The Eleventh

The Eleventh

“That doesn’t go there, it goes in that end cabinet,” said Jean, her hands full of dishes being washed.

“Who came up with this plan for where things go? This looks just like the ones in the top cabinet, why doesn’t it go there?”

“My mother.”

“But why? You have enough dishes to feed the neighborhood, yet every dish seems to have its own special place, for no reason at all…” Alicia said.

“Oh, there’s reasons,” Jean said.

“OK, tell me why this bowl goes in that cabinet when all the others are in the one next to the toaster.”

“Those are special,”

“Special how?”

“See the little curved lines on the sides? That’s a map. Not a great one, it only shows the shoreline, it was where Mom and Dad went on their honeymoon. We used to have a whole set, but only four left. Mom must have used that this morning.”

“And the cup you had me put up there?”

“Dad stole it from the airplane when they were flying home. He sneaked it out for Mom… Huh…”

“Huh, what?”

“What’s the date today?”

“The eleventh.”

“Their anniversary. I should have known when I saw the cup…”

“She still celebrates their anniversary, how sweet, and how sad…”

“Dad had a terrible disease; she was happy for him when he finally passed. ‘No more pain’ she used to say to us kids.”

“But doesn’t it make her sad to celebrate their anniversary?”

“I asked her once and she said ‘We had a great life, and two wonderful children together, and now he’s at peace. My only wish was he could see how great you and John grew up to be.”

“That’s lovely.”

“Pfffft… she only says it to keep us on our toes… but, then… it does work…”