The Meadow Annual Literary Arts Journal 2022

114 The Meadow and wait. Across the room Fran keeps busy, flitting like a butterfly between her new beau and the food display. She brings him coffee and holds it to his lips. She straightens a napkin on his lap. She rearranges the jacket on his shoulders. Meanwhile they sit and wait. And after what seems endless minutes, Fran stares in their direction. Then in the smallest of steps, she shyly walks their way. The four of them stand like soldiers, speechless, their hands by their sides. First Fran kisses Lisa. “I know you. You. You. You.” They have been down this road before. While the questions have stayed the same, the answers now have changed. Lisa grasps both of Fran’s hands. Though brown and mottled, they’re surprisingly soft. Then she looks deep into her mother’s eyes. “Mom, what day is today?” Pleased with herself, Fran smiles. “Today is today.” “And where are you?” says Lisa. “Do you know where you are?” As the choir descends the stage, they continue to sing, wrapping their audience in hugs. All is calm, All is bright. “I’m home,” says Fran. In one great flourish, her arm sweeps the room. “This is my home.” Then she kisses her daughter again. The moment is warm and gooey, something Lisa will cling to and cherish in years to come. It feels like she just sipped hot chocolate. It feels like a marshmallow moustache is hovering just above her lip. She thinks, I can be stronger. She thinks, I can love bigger. She thinks, I can let go.

RkJQdWJsaXNoZXIy ODQ3NA==