Forgotten (a brief piece of fiction)

Stepping into her house was like stepping back in time. A large, framed portrait of a handsome young man in a tan polyester suit clings to the faux-wood paneled walls. The tweed upholstered furniture sits on the rust colored carpet—unworn monuments of an uninterrupted life. She sits in a small lift chair by the door, surrounded by shelved trinkets of memories that pierce the marrow of her ever-aging bones. There are figurines of bright-eyed children, vases with no flowers, and pieces of lined paper taped to the wall above her phone with the numbers of the local hospital, her home nurse, and the man who brings her lunch and dinner everyday.

Her ninety-one years plays like the lines of ancient Greek tragedy. Like most women in her generation, she married young to the man that everyone knew would be her husband. The happily married couple soon became a trio with the birth of their daughter, and several years after, the family was completed with the birth of a son. The family of four was like any other family living in that tenuous time in the South. After years of working in the monotonous atmosphere offered by a small factory town, the family bought a small shop next door and sold all thing related to model trains and toy cars. Life was good, and things were plodding along like the constant steps of a mule plowing in the spring. Then things took an awful turn.
Fall had indeed fell. Like so many young men in Alabama, for their son fall meant one thing—hunting season. He was nineteen when he and a friend had planned a big hunting weekend. They loaded the truck and set out.

It was a cool, crisp fall morning in the foothills of Appalachia when she got the call. Her son was mistaken for sought after prey and accidentally shot by his friend. He died before his friend could get out of the woods. The tranquility of her life had felt its first tremor—and it was tremendous.
Time would leave a scar where her son’s soul used to be. That’s his picture that clings to the wall, captured in his youth with a wide smile and eyes still full of life. Time now limped on.

As the years went by, life returned to a sense of rhythm. The model train shop was going as well as one might expect in such a place—not a raging success, but enough to pay the bills and keep food on the table. Their daughter was a lovely young woman trying to find her place in a world that seemed lodged in a holding pattern over an unknown destination. She took her place in the family business behind the counter serving the loyal customers, those who could afford to buy their unneeded trinkets at the family’s shop just to help out some friends. It was in the midst of this new monotony that tragedy would once again reach out with its frightening grip.
She and her husband had finally decided to take a much needed vacation. The loss of her son had become an accepted part of life, and her faith helped in that acceptance. They packed their bags and packed the car, headed for the beach. Their daughter would keep charge of the shop. Two days into their long-expected getaway, the chilling sound of a ringing phone had interrupted her life once again.

The call came just after supper and sunset. Her daughter was found behind the counter of their shop. Initially she was unrecognizable; her assailant had beaten her repeatedly, crushing her skull. Her murderer was never found.

Life lost all sense. Color disappeared. Smells evaporated. Sounds faded. Life was gone; nothing more than existence remained. Her husband lost his battle with time and emotions. God had seemingly played a cruel trick on her by allowing her to be the last one. Now, here she sits, alone, forgotten, wishing she could forget.

CPT