Roberta Marshall put her head down on her desk and wept. The tears flowed freely from her heavily made-up eyes and created black streaks on her cheeks. She wasn’t thinking about her make-up, though, and nor was she wondering how to conceal her reddened eyes. In fact, Roberta Marshall wasn’t thinking about anything very practical.
After a few more sobs, a rational thought did spring into her mind. She thought to herself I’m being unreasonable.
A few minutes later, she went further. I’m being stupid.
The tears didn’t stop flowing, though. She felt a grief that went deep in her, piercing some of her most precious memories. She felt as if her whole childhood was about to disappear.
Eventually, the torrent flowing from Roberta’s eyes came to a halt, and she lifted her head up from her arms. She looked around her big office and was glad to see that the door was closed. Shakily, Roberta reached for her telephone, dialed a number and waited.
“Hello?” a soft voice answered.
“Roberta?” the voice became incredulous. “Are you crying, Honey?”
“Not anymore, but I was.” Roberta’s voice, still thick from her recent crying jag, replied. She spoke again, a plea in her voice. “Mom, do you have to sell the house?”
Silence, almost a physical silence, came through from the other end of the line. Roberta could feel it weighing upon her. After what seemed like an eternity, Roberta’s mother heaved a sigh.
“Oh, Honey,” she breathed. “Yes, we have to sell the house. It’s not practical for us to live there these days. Your father really has a difficult time on the stairs and it’s simply not worth it to rent out the place.”
Roberta already knew all this, of course, and she felt guilty forcing her mother to go into the painful subject again. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She remembered thundering up and down those stairs with her brother. She remembered breakfasts in the big kitchen and birthday parties in the backyard and, later, arguments about curfew in the cozy den. Now it would all be gone. The tears threatened to overwhelm Roberta again, but she swallowed the lump in her throat and spoke into the phone again.
“Sorry, Mom. I don’t mean to make this harder on you,” and after a moment’s pause, she began again with a cheerier voice. “And anyway, you and Dad will be closer to Devin and me now, and you’ll get to see Ella more often.”
“Exactly, Honey. This can be a good thing,” her mother answered bravely.
“Ella will be happy to see her grandma more often, that’s for sure,” smiled Roberta as she spoke. After a few more minutes of falsely cheery talk about Ella’s toys and diapers, Roberta hung up the phone.
The tears began streaming out of Roberta’s eyes even as she collected herself and began to work again. She would cry on and off for days, but eventually, she learned how to cherish the memories of the big house and reconcile herself to the reality of losing it. At least, she always comforted herself, Ella’s happy that her grandma can babysit her sometimes.
5 thoughts on “Ella’s Grandma [A Short Story]”
a very moving poem ♥
i love the description of how her face looked when she cried “The tears flowed freely from her heavily made-up eyes and created black streaks on her cheeks.”
i know the sting of makeup when you cry all too well
Em… you really do write incredibly. I love reading these stories… the way that you write, the way that you explina things, the images that you create in my mind… just wow.
Once again you transport me into one of your weaves of a story. I love it. How do you come up with it???
Slightly off topic, are you on Facebook?
Thank you everyone – I appreciate your warmth more than I can articulate… I’m so glad you guys liked my little story here.
Joy – Yup, I have Facebook, but it’s with my real name, so I’ll have to email it to you :).
that would be great.