Status: Active, work on it every now and then.
The Simplest Thing in the World
Three
“Celia Kay. Jonathon Kesner.”
The sound of Pomp and Circumstance flooded my ears as I walked up to the stage. I found my parents in the audience. They wore large, proud smiles. My father held a camcorder in his right hand, giving me a thumbs up with the left. Principal Montier handed me a black square, containing my high school diploma. Who knew a piece of paper could make me so happy. I posed as I hit the final step after leaving the stage, giving my parents a nice shot. As I stood the audience began disappearing. Person by person vanished with a small pop! Until only my parents remained. They walked up to me, oblivious to the fact everyone had spontaneously combusted.
“We are so proud of you, Celia.”
With a big smile, I embraced my parents. When I pulled back, I found myself alone hugging nothing but the air.
I sat up in the bed, breathing heavy. Rubbing my eyes, I found I already had tears forming. The clock on the bed side table claimed it was eight in the morning. I drew the curtains back, expecting sunlight to burst through. Instead I was greeted by dreary clouds and a light sprinkling of rain.
“I had heard London was always rainy. I’m so glad it’s true,” I mumbled to myself.
With two hours to kill, I ran a quick shower and made a trip down to the small café in the lobby.
“Could I get a bagel, please?” I asked the man behind the counter. “Oh, wait,” I said, glancing up at the menus again.
I found a road bump in my request and my rumbling stomach was getting restless. I pulled a five dollar bill out of my pocket, seeing all of the € symbols on the board.
“I forgot your country had a different currency. Is there anywhere close by that accepts American money or someplace to exchange for euros?”
The man offered me a sympathetic smile, “Don’t worry about it, honey. On the house,” he said, warming up a fresh bagel.
“Thank you so much, sir. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this. I haven’t eaten a thing since yesterday. My flight got in so late, I didn't even think of getting something to eat.”
He smiled, “No problem, love. I understand. Some days just don’t go right. I don’t want your day to start out on the wrong foot.”
“No soap, radio!”
Canned laughter rang out of the television set.
“Ha. Ha.” I said sarcastically to myself. “Hilarious.”
After watching an hour of TV, I came to the conclusion that I didn't understand British comedy at all. I shut the set off, and lie back onto the bed.
“I want to go home.”
I thought about my friends back home. I wish I could see Beck…and Zoey. They’d been dating forever. Well, forever since third grade. Zoey and I had been friends since kindergarten. She was so smart, even back then. While the teachers rattled on about adding and subtracting, Zoey would sit in the back of the room doing multiplication and mastering long division. She’d correct teachers constantly which was annoying for both the instructor and the class.
A knock resonated from across the room. Glancing at the clock again, I rolled myself off the bed.
“Right on time, gramps.”
I opened the door and stood face to face with a man I hardly knew, but blood is blood, I suppose. We’d only met a few times, and I had been to young to remember the encounters. He wore a loose sweater and dress pants. He had a kind face, wrinkled in a way that made one think of wisdom, and a life full of laughter, not old age. His eyes were a light blue, just like mine and my father’s, and dark hair dominated by patches of gray. He held a small, white piece of poster board with the words, “Miss Celia” written in clean, block writing. It was the sort of thing you’d see at an airport, not a run down motel. Was he trying to be funny? Trying to make a good first impression?
“My, my. What a beautiful young woman you've become.”
I gave him a forced smile that I reserved for strangers.
“Thanks, grandpa. You too.”
He laughed a loud, throaty laugh reminding me of Santa Claus.
“Silly girl. All set?” I nodded. “Well let’s get a move on then.”
Grandpa Harold helped gather all my things which were very few, and next thing I knew we were strolling down the hallway. At least he seems nice enough, I thought to myself. Of course, I still have to meet Grandma Ruth. For all I know, she could be one of those old-fashioned debutante types. I refuse to be put in some frilly, frou frou dress. Harold led me out to a taxi waiting by the entrance of the building. The driver put my suitcase and backpack in the trunk as Harold and I climbed in the backseat. He rattled off some odd sounding address when the cabbie got in. The car started to move and I began getting my first glimpse of London…in daylight that is. While the gray clouds lingered, they didn't affect the beauty of the city. Old building made of old brick and lined with ivy, not to mention the far off edifices along the skyline.
“You look so much like your father.”
I turned away from the window to see Harold’s eyes on me.
I smiled softly, “I do?”
“Very much so.”
I had always loved it when other people would make the usual parent-child comparisons. It made me feel as if my parents were not truly gone after all, but they continued to live. Live through me.
“You have Cynthia’s hair, such a pretty light blond, but you have Carter’s features. Your eyes…they are almost identical to his, and you have the same cheek bones. I remember Cynthia used to say she was jealous of your father’s cheek bones.” He reminisced with a sad smile. “But…what’s this?” He asked, reaching a wrinkled hand across the seat to trace the outline of my jaw. I dropped my eyes to my feet.
“The accident?” He asked softly.
I nodded. The driver looked back at me through the rear view mirror, trying to catch a glimpse of the poor, deformed orphan girl. Thankfully, Harold picked up on my uneasiness and decided to drop the subject. The rest of the car ride was silent except for the low music playing from the front seat. It was a melancholy sort of song, a nice instrumental soundtrack with depressing lyrics. It reminded me of my current life. Here I was in London, a city my classmates longed to visit, an upbeat place I should be excited to be in, but how could I be when the whole reason I was here was because of death.
The sound of Pomp and Circumstance flooded my ears as I walked up to the stage. I found my parents in the audience. They wore large, proud smiles. My father held a camcorder in his right hand, giving me a thumbs up with the left. Principal Montier handed me a black square, containing my high school diploma. Who knew a piece of paper could make me so happy. I posed as I hit the final step after leaving the stage, giving my parents a nice shot. As I stood the audience began disappearing. Person by person vanished with a small pop! Until only my parents remained. They walked up to me, oblivious to the fact everyone had spontaneously combusted.
“We are so proud of you, Celia.”
With a big smile, I embraced my parents. When I pulled back, I found myself alone hugging nothing but the air.
***
I sat up in the bed, breathing heavy. Rubbing my eyes, I found I already had tears forming. The clock on the bed side table claimed it was eight in the morning. I drew the curtains back, expecting sunlight to burst through. Instead I was greeted by dreary clouds and a light sprinkling of rain.
“I had heard London was always rainy. I’m so glad it’s true,” I mumbled to myself.
With two hours to kill, I ran a quick shower and made a trip down to the small café in the lobby.
“Could I get a bagel, please?” I asked the man behind the counter. “Oh, wait,” I said, glancing up at the menus again.
I found a road bump in my request and my rumbling stomach was getting restless. I pulled a five dollar bill out of my pocket, seeing all of the € symbols on the board.
“I forgot your country had a different currency. Is there anywhere close by that accepts American money or someplace to exchange for euros?”
The man offered me a sympathetic smile, “Don’t worry about it, honey. On the house,” he said, warming up a fresh bagel.
“Thank you so much, sir. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this. I haven’t eaten a thing since yesterday. My flight got in so late, I didn't even think of getting something to eat.”
He smiled, “No problem, love. I understand. Some days just don’t go right. I don’t want your day to start out on the wrong foot.”
***
“No soap, radio!”
Canned laughter rang out of the television set.
“Ha. Ha.” I said sarcastically to myself. “Hilarious.”
After watching an hour of TV, I came to the conclusion that I didn't understand British comedy at all. I shut the set off, and lie back onto the bed.
“I want to go home.”
I thought about my friends back home. I wish I could see Beck…and Zoey. They’d been dating forever. Well, forever since third grade. Zoey and I had been friends since kindergarten. She was so smart, even back then. While the teachers rattled on about adding and subtracting, Zoey would sit in the back of the room doing multiplication and mastering long division. She’d correct teachers constantly which was annoying for both the instructor and the class.
A knock resonated from across the room. Glancing at the clock again, I rolled myself off the bed.
“Right on time, gramps.”
I opened the door and stood face to face with a man I hardly knew, but blood is blood, I suppose. We’d only met a few times, and I had been to young to remember the encounters. He wore a loose sweater and dress pants. He had a kind face, wrinkled in a way that made one think of wisdom, and a life full of laughter, not old age. His eyes were a light blue, just like mine and my father’s, and dark hair dominated by patches of gray. He held a small, white piece of poster board with the words, “Miss Celia” written in clean, block writing. It was the sort of thing you’d see at an airport, not a run down motel. Was he trying to be funny? Trying to make a good first impression?
“My, my. What a beautiful young woman you've become.”
I gave him a forced smile that I reserved for strangers.
“Thanks, grandpa. You too.”
He laughed a loud, throaty laugh reminding me of Santa Claus.
“Silly girl. All set?” I nodded. “Well let’s get a move on then.”
***
Grandpa Harold helped gather all my things which were very few, and next thing I knew we were strolling down the hallway. At least he seems nice enough, I thought to myself. Of course, I still have to meet Grandma Ruth. For all I know, she could be one of those old-fashioned debutante types. I refuse to be put in some frilly, frou frou dress. Harold led me out to a taxi waiting by the entrance of the building. The driver put my suitcase and backpack in the trunk as Harold and I climbed in the backseat. He rattled off some odd sounding address when the cabbie got in. The car started to move and I began getting my first glimpse of London…in daylight that is. While the gray clouds lingered, they didn't affect the beauty of the city. Old building made of old brick and lined with ivy, not to mention the far off edifices along the skyline.
“You look so much like your father.”
I turned away from the window to see Harold’s eyes on me.
I smiled softly, “I do?”
“Very much so.”
I had always loved it when other people would make the usual parent-child comparisons. It made me feel as if my parents were not truly gone after all, but they continued to live. Live through me.
“You have Cynthia’s hair, such a pretty light blond, but you have Carter’s features. Your eyes…they are almost identical to his, and you have the same cheek bones. I remember Cynthia used to say she was jealous of your father’s cheek bones.” He reminisced with a sad smile. “But…what’s this?” He asked, reaching a wrinkled hand across the seat to trace the outline of my jaw. I dropped my eyes to my feet.
“The accident?” He asked softly.
I nodded. The driver looked back at me through the rear view mirror, trying to catch a glimpse of the poor, deformed orphan girl. Thankfully, Harold picked up on my uneasiness and decided to drop the subject. The rest of the car ride was silent except for the low music playing from the front seat. It was a melancholy sort of song, a nice instrumental soundtrack with depressing lyrics. It reminded me of my current life. Here I was in London, a city my classmates longed to visit, an upbeat place I should be excited to be in, but how could I be when the whole reason I was here was because of death.