A Willow of Weeps

Her bones were brittle, but not from age. These days, it was a workout in itself to wipe the counters clean, and had even become hard to pick up the unused dishes she’d find on the table at the end of the day. The ceramic was too heavy for her frail hands. She set a place at the table for each of her children, complete with her finest china and silverware in the proper way. But, she supposed, her children had better things to do than come eat with their poor mother. She didn’t mind, seeing as she only wanted them to be happy. And so the table was continuously set and continuously taken apart. But never a drop of food to clean up as the cycle repeated itself over and over again. 

Everyday she made the bed in the guest room, which no one ever used, and the beds in her daughter and son's room. She never made her own, because she was afraid of encouraging bed bugs in the tightly packed sheets. 

The days went by in a blur, and how could they not when she was biding her time cleaning off the same shelves, bedside tables and book covers she did the day before? For a house with very little movement, there sure seemed to be a lot that needed to be done.         

So there she was, perched on a wooden stool at the granite countertop, scraping at some invisible speck of dirt. She hummed to herself, softly rocking back and forth. It was hard to tell when she had last eaten, but her shaky hands shed some light on the matter. She grasped the silver knife in her hand and then let it drop, a resounding clink following suit. 

“Oh Charlie boy, how I love you,” she cooed. “Oh Lisa darling, how I adore you.” She went on and on, singing them praises with a tired smile on her face. 

She hummed a tune in the still air. 

Pick me a pear from that tree outside

Hand me a willow of weeps 

Kiss all my tears away, darling while 

I send you to somber sleep 

Only when she heard no reply did she start up again.

Take me to dance and we’ll sing along 

The lonesome tune of the night 

Lend me your ear and I’ll make a song 

To sing you, goodbye, goodbye 

The fire beckoned, so she willed her legs up off the stool, grounding her feet on the cool tiles of the kitchen floor. She made her way to the little carpet beside the hearth, humming all the while. The rug beneath her was cold and stiff, a mass of black and white fibers all woven together. 

Once the fire was stoked, she huddled her knees to her chest and resumed that gentle rocking back and forth. She picked up a pretty little jar by her side, lazily examining the carvings engraved on the stone. Swirls and swooshes of wind alongside a small wilting chrysanthemum, delicately designed. She traced the carvings with her thin, brittle finger. Then she opened the jar. 

She reached two fingers into the opening, and took a small pinch of the contents. With a delicate flick, she sent the ashes into the heat. She watched, mesmerized, as the fire grew and died, grew and died, with each pinch of ashes. She found herself smiling, humming that tune that kept on a loop in her mind. 

“Oh Charlie boy, how I love you,” she cooed, once more, sending some ashes into the fire. “Oh Lisa darling, how I adore you.” Then she took the jar, perched dangerously close to the flames, and sent the rest of the ashes down into the coal. The fire roared in gratitude and grew bigger still. 

And all the while, her heart beat with a sad, sad rhythm as she kept that absent smile on her lips. 

Then, to her horror, she heard footsteps. Loud, panicked footsteps making their way down the stairs in the hallway. So close they were. She was sent into such a state of panic that she dropped the jar onto the floor, its ceramic shell breaking upon contact into hundreds of tiny shards. She let out a scream. 

“Oh Charlie boy, how I love you,” she sobbed, huddling against herself, rocking furiously. “Oh Lisa darling, how I adore you.” She sobbed and wailed until she thought she couldn’t anymore, and even then it continued. An endless flow of tears. She let out another scream as she felt two sturdy hands on her shoulders. 

“Oh Charlie boy, is that you?” She wailed, rocking harder. 

“Mrs. Jamie, it’s time for your medicine darling.” 

Another shriek, the words sending her into an episode. “Oh Lisa darling, oh Lisa darling. Where are you Lisa darling?” She began slamming her hands into her knees and rocking so hard forward that she sent her whole frail body toppling onto the ground. 

“Mrs. Jamie, it’s me. Randy. I’m your nurse. I’m here now. Everything is okay now.”

She wailed some more, because, of course, everything wasn’t okay. 

“Charlie boy, Lisa darling. Help me!” And then she surrendered to Randy’s strong grasp, wailing still, as he took her upstairs to her bedroom. She was so worked up that she could barely see, her eyes welling with every thought of that fire. Those ashes. She kicked and flailed as she was firmly placed into bed, tucked in tight for all the bedbugs to see. 

“Mrs. Jamie, it’s okay,” Randy said softly, stroking her hair as he fed her various pills and a glass of water. “I’m here now. You’re safe, I will keep you safe.” She looked up at him with big, innocent eyes. Just like that, she had already forgotten the panic she was in moments ago. She resumed the gentle rocking, as her frail hands clutched the sheets. 

“Charlie,” she murmured. “Lisa….” 

“They’re safe too, now. They’re not in pain anymore. Hush now, dear. It’s about time you went down for a nap, huh?”