High above the warmth of my finger sits my grandmother’s opal ring. Glinting in the light, hiding stories of the past I will never know.
As it moves with my hand it changes color like an old kaleidoscope I once used as a child. The rainbow of patterns invites my eyes to look at it.
Its old mount is worn like an old lady’s hand but I can almost feel the love that it possesses inside it. Love for it and from its previous wearer.
My eyes fill up with watery dewdrops as I recall its original owner. I cannot help thinking of her and I feel the metal wrapped around my finger like a strange security blanket reminding me she will always be with me as long as I wear the ring.
As I gaze upon the myriad of pictures that are forming on the surface of the ring, I can almost make out her face. I search the recess of my mind and retrieve a memory of my grandmother I had almost forgotten.
I smile as I can see the ring transport to her finger in my mind. I feel almost like a fraud wearing it now when it always belonged on her finger. I am just its keeper now; it will never actually belong to me.
It goes through the motion for me. Yes, it shines and yes it changes color to suit my moods, but it will never truly come alive like it did when it was on her finger.
As the years have slipped by and my skin and fingers have grown to match hers, I am but a poor Xerox copy of the genuine article.
My memory of her is fading now but my love for her burns on and it is this emotion that I feel the ring senses; this raw heart rendering emotion that gives the ring sympathy for me.
With me it shows but a glimpse of its beauty and I’ll take that. When I show the ring to others they cannot understand it like I can. They do not comprehend its importance. They never see the door that it opens to my memory of a truly wonderful person.
Sometimes I take the ring off but it is like there is a piece of me missing and I feel lost. It’s like it completes me.
It is always admired and commented on and I feel proud to tell of its history and age. I grin slightly as I explain its almost magical power to change color, and see the eager expectation on a new viewer’s face. I can’t help feeling a little smug when I see the disappointment they try to hide when it doesn’t change color for them. No, it keeps that gift for me alone. After all it is my grandmother’s ring.
THE WATCH
By Joanne Ashley
The door closed behind the nurse and Mrs. Higgins sat down on the bed. She heard his footsteps receding up the corridor and then there was silence. It had been a depressing day. No-one would believe her. She had tried to tell them that things had gone missing but they had just told her she was forgetful and that she had misplaced them. Her Charlie’s gold fob watch had disappeared and yet no-one cared. She knew that it was him.
Simon was new. He was a lot rougher than the rest of them. He pushed her around and frightened her. He never had time to talk to her or comb her hair like that young girl. What was her name? Oh yes, Shelby. Nice girl that one. Always brushed her hair for her and took time talking to her as if she were the only one. Sometimes they even had tea together. Well, she would show them. Prove to them that she wasn’t mad. She had a gold locket, that her mother had given her when she was eighteen. Ah, those were the days. She remembered those beautiful dresses and being from a good family, she had lots of gentlemen callers. One had been her Charlie. Her eyes misted up as she thought of Charlie. How handsome he had been with his dark eyes and jet black hair. He always wore a pinstriped suit when he came calling and the chain from his fob watch shone brightly against it.
The thought of the watch brought her back from her daydreaming. Yes, she had a plan to catch that thief. She had made sure Simon had seen the locket when he came and changed her bed. She had even commented on it, bringing his attention to its’ age and value. He acted like he wasn’t listening but she knew he had heard.
Tonight she would catch him. Whenever, he came to check on whether she was sleeping, he would help himself to her grapes and water. Cheek of it. Well, tonight she had a very different plan for him. That water would be nice and relaxing for him tonight. Yes, very relaxing. She giggled at herself and glanced over to the water jug. Her eyes were still pretty good after all these years and she could see the white sediment resting at the bottom of the jug. She would sleep easy tonight especially as she knew she wouldn’t be the only one.
She was on a lake, in a rowing boat and Charlie was rowing. It was a bright summer’s day and there were hardly any clouds in the sky. The warm summer sun filtered down on her, warming her. She gently flapped her fan with one hand and held her parasol with the other. The gentle swish as the water tapped against the sides of the boat could be heard alongside the soft splash as each oar dipped in and out of the water.
Charlie smiled at her and she returned the gesture. It was so peaceful. She looked over to the edge of the lake. A family of ducks was swimming alongside two elegant swans. On the banks, was lush green grass with weeping willows hanging over the water, as if their crying had made the lake. Further up one of the banks, were the blanket and their picnic laid neatly on the ground awaiting their return.
Charlie rowed over to the edge and then stood up in the boat. Apart from no shoes or socks and his trousers legs rolled up, he still wore the pin striped suit and she could she his watch chain. He got out of the boat and pulled it further up the bank. She waited for him to steady the boat before standing. Then he walked over to her and lifted her out of the boat. He carried her to the bank and then set her down. He sat down next to her and gently kissed her lips. She closed her eyes. “Claire,” he said softly. “Yes Charlie?” “Claire?” “Mmm.” She felt his hands on her shoulders as he gently shook her. “Mrs. Higgins?”
She opened her eyes and was disappointed to find herself, not on the side of a lake, but in her chair and Shelby was standing over her. “You fell asleep in your chair, dear,” she said kindly. “It’s time for bed. Shall I brush your hair for you?” Trying not to show her disappointment, she nodded her reply. Shelby took the hairbrush from the side and sat down on the bed next to her. Softly she began to brush her hair. “Nice locket you got there,” she said. “Yes, my mother gave it to me when I was eighteen.” “Goodness, it must be quite valuable now then.” “Oh yes,” replied Mrs. Higgins, “I believe it was quite expensive even back then.”
Shelby put the brush back down on the side and helped her into bed. Just as she tucked her in, Simon appeared. Mrs. Higgins frowned. He had a cup of tablets in his hand. “Now,” he growled “Doctor says you haven’t been sleeping too well lately and has given me these pills for you. Says I’ve got to stay with you to make sure you take them.” He poured a glass of water from the jug. Remembering what else was in the water, Mrs. Higgins pulled back. “Now dear, Doctor’s orders,” said Shelby firmly. She took the tablets from Simon and held them out to Mrs. Higgins. Not knowing what else to do, Mrs. Higgins took them and put them in her mouth. “There’s a good girl. Here now wash them down with this,” he said and handed her the tainted water. “I think I’ll even have some myself.” He poured himself a glass and drank deeply. Mrs. Higgins drank the water slowly and smiled as she saw him replace the glass on the side. Then she lay down on her bed. Almost immediately she was sleepy. She watched him leave and then rolled over and went to sleep, peacefully in the thought that he would not be able to take her locket.
Simon returned to his desk, in the middle of the ward. He felt strange, really sleepy all of a sudden. He was annoyed; tonight he had to have his wits about him. There had been a series of thefts on the ward and they all corresponded with when that young girl, Shelby worked. He needed to keep an eye on her. He had seen how she had looked at Mrs. Higgins’ locket with great interest. Mrs. Higgins, nice old dear that one but a bit of a fusser he thought. He shook his head, as if trying to shake away the sleepiness. Maybe some coffee would help. He walked over to the coffee machine in the staff lounge. He poured himself a cup and sat down on a chair next to it. As he fell asleep, the coffee cup fell from his hand and onto the floor.
Someone was calling his name and shaking him. He tried to come around but it was really hard. Finally, he opened his eyes. There was a bustle of people on the ward and people all talking at once. “What’s going on?” he stuttered. “Whilst you have been sleeping a patient has died on your watch,” snapped Matron. “What? Who?” “Mrs. Higgins, that’s who! It looks like she died in her sleep but we’ll know more after the autopsy.” “Oh, my God.” He said, suddenly becoming awake. He stood up and wobbled a little and then fell down again. “What’s wrong with you?” asked the Matron.
Simon tried to stand again but found he had no strength and he was still very sleepy. The Matron called over one of the Doctor’s to look at him. After examining him he said “Have you taken any sleeping pills? It looks to me that you have all the signs of an overdose. Matron, get this man down to the emergency room and fast.”
As Simon was rushed down on a stretcher to the emergency room, Mrs. Higgins was wheeled down to the morgue. Shelby had already left for the day; it was her last day at the hospital. She opened her front door and went inside, closing the door behind her. She opened her bag and took out the locket. She looked at it for a moment and then put it on the side with the watch and various other pieces she had taken. She grinned slightly. Nice touch that she thought putting some sleeping tablets in the old dear’s water. She could hardly stop herself from laughing when Simon drank some too. Now he would get blamed for falling asleep on the job; might even get accused of the theft too. Yes, tonight had been a very successful night. After she sold the jewelry she would move on to the next place she had lined up, a nice little nursing home. END
PERFECT LOVE
By Joanne Ashley
I lay my baby down on the bed and watch as she sleeps peacefully. I just want to take her in my arms and hold her, protect her from this big frightening world.
She’s precious to me. No more precious than my other beautiful daughter, but this one I feel more protective of. She had such a frightening start to her life.
She gently stirs in her sleep and one of her strawberry blonde ringlets falls over her ear. It still amazes me the wonder of life. Little babies fingers, toes, ears, eyes and noses are just so perfect, miniature, but perfect.
From deep down inside me I feel a love like no other. How this little girl can turn me into Jell-O with just one smile or a tear after a fall, or a laugh at something funny. The love wells up inside until it reaches the surface and I find myself crying at almost nothing at all.
She’s a tough little girl this one. Maybe she learned to be at such a young age, but I still marvel how she can graze her knee and not even cry. So when she does cry, I know it is for real, I feel the pain she feels and yet I feel so desperate at the same time. I just want to take it all away.
We almost lost her just five days after we got her. I watched as she turned blue and stopped breathing. I could hear a scream, a voice frantically calling her name and then I realized it was mine. Then as though some one was looking out for her, she breathed again and turned back to pink.
Like I was watching some kind of horror movie, I watched her being filled with tiny tubes and needles. She cried out for me and I wasn’t allowed to touch her. How could they hurt my baby and all I could do was watch? They were helping her, trying to find out what was wrong, but how was she to know that, at only five days old?
I turned my head, unable to watch as she cried for me. I called out to her, but my voice was so choked up with tears I could barely speak. So I switched off; maybe if I retreated into my own silent world things would be different, I wouldn’t be in this horrible situation and she would be sucking from a bottle in contentment.
Numb with pain, I could hear what was going on but could do nothing, say nothing. People were talking to me and all I could do was block it all out.
Still in a daze I watched as the doctors and nurses left the room. She was sleeping. Except this time it was more out of exhaustion than peacefulness. I sat on a chair in my own little world with my baby lying on the bed beside me. Then I saw her little lips turning blue again.
No, being in this silent world was not helping my baby. The doctors were supposed to be doing that. “She’s turning blue again. Get someone in here now!” I screamed at the top of my voice.
All of a sudden the room was a hive of activity. Nurses and doctors were buzzing frantically around her. I pinched her hands and feet and then breathed with relief as her lips went back to pink. No, I wasn’t going to retreat into another world when my baby needed me here. I was going to fight for her.
It was like she sensed my change and she too, turned to fight. Within days she was pulled her own tubes out and breathing normally by herself. She was crying for food, for me and for her father.
I could see a change in her. She wanted to go home, away from this. I wanted to take her home too. I just wanted a normal life.
I wondered if I would ever sleep properly after seeing her stop breathing twice and to be honest I don’t even now sleep as deeply as I did before. So I watch her sleeping and am thankful that she is as strong as me. That we are connected, yet at the same time I will always be there watching over her.
I am just one of the thousands of mothers that have been put through the emotional rollercoaster of a very sick child. I am more fortunate than others, my daughter has totally recovered and is what I always wanted – a normal little girl.
How can anyone not feel the pain of little children almost as if it were their own? How can anyone watch a program where a child is so sick and not pray for them to get well, even if they are not religious? Wouldn’t we all want to take their pain away? It is an old cliché but are they not our future? Or maybe we just see a little of ourselves living on in them?
So here I sit on the edge of her bed. She sighs in her sleep and then suddenly opens her eyes. She rubs them with her amazingly perfect miniature fingers. She sees me sitting there and smiles. “Up Mommy,” she says.
I take her into my arms and she wraps her arms around my neck. For me, there is no better feeling in the world. Maybe I am in her arms really and she is taking my pain away, protecting me from the world. My throat gets choked up again with insurmountable emotion and we just sit there for a while lost in out own silent world.
END
MY FRIEND FRED
By Joanne Ashley
We moved from our house to this new home, So here I sat, on this step, all alone. Mom walked by and saw me sitting here, She smiled and said with a voice full of cheer, “Now, now, Dana Kelly, why so sad? Surely, moving here was not so bad. I see you’ve not made any friends yet, Why don’t we go and buy you a pet?”
We got in the car and drove to the pet store. All kinds of noises, we heard through the door. Mom stopped to stroke a lonely bloodhound, So I went by myself, to look all around. There were all types of cats, And all types of dogs. Mice, hamsters and rats And even some frogs! Snakes hissed inside cages of glass, And lizards sat on sticks in the grass. Fishes were colored, red, blue and white. Big, hairy, spiders gave me a fright. On a branch, at the back of the shop, Was a lonely black bird, Where I decided to stop. His feathers were, as black as the night, And his bill was yellow, as the sunlight.
As I stood there watching this lonely bird, Not saying a thing, not a single word. “Our Fred’s a strange one, he doesn’t seem to care.” The shop owner told me, as I stood there. “He’s never spoke a work nor made a noise, Nor does he play with any of his toys.” Mom came over saying, “You don’t want that, How about a rabbit, fish or a cat?” But I felt sorry for silent old Fred. “No, no Mom, it is him I want instead.”
“Buy the bird; I’ll give you the cage and food, Said the owner of Fred, on his stick of wood. “You’ll not get a deal, fairer than that.” Mom said at me, “Sure you don’t want a rat?” But I shook my head, had made up my mind I didn’t want to leave, poor Fred behind. So Mom paid the owner of the store And he helped carry Fred out the door.
Mom drove carefully back to our house. Fred still as quiet, as a field mouse. Placing his cage in a corner of my room, I waited for him, to sing out a tune. Now, Fred took a good look all around, But still he made not a single sound. Mom looked at me and then at this bird, Wondering when he, would say his first word.
We gave him some food and something to drink Fruit and some seeds in a bowl colored pink. Stood at his cage, when ready for my bed, “Goodnight Fred, sleep tight” whilst yawning, I said. He cocked his head and looked straight at me, “What is it Fred? What can it be?” But silent he stayed, so I went to sleep And soon we were snoring, both fast asleep.
When the morning arrived and I awoke I looked at Fred to see if he spoke. His bill opened and closed with no noise, So I went to play with some of my toys. Each hour, I would try to get him to speak, “Hello old Fred, how are you this week?” As I asked, he looked at me in his way “Are you going to talk to me today?”
Each day was the same as the day before, I started to speak to Fred more and more. Told him my secrets, worries and wishes Whilst I put food and water, in pink dishes. He listened to me, but never a sound. What strange kind of friend that I had found? Not afraid of the dark, with Fred so near. I often sat him close by on a chair.
As the months flew by, Fred grew quite tame Not speaking a word, not even my name. But now he would sit, quietly on my arm, Claws holding tight, never doing me harm. Sometimes he would climb up on my shoulder, Standing on my head, when he felt bolder. Each day I would talk to my mute black bird Hoping that day, he would say his first word.
One night, as I lay sleeping in my bed. He flew off his perch and onto my head. I woke with a start, really quite scared What had happened to startle my bird? Then a noise from the lounge scared me some more, I tiptoed to my parents’ bedroom door. I went and shook my Daddy awake He wondered why all this fuss I did make.
Then he too, heard the noise from the hall, My Mom awakened and the police she did call. “Daddy, we can’t leave Fred all alone” Mom looked up and put down the phone. There standing by the door was a masked man Stealing our stuff was obviously his plan. Being so scared, I started to cry And then all of a sudden Fred flew by.
He flew at the man, with all of his might, The darkness was blinding the bad man’s sight. He frantically waved his arms in the air He tried to run, but fell over a chair. The police car siren was sounding outside I slid under the bed, to try and hide. The police pushed open our front door, And grabbed the bad man, still on the floor.
They took the man, away in their car Fred proving he was the hero by far. Gave him some treats and said “What a good bird” And all of a sudden he said his first word. He opened his bill and cocked his head “Any chance we can go back to bed?” Dad looked at Mom and then looked at me We started laughing, happy can be.
After that, Fred never said another word But I cared not, I loved my black bird.
