© 2006 dayv. some rights reserved.
"Here I be," I say.
I stand straight up, looking beyond the attendant at the desk. Above her, there is a document on the wall behind her: paper with a beautiful gold seal stamped upon it. It is pretty to look at. I wait for what the attendant has to say to me, yet my mind drifts somewhat. I have come to obtain some medicine to treat my little grandson. A sweet little boy he is. He got sick a few years ago. He needs the soothing medicine for his throat. It was but 3 years ago, I think. The poor boy was sitting and he was playing with the soap, he must have swallowed some. Thank the lord that he survived; it would have been a tragedy had he died that day. I ran with him to the doctor, I tried desperately to get help the little boy. Luckily, the doctor was able to keep him alive, and now I travel through the woods whenever his throat begins to close up some. He hasn’t been able to recover much since then, but I’m thankful that his condition has not gotten any worse.
"Are you deaf?" I hear someone talking in the distance; I cannot recognize whom, though. My old body is failing me. My old ears, don’t know when somebody’s talking to them. My mind seems to be going sometimes, as well. I just got here, and I cannot remember why. Neither lady here with me seems to be interested in helping me; I know I will remember. If I can just concentrate, it will come back to me and I will know what I came for.
"Well, Aunt Phoenix, why don’t you take a seat? We wont keep you standing after your long trip." I have taken a long trip to be here, that I do recall. It has taken me many hours of traveling to arrive, and my weary bones are worn-out. I see the woman in white point at the chair behind me. She must be offering me a seat. My aging body is exhausted. I do need to take a rest. Sitting for awhile will help me to recall what I’m to be here for.
"How is the boy?" Again, there are the distant voices. I cannot be imagining them. I can hear them too accurately. They are not a dream, a figment of my imagination, but for some reason, I can’t see as how they are talking to me. To whom else in the room are they directed to? Are the two women having a private conversation excluding me? I am but an old woman, these two young ladies must be conversing amongst themselves. I must remember what made this trip for so that we can get on with it. I mustn’t waste these ladies’ time.
"Is his throat any better? Aunt Phoenix, don’t you hear me? Is your grandson’s throat any better since the last time you came for medicine?" I recognize my name. Did she say that I have been here before? The woman in white speaks of ‘his throat’? Who is she speaking of? My grandson has a problem with his throat, he drank lye about three years ago. My memory always fails me. Like the rest of me, it’s hard to keep it working after getting as old as I have. It’s hard to struggle with trying to get an aging body to do as one pleases. I know that I have been here before, my surroundings seems oddly familiar. I can’t place what my business here might be, though. It is terrible to be in the middle of something and to completely forget your purpose. The young women still seem to be conversing amongst themselves. I don’t want to inquire for assistance from them, because they don’t seem to be the type who might help an old woman.
"Tell us quickly about your grandson, and get it over. He isn’t dead, is he?" That’s it, my grandson is my purpose. I have come all this way to get the comforting medicine for his throat. My grandson has been the key this entire time, I must never forget that. He is of utmost importance to me, and I couldn’t live with myself if I were to ever forget him again. I would not be able to live with myself if I were to not remember that sweet little boy patiently waiting at home. It is a wonderful feeling to triumph over the failings of oneself. All of this time wasted due to my weakening mind.