At 86 years
old, Polly's energy arrived in short bursts and then would fly away like a bird that longed to break free from an old cage. It would come back but fly
away again. Her habit was to take lunch at
noon, then promptly go nap. In sleep or in visions as she lay
on her bed in the afternoons, vivid wonders came
regularly—vanquishing the thinnest of veils between worlds.
She had lost her dear husband years
ago, and resided alone. Her son lived a thousand miles away. A few
close friends visited regularly, bringing her books to read, and
sometimes playing a game of cards. Recently in her dreams at night, and
regularly in reverie as she rested in the afternoons, a lively and
animated little vision would occur. The same four characters would
arrive: a white rabbit, an angelic girl dressed in white, and two ballet
dancers—male and female. Usually the rabbit appeared first, then the
child angel with the dancers.
When Polly was six years old her
parents brought a white rabbit home for their daughter, and her
father made a cage where it lived in the backyard. It ate greens and
carrots and was content, especially when allowed out to hop around
the yard. Polly loved to stroke its long ears and feel its twitching
nose on her tender fingers. It was so long ago! Whatever happened to
it? She could not remember.
Her mother was an ardent lover of
ballet and often booked seats whenever a ballet group came to town. Polly had many fantastic youthful
memories of blissful nights seated next to her mother and father,
watching famous dance companies. She had seen some of the greats
perform; including Rudolf Nureyev and Nadia Nerina. Now, the pas de
deux ballet memories came through the mist like whirling dervishes
arriving from afar to entrance her mind and lift her heart.
A tragedy had occurred in her home when
Polly was just thirteen. Her best friend visited after school. The
two were playing jacks on the hardwood living room floor. Polly got
up to get a glass of water and when she came back her friend was
choking. Mother was summoned as the girl was turning blue in the face
and not able to breathe. Frantically, mouth to mouth resuscitation
was attempted but the child expired. Minutes later, the girls father
rushed through the front door and gave out a wail of grief seeing his
lifeless daughter in Polly's mother's arms. An autopsy revealed that
the poor girl had one of the jacks lodged in her windpipe. For many
years afterward at random moments of work or play, Polly sometimes
fleetingly glimpsed her friend—as if she was not gone at all, but just
transparent.
The foliage on the trees outside the
living room window were changing colors. The days became shorter
and the air chilled. Polly felt a tinge of remorse anticipating the
cold coming. One day, she sat in her rocking chair, gazing for hours at the
leaves falling, before suddenly getting up. She went to the refrigerator and
pulled out a pot of soup and heated it for lunch. She ate slowly, put the
dishes in the sink and feeling tired, went to her bedroom. Outside, the
sky was overcast, with bits of sunlight puncturing the clouds. Kicking off
her slippers, she laid down in bed and felt her energy gather like a
bird and fly out the window. She followed it. It flew and careened past the trees to a field not far away that was bordered
by woods. Suddenly on her feet at the edge of a meadow, something white caught her eye. Rabbit stood at attention, one eye
cocked toward her, watching, ears standing straight up. With a little hop, he
was in the woods. Suddenly, by Polly's side the girl angel appeared
and took her hand, pulling her to follow the rabbit. A path became
apparent. Rabbit ran ahead. Polly heard footsteps and holding to the
angels hand, she looked back to see two dancers, man and woman, in ballet costume
coming up fast behind them. Rabbit hopped to the right. Everyone followed and entered a tunnel of earth and vines. It
became dark but smelled wonderful. Polly squeezed tight the
child-angels's hand who squeezed back and in a second, the darkness
gave way to light as they entered a plush theater. Light dazzled from spectacular chandeliers hanging above. Rabbit
disappeared.
The dancers bounded past. An orchestra was tuning and a
ballet company waited onstage for the arrival of the two celebrated
dancers. Finely dressed people were arriving.
The child-angel leaned softly and whispered in Polly's ear, “Look
down there darling!” She gestured toward the front row. A lovely couple seated in the middle turned, and beaming with smiles beckoned to Polly. Her parents had an empty seat next to them and waved
excitedly for Polly to come join them. Suddenly, Polly's
energy came back to her, as if she was not 86 years old but 16. Joyfully she rushed down the aisle to join them.
Nora, 80, Polly's neighbor, knocked but
got no answer. The morning paper was at the doorstep and it was
almost noon. She took the extra key Polly had given her and unlocked
the door. “Polly, are you all right?” The home was silent. Nora
went to the bedroom and opened the door. Polly's hands were folded on
her chest and she lay with closed eyes, not breathing. Nora walked to
her side and looked close. Polly seemed to be smiling but she was
certainly dead. Nora peered tenderly at her friend. "OH! You rascal!”
was all she could say.
© 2016 Steven Boone ALL RIGHTS
RESERVED
