Estelle

In the cool darkness Estelle Morris rolled her wheelchair down the hall, grateful Sammy had finally succumbed to the pain medication and drifted off to sleep. The house was quiet and peaceful now, a welcome respite from the ranting loon he had been earlier in the day. It pained her when her son flew off the handle--not that it happened often--but when it did, his fiery Irish genes made themselves manifest in a spectacular display of crackling emotion.

The windows were open a crack admitting a slight breeze, mercifully cooler than the scorching heat of the day. She would have liked to throw the windows wide open but Sammy had rigged stops to prevent that. He was worried about break ins and rightfully so, she supposed. Her argument was that if someone were going to break in, they could just as easily break down a door or even crash through the window glass above the stops. It didn't matter. Sammy had made the decision and once made, it was set in stone. Every so often it occurred to her she would have been wiser to marry someone other than an Irishman. Her husband, long since passed, was every bit as stubborn as their son had turned out, making the two of them the trial of her life.

Not that she would have changed a thing, no. For the most part, the men in her life were thoughtful and loving, each with a rich appreciation of beauty and poetry. Sammy did his best to hide it, believing others would consider him less manly should they realize the roses outside were his. He passed them off as hers, but reality was different and she readily forgave him this tiny fib, knowing the fragile state of his ego. It always puzzled her as to why her men were cursed with such a strong sense of pride, even if it were misplaced more often than not.

She would have liked to pose that question to a friend, and years ago, she could have walked next door to ask one. At one time this had been an Irish and Scottish enclave where everyone knew everything about everybody else. When someone was injured or laid up, helping hands pitched in while meals and money found their way to bare tables and needy pockets. When a son or daughter walked the aisle, the entire community gathered in joyous celebration, it became a neighborhood family affair. It wasn't uncommon to see neighbors and friends together on holidays, the women carrying a covered dish and the men a hidden pint, erroneously believing the furtive nips could go undetected.

As the years rolled by, those neighbors and friends sold and moved out, convinced the influx of black buyers would adversely affect the value of their homes. Of course it was a self-fulfilling prophecy; values plummeted and became easily affordable to lower income buyers. Soon the whole neighborhood, even the whole city, was filled with black faces and they were left alone.

The lone white family in a sea of black skin.

It didn't matter much to Estelle--black or white--it just really didn't matter. What did bother her was the isolation. Compounded by the pain from two broken hips and arthritis in every conceivable joint, she became confined to the wheelchair and sometimes felt like a prisoner in her own home. It was the curse of the elderly, she realized, to be alone. She was forced to sit behind her windows and watch her neighborhood crumble around her as poverty and neglect ate away at the neat and tidy houses like rust on an old car.

Unlike Sammy, she didn't blame the city's decline on skin color. She took a mother's point of view, always the most pragmatic in her opinion. She realized a woman trying to raise a houseful of kids couldn't very well repair the gutters, repave the sidewalk, and patch the siding all while trying to put food on the table. Sometimes it just came down to that: food and clothes for the children versus taking care of the leaking roof. For a mother, the choice was always easy.

Estelle Morris was nothing if not pragmatic. Her son had a concussion and was going to need surgery on his knee, something that would surely leave him hobbling around for weeks. There was little she could do to help, for every effort she put forth to aid in housekeeping and such rendered her useless for the next several days. It's just too bad Sammy couldn't get that promotion, things might have been a little easier around here. Only on rare occasions did she allow self pity to surface and when it did, she buried it knowing how quickly it could sour everything. But, what's done is done and we're going to survive this just like we've survived everything else.

She rolled over to the telephone and dialed a number from memory.

"Hello?" came the voice on the other end.

A lump formed in Estelle's throat; it happened every time she heard Abbie's voice. A Grandmother should never have to live this far from her grandkids, something's just not fair about that. Abbie lived with her mother just over the state line in rural Ohio, a place far removed from the grime and violence of Gary, and just far enough away to ensure Estelle could never see enough of her beautiful grandbaby.

Estelle spoke quickly, resenting her need to do so because of the phone company who had the gall to charge her actual money to talk with her baby. Well, she's no longer a baby since she just graduated from high school. But she's still my little sweetheart. She told the whole story of the accident at the mill and how much pain her father was in.

"Well that settles it, Grandma. I'm driving out there."

"What? Oh no. You're mother would never allow that. And your father..."

"Grandma, I'm eighteen," Abbie said as if that answered all the world's problems.

"And just what would you do when you got here? There's hardly anything here to keep a young girl entertained."

"I wouldn't be coming for the entertainment. You guys need some help, and besides, I'll be going to college in a couple months. This could be my last fling."

Estelle had to laugh. "Ha! Some last fling. Oh my, your father's going to be upset. You know how he likes to think he's Superman."

"I'll deal with Daddy, don't you worry." Estelle again marveled at the confidence exuded by her little grandbaby. It must come from her father, but hopefully without that nasty stubborn streak.

After saying goodbye, emotions roiled within. She was overjoyed to know her precious granddaughter would be visiting and relieved for the help she would be able to provide during Sammy's recovery. On the other hand, Sammy was sure to think she had gone behind his back to import help, help he thought he could live without. After stewing about it for the better part of an hour, the prospect of visiting with Abbie won over. He'll just have to deal with it. What's he going to do anyway? He can't very well chase us out.

The moonlight streamed in through the lace curtain casting faint shadows across the floor. Peering out the window, the moon hung glowing in a cloudless sky and provided just enough light for her to see Sammy's roses. Even at night, she could appreciate the delicate beauty of crimson in stark contrast against the pure white background of each petal. Headlights turning onto the street caught her eye as a car drove into view and pulled into the driveway of the house next door. The car door slammed shut but the engine continued to cough and sputter for several seconds causing the driver to vehemently kick at the tires. He acted as if he wanted the car to die and were trying to hasten its demise, which it did with one final bark and a vast expulsion of smoke from the tailpipe.

Estelle felt somewhat voyeuristic watching from the darkened window as the young man slammed his hands against the hood of the car. He stood with his head hung low, clearly despondent and miserable. Looks like another poor soul having a bad day. When he lifted his head, she recognized him as Markus, the teenager who played basketball non-stop and the source of the accompanying noise that drove Sammy wild.

She was still embarrassed about the outburst of yesterday and had half a mind to call out to the kid and apologize. It seemed the right thing to do until realizing how it would sound to him: a disembodied voice floating across the driveway out of the darkness. She was sure all the neighborhood kids already thought of her as the creepy old white lady, if they even knew of her existence in the first place. She surely didn't want to do anything to increase that reputation; being lonely was difficult enough without adding "creepy" to the equation. Furthermore her voice might rouse Sammy, something she wanted to avoid knowing it would be like poking a hibernating grizzly with a sharp stick.

With no other apparent options, she bit her tongue hoping one day to make things right while continuing to watch with a heavy heart as Markus wiped at tears welling in his eyes. It occurred to her his anguish might have been caused by Sammy's outburst of yesterday and with all the anger and resentment spewed forth it was no wonder the poor young man was hurt.

Suddenly fed up with the isolation and loneliness, she resolved to do something different. This was no way to live and she had grown weary of it. She lived in a cage of her own creation and was her own jail keeper. There were still neighbors out there, still people who needed friends and help, they were just of a different race. I may be stuck in a wheelchair, but that shouldn't mean I'm stuck.

Markus wiped one last time at his eyes then disappeared into his darkened house. Estelle wished she had the strength to walk up and wrap her arms around him, letting him know everything was going to be alright. She wanted to be a friend and a neighbor again, something she hadn't been in a long time but knew the time was ripe.

Tears formed in her own eyes and she blinked them back. 

Thank you, Markus. Thank you for helping me remember.