Lansbury is a cozy little New England town. Antiques, angler, and vintage clothing shops, beside victorian cafes, create a picturesque scene.
Martha met Randall at the church picnic. A new resident in town always catches the single girls eyes. Before leaving, he asks if we could meet for coffee on Friday at the cafe.
Bashfully, I giggle, ‘yes’.
While waiting, I admire the sun playing with the blue hues on the stained glass windows. Rainbow rays reflecting a relaxed tone amid the chatter of people.
Midnight bells echoed in the birth of 2021, a new year of creating a better life than we’d had. 2020 hadn’t been a good year.A virus had spread from day one.
The government issued a stay-at-home quarantine. Masks and sanitizers were mandated. People changed, angry from isolation, rules, and restrictions.
Old hobbies such-as board games, art projects, and cooking together helped relieve tensions. Families grew closer in isolation; some didn’t.
Life was becoming art, brushstrokes creating paintings.
Each painting different; your family, your life.
Splashes of artful color bringing out something unique from inside of us.
George stares out the window. He doesn’t read anymore, not even the paper; no television either. Just watches the joggers running; the seasons changing.
Been like that since they found Rhonda brutally murdered in the alley behind the ‘Honk-If-Your from Texas’ bar.
He’d sit at the bar talking to Rhonda, great gal with a chest to match.
George eats, sleeps, and stares out the lace-curtained window in the hope he sees her.
His meals are tasteless.
His bills paid.
He sits waiting for the day he’ll see Rhonda again, not much hope alone in a padded cell.
Last week, I wrote about Bobeshi Rivqah. If you’d like to catch-up click here. This story does stand alone. Ironically, the locked cages in the photograph had the same feel as the ones shown at the Florida Holocaust Museum in Tampa, Florida.
Mama, can I go outside?”
“Go! But, don’t go far.”
From my stoop, I watched Mrs.O’Doherty and Bobeshi Rivqah talking.
“Rivqah, you’re telling me they used the same numbers?”
“Yes, can you believe that?”
Mrs.O’Doherty shook her head from side to side.
“They reused prisoner numbers from the dead; especially, is if they were moved to another camp,” Rivqah said. “Dehumanizing!”
Slowly, I made my way towards them.
They were taking about something I’d wondered about.
“Why do you have numbers on your arm, Bobeshi?”
She hugged me and said, “One day, you’ll know kleyn meydl, one day.”
