An Old Woman's Memories

Folder:

Short Stories

“Carlotta, where do you want to go after this?” the old woman asked her friend. Carlotta half-shrugged and placed the bag of whole wheat pretzels in the cart.

“I suppose we can head over to the Hanover Food Outlet. I heard they have a sale on canned yams, and we’re out of them; the cats ate them all,” she said. The other woman smiled, suppressing a light chuckle.

“Do you remember when little Jackie came over with that tray of cute little finger sandwiches last year? And then Junie ate then all while he was in the bathroom!” The two old friends shared a feeble, old-lady laugh.

“Good times, good times.”

The two of them continued down the aisle, collecting miscellaneous items. A bag of low sodium chips, sour ream and onion dip. The usual old-lady stuff. As they were rounding a corner, Jean turned to look at Carlotta, a nostalgic look upon her crinkled face.

“Carlotta, do you fid that you can’t remember anything from when we were girls?” By now they had stopped walking. Carlotta turned and looked at her friend, a sad smile on her face.

“Every once in a while, I dream about those memories. But when I try to call on them when I’m conscious, they never come up.” Jean looked down, frowning. Carlotta placed a gnarled hand on her shoulder. “It’s what happens when you get old. Like they always said, the memory is always the first to go.” Jean crossed her arms childishly.

“I wish I knew where I put my old diary. I wrote in that thing every day, about everything that happened to me,” she mumbled, blinking the tears back.

“Ah, to read that book…” Carlotta was silent for a moment, then she looked up, brown eyes wide with discovery. “Your old shoe box!”

Jean looked at Carlotta, her brow furrowed.

“What is it, Lotti?” she asked. Carlotta put her hands on her friends arms and gave her a little shake.

“Do you remember that old shoe box you kept from years ago because you said it was lucky?” Jean nodded, dumbfounded, not quite seeing the whole picture. “It’s in there! You put it in there twenty-six years ago! It’s in the back of the hall closet, under the Christmas wrapping paper!” she exclaimed loudly, causing a few people to turn and cast them curious glances. Jean thought for just a moment more, then the light bulb went off.

Smiles spread across their faces simultaneously. Without a word passed between them, they abandoned their cart and moved as fast as they could to their car. They had some memories to find, and they needed to be put back where they belonged: in their hearts.