From Dawn to Dusk

Short distracted reflection

It was the end of my tenure at this fine institution. I am now in my room, busy sorting my various and few belongings, some to keep, but most to give away as I can't take many things with me. I leave the door open as I do most of the time when I'm in my room alone.

I have a lot of books, most dealing with my studies in Jewish religion and culture. I'm not Jewish myself, but my friend was and our study together was an amazing journey through time, a journey that continues to this day.

I turn through the pages of a book that I remember as being rather dismal. There's a picture of four adorable ballerinas holding hands, all about five or six years old, looking exciting and proud in their white tutus.

The next page explains how they and their parents died in a death camp in Poland during the war in 1944. The whole book is like that; pictures of happy, normal-looking people going about life and then a story about how they died as death camp prisoners.

The book is sad, but serves its purpose as a reminder.

I look through another book; this one relates mostly with religion and tradition and does not concentrate on the war. Should I keep it? This or the other? How about both? All of these books about an old, rich and fascinating culture, bursting with happiness yet filled with sadness. So much persecution and fighting for the right to exist.

I have limited space in my bags for extras. Anyhow, books should be available for others to experience, not kept in a closet, and these I have learned from already.

I keep neither.

One of our residents comes into my room and plops herself on the floor. She is Dawn. Unfortunately, she's mentally retarded and likes to behave like a dog. She is in too-tight clothes for her overweight body, as usual. She wears her dark, unkempt and often dirty hair in ponytails on each side of her head. Dog ears, perhaps? The loose skin around her eyes and jaws actually make her look like some sort of dog breed. Which one is a mystery. Damn..I resolved not to be so cruel.

Dawn can be annoying but thankfully remains silent and lets me go about my business. The stabbing pain in my side prods me along.

I have a lot of little toys given to me by the little girl in the next room. I can’t bring all of them. I pick a cute little stuffed dolphin to keep as a reminder of her. I remember this one came with a kid's meal from a fast food place and she was so excited to give it to me. Although she is no longer a little girl, I wonder if she wants these back...or would she be hurt if I was giving them up? I put them in a box.

On top of my bookcase I find two dust-encrusted broken flashlights she gave me in case I became afraid of the dark. I don't need one flashlight let alone two broken ones, so they go in the box as well.

I am startled by a male voice who sternly asks me what I am doing. I turn around to see a tall, slender dark-haired man in a wool suit that looks like he walked out of the 1890's. I have never seen him before. I tell him I am clearing out my stuff. He asks if I am getting rid of the books and I tell him that I am. He then tells me he is an author himself. I congratulate him and wonder why he is in a wool suit on such a warm, dusty afternoon, let alone where he got it. I think for a second that he actually does look like some famous dead author from the distant past, so famous I cannot remember who. Dawn tells him she hates him. I tell her that was rude; so she said it again.

I go about packing my clothes and what little personal effects I have. As soon as he appeared, my author friend vanishes, but comings and goings occur frequently about this place, and I'm used to it.

Patti, one of the five case managers, pops in to ask how I am managing and if she can get more boxes for me. I tell her that I'm fine and ask if it is okay to give my stuff to the thrift shop down the street. She says it's not a problem and asks for one of the toys for her nephew. I tell her to take what she wants, but don’t' tell Tina. She looks at me funny.

Patti always looks like she is on the brink of a breakdown, but hides it well. A stressed-out looking case manager would not go over well in this place. She plans to take my room when I'm gone because it's bigger than hers and has two windows, one overlooking the park instead of the building next door. I see her visualizing what she wants to put where, and I smile. Changes can be fun. Dawn gets up and leaves.

I have trouble getting to my feet as I am weaker than I think these days. Patti helps me up and decides to come outside to wait for the cab with me.

Pain shoots from my hip down my leg and into my foot. I call these "shooters." They happen more frequently.

As I say goodbye to Patti and ask her to say goodbye to everyone for me and I promise to keep in touch, as always. I get into the cab and know, with little uncertainty, that my next residence will be my last stop.

Uncertainty can be exciting or petrifying. I think about the little ballerinas in the book. I don't think they had any clue. Does anyone ever.....

© 2016 Kristine Stewart

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Reviews

David Jae

An interesting concept and your characters are compelling. What lets it down for me is that there is too much exposition. You should reveal things about your characters through conversation and dialogue. Still, this has potential.