The Lure

Sun, between noon and sunset and sky a dusky blue. Children, in action, under the water sprinkler in park, shouts of laughter, squeals of excitement. Droplets of water on warm flesh, on hair, on tongues, in eyes.

Jillianne, happy, open wide smile, flashing white teeth, sandles off, barefeet on grass, cartwheels through the sprinkler rain, unaware of the woman, lonely and alone on the wooden bench under the maple tree with sun shriveled leaves. Happy that Lauren, her best friend, not in mind of her problem of yesterday, also happy in and out of sprinkler rain.  

A younger child, abrupt onto slippery grass, cries of pain, so Jillianne, sympathetic and helpful, “Oh dear, you poor dear.”

The old woman in observation, excitation in bony fingers. In the old woman’s sight, the girl, Jillianne with strawberry blond hair, full of laughter and shrieks, the one for the lure. 

Jillianne, on this side and then that side of sprinkler, under the spray of water, wet legs and wet arms, water on skin, grass on skin, topsy turvy with other children. 

Old woman with shrivelled hand in pocket of grey coat, a lure in the depths of the pocket, a beloved object. Then in cunning, on her feet, a cry of distress, echoes of her grey soul, volume above the children’s playful laughter, banter, and squeals. All the children now in awareness, of an old woman on the ground. All, except Jillianne, eye movement to the woman, but hesitation and more eye movement toward the sprinkler and the fun. 

Jilliane though, at the woman’s side, the other children, closer and closer, but not as much as Jillianne. Unsure giggles and glances, then movement away and back towards the sprinkler.

The old woman, smiles on her face, devious thoughts in her mind, lure in her pocket, clenched hand out of pocket, now open hand. Sly eyes on Jillianne’s look of longing, at heart locket, light and golden on crisscrossed web of palm. Gleam in old woman’s slits of eyes. 

“Dearie, you, so kind, to a helpless old woman like me, without your help, I’d…” 

“No, no, my parents and my teachers, kindness to others, in truth, kindness to self.” 

“Ah, so sweet, and adorable.” Sharp glint in eye slits, thin smile.

“Can I, assistance to you?”

Golden locket invisible in closed hand, then small bulge in pocket. 

“No, no, dearie…your friends, no longer under sprinkler, now over hill and onto road…”

“But okay, no need I with them, and my dinner time later…my mother still at work.”

“Your father?” Shrewd eyes in eyeslits.

Blush on girl’s fair cheek. “My father…always protection over me.” Hand in movement over head.

“Ah, I in understooding…good and caring parents for good girl,” endearing smile, glistening strand in web of deceit. “You in movement to them?” gnarled hand in movement toward children almost out of sight.  

“No, I you, assistance.” Firm and fairness in good girl’s face.

“Well, dearie, my home, one block away. Appreciation for your helpfulness. Sunshine to my heart.”

Old woman on feet, withered hand in girl’s supple hand. Dry leaves in drift over heads. Girl, in awareness of one dried leaf on old woman’s collar, in light flick of hand, in draft to ground. Girl in awareness, of old life of leaf on ground, frail and in decomposement. 

In slow movement on the road, all other children not in sight, Jillian and the old woman, in slow progress. Woman’s right foot favoured, Jillian on left side, occasionally woman’s weight on her small shoulder. Home further than one block. “Just another block,” old woman’s quick smile and hand in pocket. After progress of another block, “Just one more.” Eye gleam in eye slit bright with hope. 

Girl, weary and suspicious of further detainment. “We much further than I in my thought and belief.” 

“Ah, dear girl, just a little further, that house on your left.” Bony fingers in movement at old house with brown siding on bottom and old crystalline stucco on top.

“No, my mother in me, belief of safety, and my father as well.” Hands in movement over head.

“Right,” old woman’s smile thin and stretched.

“If time, into my home, in comfortable chairs with ice-cold lemonade and cookies, you and I, in friendly conversation, the story of my beautiful golden locket.” Enticing smile, and crooked finger. 

“No, my mother now home, I must not here, but there to home.” Hands in prayer on chest. “You in understanding?”

Old woman, sudden weight on left leg, anguished cry, “Oh, dearie me, your assistance to door please, and then you to your home and to your Mama, godspeed.”

Jillian in brief thought and bright smile. 

 “Of course,” Old woman, her hand in Jillianne’s, both in movement up the path and up the steps. Old woman, her hand out of Jillianne’s hand and into pocket and then out with key.  

Jillianne’s breath sharp with her own movement.  

Old woman’s door ajar with key. “Telephone in here?” Hopeful gleam in old woman’s eyes in eyeslits.  

“Telephone, not just now.” Jillianne aware, old woman not in pain of leg, movement on both legs sturdy, curious about old woman’s story, into old woman’s home and placement of self on worn and faded satiny cushion of armchair, indicated by old woman. 

Old woman’s hand into pocket. “No! the locket, not here!” Into other pocket and more pockets and handbag, frenzied. Onto small sofa with curled wooden feet and faded swirling patterns on cushions, old woman herself in placement, pained look on face.

“Maybe earlier, when you unstable, perhaps locket out of pocket?” Jillianne onto feet in movement. “I, to my home, and in those places and all along, my eyes in careful movement and in still concentration, perhaps your locket on the ground.”

“I with you, more eyes the better,” old woman in quick movement off couch.

“No, you in injured condition, in home for you, much better.” Jillianne’s smile on outside, but on inside, thoughts in preparation.

“Locket lost, but prefer you with me, in my home, and stories between us. Old woman’s eyes down and chin unsteady.  

Jillianne up in flash and at door ajar, “Thank you, but no time, must quickly in movement and if luck, your locket in my vision,” hands in prayer position.

“No!” old woman’s voice loud and fierce, but Jillianne in movement on street and in direction of own home. Fearful of sudden appearance of old woman, in haste three blocks in movement, then hand into pocket, little gold locket in hand and then in front of eyes.

Lauren, yesterday, this locket missing, in tears and sadness, now Jillianne happy for Lauren. Momma, long story in sharing, hopefully not too angry at her, for lateness back to home.