Running Through Memories

Henrietta’s crinkled, papery skin curled towards her lips, where bright red lipstick had been painted on in one neat swoop. She wore rouge in a dark red, almost burned, color, and her eyes shimmered with sparkly blue eyeshadow that dropped fallout with each blink. Her hair was neatly pleated into a low bun of dark brown hair streaked with gray.

“Hey mom,” Dorothy said, opening the door. The room was suddenly flooded with the fluorescent lights from the hall outside, and Henrietta groaned, raising a ringed hand to shield her eyes. 

“Close that door,” Henrietta snapped, squeezing her eyes shut.

Dorothy looked nothing like her mother. She had thick red hair and soft brown eyes, and she carried a small purple bag that accented her elegant black dress with a sharp pop. Henrietta still wore her flowered pajamas, even though the sun was at its sweltering point in the sky. 

“Good to see you, Beth,” Henrietta said, after a moment. “I thought you’d pop by.” Her words fluttered in that gruff way Dorothy had gotten used to within the past five years. She sighed. 

“Mom, I’m Dorothy,” she said, gently. Henrietta clicked her tongue. 

“Dorothy, bah! She told me, she told…” Henrietta trailed off, and Dorothy felt her heart squeeze as her mother looked away with a carefully impassive face. “Oh, you know, Beth. She told me she didn’t want to see me anymore. She doesn’t wanna see me. I’m not sure what I did, Beth, but I’m not sure of much anymore.” 

Dorothy sighed, collected her purse tightly within her grip, and sat forcefully on the makeup bench beside her mother. Henrietta clicked her tongue. 

“Don’t go breaking my bench sitting so heavily, Bethany…” 

Wild Oak’s Residence had only two rooms. The kitchen was connected to the living room, and Henrietta’s was cluttered with the dozens of items she’d been unwilling to part with when she moved in about three years prior. The bench itself was one of those items- and it was already broken, the leg chipped so that leaning one way or the other made the whole structure shift. The bedroom was located just to the side of the living room, and the door had been left open. Henrietta hadn’t made her bed from the night before, so the covers had collected at the base of the bed. Apparently Dorothy’s mother had been kicking the covers off in the night, claiming she overheated. The home worried she’d make herself ill, and wanted Dorothy to hire someone to watch her mother during the nights. 

“Of course I want to see you, mom,” Dororthy said quietly, not looking at her mother. 

“Beth, don’t call me mom,” Henrietta snapped, and Dorothy looked up, surprised by her tone. “You’re my sister.” Dorothy felt a pang in her chest, something trembling and small, not unlike how she’d felt waking up from a nightmare as a young girl. Henrietta wasn’t meant to be confused, wrong- not once throughout Dorothy’s childhood had she been. It felt wrong to see her like this. 

Ignorant of Dorothy’s inner turmoil, Henrietta smiled. “Do you remember the orchard, Beth?” 

“No, mom,” Dorothy sighed through her words. “I’m not Beth. I’ve never been to an orchard.” 

“Well of course you have, silly girl,” Henrietta waved a hand and rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair. “You had your pretty red hair in braids. I was jealous of that hair, Beth. I was so jealous!” 

“Okay,” Dorothy said quietly. She sniffed and ran her hands down her skirt before standing. “Okay, mom. I need to get to a dinner-”

“Bethany, you sit down and let me fix your hair.” Henrietta said sharply. In her shock, Dorothy found herself sitting again, and wincing as her mother twisted her hands into Dorothy’s neatly straightened hair. She’d fixed it before leaving the house under the impression that this would be a quick stop, and she’d be able to run to the dinner without much fuss at all.

“Now, do you remember the orchard?”

“Mom, I’ve never been to an orchard-” 

“Bethany,” Henrietta interrupted, tugging sharply on Dorothy’s hair. 

“Ow, mom!” 

“Now,” Henrietta said, smoothing the strand down again with loving fingers, pressing away the sting. “Now, as I was saying. John’s Orchard. It was an apple orchard, but you always ran to the strawberry fields. You always ran to them- couldn’t get you away from them, Beth, you loved those strawberry fields. Old Man John always told you not to mess with his strawberries, but I guess you saw through his cold exterior because, Lord, if you ever left those berries alone!” Henrietta laughed, soft and reminiscent, and Dorothy glanced at the clock. The dinner was two hours away from the home her mother lived in, and she was expected to be there in two hours and fifteen minutes.

“Yes, I loved the strawberries,” Dorothy said, sighing and settling herself on the cushions of the makeup bench. Her mother began to part her hair into sections. “Is that all? I’m sorry mom, I really need to go-” 

“Oh, Old Man John and you had a very odd relationship I always thought.” Henrietta interrupted, as though Dorothy had never spoken. “You know, when we ran, I think he’s the only person you missed- though you swore it was those strawberries, didn’t you? You swore it was the berries, but I knew. I knew you missed John, and his dog- named after you, wasn’t she? Bethany the mutt and Bethany the girl.”

Dorothy had heard most of the stories of the orchard- she’d pieced together that her mother and her aunt were raised by the kind (yet rough) old man next door, and that when her mother turned eighteen she’d packed a bag and collected her sister and they had left, only stopping to say goodbye to him.

Dorothy turned, trying to get a look at her mother’s face, but whatever expression she had held before Dorothy tried to look at her slipped away before Dorothy could grasp it, and Henrietta was tutting, annoyed. 

“Beth, I can’t do your hair if you’re flopping all around like a goldfish!” Henrietta tugged on Dorothy’s hair again and Dorothy quickly turned back to face forward, glad for the softness of her mother’s touch as she smoothed away the sting again. “Now, as I was saying. You and John had a curious relationship. I think he saw you as his own kid, what with our own parents running amok all the time. I think that’s why I was so firm with Dorothy, Beth. But maybe I went too far.” 

Suddenly, Henrietta sounded quite sad, and Dorothy swallowed heavily.

“You know, Bethany,” Henrietta continued, more quietly this time, she folded Dorothy’s hair back so gently she almost didn’t realize it was happening. It was nothing like the tight, neat, perfect styles she’d used throughout all of Dorothy’s childhood. Henrietta wasn’t anything like the woman Dorothy had grown up with, and- well. Maybe Dorothy couldn’t remember why she’d said she wouldn’t be visiting anymore either. It seemed foolish now, whatever it was. At the time it had felt like the only thing that mattered, but Dorothy couldn’t even cast her mind back far enough to have all the details in place. 

It had started with her prom dress (too many sequins, too many colors, too short, too long, too sexy) and ended at her wedding afterparty, when Henrietta took the glass of champagne from Dorothy and said, pointedly and in front of her mother-in-law, “don’t you think you’ve had enough?” 

Dorothy had spent a long time avoiding her mother, and refusing the conversations, and ignoring her apologies, and coming to visit only when she knew she’d need to rush out moments later. 

“You know, Bethany,” Henrietta repeated, tying off Dorothy’s hair. “I think you’d have been a better mother than I was.” 

“No,” Dorothy said firmly. She loved Aunt Beth, but she knew, firmly within her, that her mother was wrong. “No, she wouldn’t have,” Dorothy turned, and Henrietta’s hands fell from her hair. She didn’t say anything as she looked up at her daughter, but Dorothy felt such warmth in the gaze, her resolve melted away. She didn’t want to go to a stupid dinner where she was expected to wear uncomfortable dresses and make small talk with people she didn’t know- and she didn’t want to be angry anymore. 

Henrietta smiled, something very small and heavy, and leaned back in her chair, folding her hands in her lap. “Bethany, I think I ought to sleep now. You said you had a dinner to go to?” 

“It’s not important,” Dorothy waved a hand and offered her mother the other. “It’s midday. Why don’t we take a walk?”

Henrietta looked up, surprised. “Oh, Dorothy,” she said, and stood, much quicker than a woman her age should’ve been able to. Dorothy froze as her mother’s arms wrapped around her, muscles softened with age as they squeezed along Dorothy’s middle. “Oh, is it really you, sweet girl? You came back! You came, you said you wouldn’t, but you did! Oh, sweet, sweet girl…” 

“Hi, mom,” Dorothy wrapped her arms back around her mother. “I’m not running from you anymore. Let’s go for a walk.” 

“Oh. Yes,” Henrietta pulled away, and looked around the messy room. “You know, I don’t have my shoes- just a moment, sweet girl, I’ll be right back.” Henrietta hobbled away, leaning heavily on her right leg as she searched the ground. 

Dorothy smiled, and turned to the side, catching her reflection in the mirror. Two loose braids rested against her shoulders, softening her sharpened face. Gentle strands waved in front of her skin, and she found, upon further inspection, the same sort of smile her mother had worn a moment ago gracing her own lips. Something small and heavy- and she smoothed down her skirt, dropped her purse on the chair and then offered her mother her arm, as Henrietta pulled a thin coat over her night clothes and slipped shoes on her feet- shoes that clacked against the wood flooring. 

Outside, the sun caught like fire to Dorothy’s hair and lighted the gray in Henrietta’s to silver. The grass was vibrant and a soft wind weaved through the trees as clouds rolled slowly by. In the distance, Dorothy could just make out long rows of apple trees. Henrietta pointed to them excitedly- Dorothy imagined someone must have told her they were there, because her mother had always had poor eyesight and she had forgotten her glasses. 

“Oh, look Beth!” Henrietta said excitedly. “The orchard! Don’t you go running into Old Man John’s strawberries now- you know he’ll be upset.”