The Quilt

“I thought you were a polecat!”

“Well I ain’t no polecat!”

“I’m packin’. Now back outta there nice and slow.”

“You about a hundred! Packin’?”

“I am ninety-one and a half years young. Didn’t your momma teach you any manners?”

“My momma never taught me nuthin,’ and I ain’t no polecat.”

“What are you doing in my potting shed? I’m calling the police.”

“Go ahead. Call ‘em.”

“You think I’m joking?”

“Nah. I think you just one more grown-up lookin’ to break me. To break my heart.”

“Child, a heart is not made to be broken and thrown away. A heart can be broken again and again.”

“That’s the spirit. Why you wanna go and say a thing like that to a kid?”

“How old are you?”

“Fourteen.”

“What on earth are you doing in my shed? How long have you been in here? Where are your parents?”

“Which question do you want answered?”

“Never mind. What is your name child?”

“Uh… Potter. Franklin Potter.”

“Did you just make that up?”

“Maybe. OK, it’s Arthur Allen Adams.”

“That’s assonance.”

“No, f’real this time. You can call me Arti.”

“No, assonance is… never mind. What am I going to do with you, Arti?”

“You’re not gonna DO anything. Or, you could feed me. I’m sure hungry.”

“You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”

Well, somethin’ must have happened to bring us together. That’s all I can figure.”

“Yes, you broke into my shed.”

“You believe in any sort of god?”

“Right. Some old white guy kneeling on a cloud, looking down at us, and passing judgment? What would he say about the two of us? An old white lady and a dark-skinned boy hiding in her potting shed.”

“It’s not like that. Nah. More like just a force that’s everywhere all the time. Some kinda’ energy thing that wants us to do good, to be good, so we can go on to a much better place than what we got now.”

“That’s science fiction. Or a fairytale, told by fools to fools.”

“Maybe so. But let’s just say it’s true. If you don’t buy it, and it’s true, Could be you might have some answerin’ to do. If it’s not true, it don’t matter none.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“That’s what I’m tellin’ you. Got nuthin’ to lose by just believin’.”

“Wishing, you mean. What makes you so sure?”

“Well somethin’ happened to put us here.”

“Yes, like I just said, you broke into my shed.”

“There wasn’t no lock on the door. Ain’t broke in, more like walked in.”

“So this force, as you say, it led you to my potting shed, so that we could be here having this conversation right now?”

Nah, it’s not like that. It started a long time ‘afore now, ‘afore us.”

“It’s called evolution.”

“Well, then, what started us evolutin’?”

“Evolving child.”

A’ight, somethin’, some thing had to flip the switch that led to us. And, some thing had to make the switch. And some thing had to make the thing that made the switch and–”

“You’re making my head hurt child.”

“How would you describe darkness to a blind person.”

“That’s ridiculous. Like asking a fish to describe water.”

“Zackly.”

“You are an odd bird.”

“And you surprisingly sturdy for a rickety thing.”

“You’d better believe it. Don’t try to pull any punches with me, we’ll see just how rickety I am. Come in the house, I’ll fix you a sandwich. Then we can figure out what to do with you.”

“You hurt your leg? That limp look painful.”

“Caused by too many birthdays.”

“Well, I ain’t had so many, and I got a limp my own self. Looks like between us we got two good legs. You can lean on me if it helps.”

“Thank you, child. Cheese sandwich all right? It’s all I have on hand. I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Sound like a feast.”

“The world is going to hell in a handbasket, things looking bad everywhere and I have a child philosopher living in my shed.”

“Don’t you give no thought to the end of the world. You could spend your remainin’ days worryin’ about all that bad stuff, and you won’t even be around to see any of it.”

“Help me up this stoop young man, and we’ll get you sorted.”

“I got the door. Gimme your hand.”

“Wash up at the sink. I’ll make you a sandwich and a glass of milk.”

“I really am grateful for you…uh… you never told me your name.”

“My given name is Corinne. Friends call me Cora.”

“Does that mean I can call you Cora?”

“Don’t push your luck young man. OK, Miss Cora will be –”

“--You all right? What’s the matter? Why you grabbin’ your chest like that? Sit down.”

“I’m fine. I’m fine. Get the cheese and bread from the icebox. There’s a plate and glass in the cabinet there.”

“You sure you all right? Need me to call somebody?”

“That won’t be necessary. Just get your lunch. Maybe I’ll sit awhile.”

“You sick or sumthin’?

“Aren’t we all?”

“I don’t think I am. Sick, I mean.”

“Eat child. Don’t worry about an old woman. You have a long life ahead of you.”

“You keep grabbin’ at your chest like that. You scarin’ me.”

“I’m ‘scarin’ me’. It’ll pass.”

“And if it don’t? What am I supposed to do then?”

“You are supposed to go back to school. Stay there as long as you can. Learn all you can. Keep thinking your deep thoughts. Keep goodness in your heart. Surround yourself with people who are where you want to be, and work hard towards making a difference in the world.”

“That’s a mighty tall order.”

“You eat up and maybe you’ll be sturdy enough to fill it. Now eat.”

“Just don’t you die on me. They might throw me in prison. Say I did sumthin’”

“Today is not the day. There’s something I still have to do.”

“Like what?”

“Like finish a quilt with a scrap cut from each of my favorite dresses I’ve ever worn. I plan to be buried in it.”

“Who the odd bird now?”

“It’s not so odd. It’s something to live for. I refuse to go until it’s completed.”

“How you see to sew with those rainy-day eyes?”

“I don’t need my eyes to sew. Just my hands, I do it mostly by feel. I just add a scrap here and there, a little each day, and watch it grow.”

“You not all that big. You be careful how fast you grow it. Diggin’ your own grave it sounds like.”

“Everything in its time. I guess the day I am scheduled to die was chosen the day I was born.”

“Uh-huh, I gotcha! And just how is that?”

“Cells, molecules, DNA. They know stuff.”

“A’ight. Uh-huh. Sounds like –you not lookin’ too good Miss Cora. I think I need to call somebody –“

“Shush now.”

“But –"

 “--Tell me more about your heaven son.”