Southern California & Nevada

“Moving”
Figuring out what to take was starting to be a chore. Never mind the actual boxing up or packing. Mentally sorting through the dross of the years was a challenge. Everything held memories; nothing was of any real value. Even placing items in separate stacks did little to ease the choices that had to be made. Still…the process had to be completed. There were time limits involved that could not be changed.
Slowly, a mirror and its reflection caught the attention of the mover. The face that came into focus was no longer young. It was no longer beautiful or even attractive. Haggard, even. Lines were drawn in the folds of the cheeks and the neck muscles struggled to hold a shape other than a wad of jiggling tissue. Certainly not attractive. The eyes folded in creases that slanted toward the floor. Everything drooped, sagged, or puckered. Furthermore, the skin tones were mottled with brownish spots and splintered veins checked the nose. What had been finely textured and creamy was now weathered. Hard miles. Hard life. It was all written in the mirror.
Well! That settled that! There was nothing to be packed or boxed or taken on this move. Why? The mirror had revealed the truth of the matter. Vanity was the root of so many problems. Enough trouble attached to vanity to last throughout eternity, if one allowed it to. And, ironically, it was vanity driving the move.
But, this move was a new beginning! Another chance to see life through fresh eyes and with a fresh mind. Going to the Center was something that each person had to deal with sooner or later. Youth seldom gave it a second thought.
Then, middle years steal into life with a pang here and a throb there and finally one understands their own body is growing older and actually hurts. The changes can no longer be ignored.
A person can rationalize anything, given the proper amount of time and the proper inducements. What did it matter that you had already had your turn when it came right down to it: the need for more was always there. The Center held intrigue and promise and a chance for something better. It held the promise of more. More time, more life, more of everything.
All of the delicious moments a person has enjoyed makes their loss all the more bitter. That was what aging had brought: A bitterness and sense of loss at the passage of time. Each day, something else was going amok. Each day, something else was lost. Something else was failing.
The only thing worth taking to the Center was the lifetime of education and life experiences accumulated along the course of life. Each year of schooling; each year of applied techniques, honing intellectual skills to their best; each learned event and emotion were all worth taking. The excellent memories of youth and rearing a family was certainly worth taking. All of the smiles, tears, and triumphs that grace the shadows were worth taking.
What about the losses? Did they not count, too? Can a person be complete without the balance of sadness with happiness? With no basis for comparison, how is one to know what their internal bearings are? All work and no play makes for a dull boy but someone silly enough to play all of the time has no substance. Usually, they are shallow and vapid and vane. Empty, even. They remain hollow eyed, looking only for their next diversion and their laughter becomes shrill. In their way, to be pitied; certainly not envied. Why would anyone envy a fool? Work and toil are necessary to make life worth living! A good work ethic is a must!
The mirror floated into view again. The face that looked back was no longer foreign. It was an old friend, actually. The intelligent eyes were still sharp and the vision good. The frown lines perked into smile lines with only a bit of effort. Straight, even white teeth were visible and they were sound!
Examination of the hands and fingers found them to be nimble and stout, still capable of doing many things that were of a use to someone. The small imperfections were a minor thing.
A look around the room was revealing. Art hung on the walls: all created with the hands that were now folded in the ample lap. A grand piano stood in the next room, just waiting to be played. The old cat curled on the back of the sofa and the small dog snoozed by the door. This was a beautiful room! Well-appointed. Tastefully done. What did it lack? Absolutely nothing. The finely framed photographs of children and grandchildren smiled out from the bookshelves and table tops. The bric-a-brac of a lifetime was proudly displayed: Small reminders of trips and vacations and visits to wonderful places. Artifacts. Why toss any of it out?
The brochures from The Center were scattered on the kitchen table, along with the morning coffee pot and the remnants of a sweet roll on a small plate. The teaspoon was still upright in the cup. Again, this room was complete. The dishes were displayed in the china closet. The bright ware was shiny. Linens were stored properly to be used over and over, as needed.
The photos on the brochures were expertly done. The quality of the papers first-rate. Everything was designed to please the viewer. But, the terms were brutish! The offer was made once. The punishing deposit was nonrefundable. If the opportunity was declined, for any reason whatsoever, it would never be offered again. The concierge who came to the house had been obliging and helpful but also firm. There were protocols and procedures to be followed and there was no room for variance in the planning. Like life itself, The Center was a one-way trip. No going back once the threshold had been crossed. No reneging on the contract once The Move was made.
Wandering through the rest of the house was a journey through the fabric of humanity. Clothes hung in closets. The bedrooms were outfitted with the furniture of slumber, comfort and welcome. Even the plumbing fixtures were what they should be. Not fussy, certainly, but adequate and homey. The house was home and that fact could not be changed. It was a bit tired around the edges and in need of some paint and deep cleaning but worth the effort. It was not something to be forgotten and neglected. The children and grandchildren still thought of the place as, “Home.” Indeed, it was still home. Regardless of what the mirror showed, all doubts were gone.
Rubbish! The Center was no longer an option. The brochures were beguiling and enticing and just plain wrong. No one can start over! The concept of getting to do it all again was selfish and ran counter to the natural order of life. People are young, they grow old, and then they face the end of their life: they do not start over in some center devoted to the eternal youth myth! Trillions of dollars had been used to develop the clones. They were state of the art. One could select any model that suited them…including their own visage. Most wanted the looks of the film idols and selected something along those lines.
The telephone was ringing. The caller ID revealed it was The Center calling. Instinctively, the phone was drawn closer in order to answer it. But, then, slowly it was pushed away again and the call went to the answering machine. Upon hearing the instructions on the answering machine to leave a call back number and message, The Center did not leave a message. The concierge had been correct: the opportunity was now forever gone. The line simply went dead.
That was all right. If there was any moving to be done, now, it would be to a better place than The Center. Heaven would do, when the time was appropriate. But, that decision was to be made by a Higher Power and not some concierge.

Blog: #4 of 4 by Songs of Thunder Fine Art Gallery

Previous - Next - View All

Subscribe to Songs of Thunder Fine Art Gallery's Fine Art Blog

05/06/2008

05:00 PM

Songs of Thunder Fine Art Gallery

Lacey, WA

Thanks to those who read my short story.