Remembering

L· J. 'i i îi Ï I© ^J 1 !^ (^ £>\ 5^— REMEMBERING -^ ^ 6y Tom R. Walters -^ V^ (2 % 9 He had sat there on the porch for the past month, staring off into the distance, seeming to see, but no one was sure just what. Since they had buried her around on the hill he had hardly spoken; eating only what was set before him, shaving only when someone told him, but sleeping a peaceful sleep that showed from time to time a contented smile flash across his face. They had lived together for sixty-seven years, both just youngsters when he had asked her father for her. Now, whatever was going through his mind was changing him, and it was obvious it was all wrapped up in her memory. Jesse came to the door as the sun began to go behind the far ridge. "Pa, it's time to come in." Holding the door, Jesse waited patiently as the old man gathered his legs under him and pushed up from the slickbottomed oak chair. Taking a porch post for support, the old man came into the house and went to the kitchen where Mary had a glass of cold milk and cornbread waiting for him. This was what he had eaten before bedtime for the past sixty-seven years, and now again he ate, but for the past month the relish of it was gone. One of the last things he had saidwhile she lay sick, and while the children had all come in to see about her, was, "You know, I was figgerin' the other day and your Ma has set me down nearly twenty-five thousand glasses of milk and cornbread." John, in teenage wonderment, had said, "Why, Grandpa, I didn't know you could figure up anything like that. You told me you only went to the third grade." With a twinkle in his eye the old man had replied, "Well, son, you know, a third grade education don't seem much to you, but when I went to school it was a fer piece." Everyone got a good laugh and John got some paper and pencil, and sure enough, almost twenty-five thousand glasses of milk and cornbread! The children had been worried about him but Doc Morgan had told them it would probably pass in a few days, but a month had now gone by. Jesse and Mary had been the most handy since all the others had jobs to get back to. Jesse had a disability pension from the War and Mary was on her summer vacation from school, so they could spare the time— 4 temporarily. They all knew that a family council would have to be held over the 4th and decisions would have to be made. It was dark now, with only the faint light of the stars making soft patches on the floor by the window. The old man lay in his dreams, remembering sixty-seven years ago as if it were yesterday. In the quietnoisiness of the summer night, soft smiles would play across his face and she was lying there beside him once again. That same bed that had known the joys of youthful love. The laughter of being alive and close in each other's arms. The times when they had known, some inward knowing, that by their act of togetherness they had created. It was in that very bed that eight children had been born, each one wanted and loved and made a part of the family in a way that had brought each of them back at every opportunity , even though many miles began to separate them as the years went by. The day would come and the old man would again amble to the porch and seat himself next to the cane-bottomed rocker where she had sat, and where they had passed millions of words. He knew what was going on around him, but it didn't matter anymore. Those days on the porch were just times when he could lose himself in remembering; relive those dreams which had come to him in the night. He supposed some of it was also the process...