to top it all off

someone stole my car that day.

Still—”

“Slow down, Ms. Beth, you weren’t meant to be

at Grandpa’s funeral, that I can see.”

Calm yourself … here have some tea?”

 

 The green tea fuzzed and solidified

into a purple flower

releasing a torrent of bright blue drops

before fizzling back to how it was,

popping and snapping

a soothing spree

going down smoothly her angst to free.

Caleb giggled. “I like it here.”  

“Indeed.” Mr. Weatherly said with a smile,

Searching the bookshelf

each section, each file.

With every “hmm” the mysteries bound,

as a heavenly breeze

spun the books around

till they stopped with a whirr

at his command.

“Here it is,” he sang out loud.

“A box for Beth from Grandpa Seth,”

and it glowed at the touch of his hand.

He took a seat right next to her.

“Open this box, my dear.”  

As he handed the key to its silvery lock,

The box slid closer with a tick and a tock.

“Your grandfather said ‘remember me not

when sick and old, sad stories told.

But cherish the memories with life so full,

of days with laugher, and  … really bad jokes.'”

Beth chuckled away

remembering the day

when Grandpa wrote it down.

In his book of words, a masterpiece emerged

not one bad joke he thought to purge.

Each chuckle, each punch line delivered so bad

and purposely botched for the fun to be had.

“He certainly laughed when you were around,”

Mr. Weatherly said, “Now let’s see what is found

in Grandpa’s wooden box.”

End of Chapter 2, Part 2

Serendipity Copyright 2019 by Deborah L. Alten

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