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Alive Another Day by
KJ Hannah Greenberg A senior citizen protected
by a large straw sun hat and elsewise covered from wrists to ankles, makes her way
among tombstones. She pauses at one. “Larry, it’s
two months, one week and six days past my seventieth birthday. Why aren’t you here
to rejoice with me? We agreed I’d go first. “I’m
so miserable without you. The insurance money’s
keeping me afloat and the kids visit . . . sometimes, but life’s no good alone. “You
nasty piece of work! You promised to outlive me.” **** “I’m alive!” “Yes,
Ma.” “I’ve been granted the gift of
waking up again!” “Yes, Ma.” “That’s three
months, two weeks and five days past my seventieth birthday!” “Yes,
Ma. Yesterday was three months, two weeks and four days
past your seventieth birthday.” “Oh Honey, you’re
keeping count.” “Don’t have
to—you do.” “You bet! We’re only guaranteed
seventy years and I’ve been given a reprieve to live longer.” “Not so amazing; the
average female life expectancy, here, is eighty-two.” “You
don’t say.” “I don’t. I read it in Statista.” “For
everyone?” “Nope, for first-world countries,
mostly. You were born in the right place, at the right time.” “Counting COVID and
other nasties?” “Counting.” “Well,
no matter, Scripture gives us seventy, so I’m
living on bonus time.” “I know, you call me every
morning to let me know.” **** “Good
morning, Dear.” “Hi, Mom! How come you’re not
dialing Jerry?” “His phone number isn’t
working.” “Oh.” “Did you know that
three months, three weeks and four days have passed since my seventieth birthday?” “Sure.” “I’m
celebrating!” “Lunch with the girls? Manicure?
Signing up for a new app?” “No, most of them are on a
cruise. I don’t like nail polish. You didn’t forget? Besides, I’m happy using
dated technology. No new apps for this grandma. “So, I’m celebrating
by calling you.” “Oh . . . Did you
know I got to the office two hours ago?” “The early bird .
. .” “Mom, you can’t call me every
morning.” “I see.” “Maybe, after the
kids are asleep, I can Zoom with you.” “Sure. ‘See’
you in fourteen hours.” “Mom!” “What?” “Do
you always have to make me feel guilty?” “I
just called to wish you a ‘good morning.’
No guilt attached. Hanging up, now.” **** A senior citizen fights
against snowdrifts in boots, a parka, and assorted cold weather gear as she makes her
way among tombstones. She pauses at one. “Berel, you were supposed
to outlive me. I get it that your father caved, but a son ought to respect his
mother. I wanted to read to your children! I wanted to meet your wife! I wanted to clap
at your college graduation! You didn’t let me do any of that. “Did you know that
today is four years, ten months, one week and two days past my seventieth birthday? I would
have gladly given you my decades, instead, if it had been possible. “Anyway, the docs
say the cancer’s returned. I wanted to tell someone.” **** “Mommy,
Teri told me you’ve been calling her at work.
You shouldn’t do that.” “If a mother can’t
say ‘good morning’ to her children, what’s the point of motherhood?” “Carpool
is picking up in five, so please just tell me today’s
count.” “I’m five years and a day past
my seventieth birthday.” “You’re ancient.” “Yup.” “Oh,
there’s the horn. Gotta go. Love you. Kisses and
hugs.” **** Three
adults, their spouses, and their children make their
way among tombstones. They pause at a fresh gravesite. “Five
years, six months, and four days since her seventieth
birthday.” “I shouldn’t have changed my
phone number. Her calls took only a few minutes.” “I shouldn’t
have told her I was busy at work when all I was doing was sipping my second coffee and
checking my Facebook account.” “I should have been
honest and let her know that carpool was a lifeline for me after Peter was diagnosed. I
never told her about his illness—I didn’t want to add to her burdens. Now,
I realize it would have been better to have had her involved. At least the surgery worked
and Peter’s clear.” “Five years, six months, and
four days since her seventieth birthday.” “Which do you think
was worse for her, Berel’s death or Dad’s?” “She
was really afraid of dying. Her calls were her way of
celebrating each droplet of life.” “Poetic.” “Seriously!
It must have been awful to live so many hours, days,
weeks, months, and years alone.” “You sound like Mom.” “Good!
Expect calls from me if I pass seventy.” Light
Notes by
KJ Hannah Greenberg Alex
walks toward her friends seated in her school’s cafeteria. Mable
is scrolling on her cell phone. “And for only thirty dollars . . .” Travis looks up from
his own phone. “Good price!” Sylvia puts her
phone on the table. “Hey, Alex. News?” Tami, too, puts down
her phone “You look drowned. The world hasn’t ended.” Travis:
“Shut up, Tami.” Tami: “Well . . .” Sylvia:
“Sit, Alex. What’s the matter?” Alex
gestures the stink eye to Tami and then regards Mable, Travis, and Sylvia. “Everything.
Remember Stan Catly?” Mable: “A social
idiot.” Travis: “Nope, an
unlimited idiot.” Sylvia: “What
happened?” Alex: “He’s talking
about my brother, Gerry.” She begins to cry. Travis: “Yup, Stan’s
an unrestricted idiot.” Sylvia glares. “Hush!” Mable
hands Alex a length of clean toilet paper. Alex
wipes her eyes and nose. “Did you hear what Stan did to Leeann Walter’s brother?
To Phillis Lee’s brother? It wasn’t just words. They’re vegetables, now.
I can’t protect Gerry.” Travis:
“Stan’s a brigadier-level idiot.” The
youths nod. Tami: “He’s going
to juvie. There’ll be no problem.” Alex:
“Not ‘til next week.” She walks away. Mable
looks at Tami. “There are many makes of idiots. Stan’s supreme.” **** A
day later, in a classroom, the group members are seated at their respective desks. Stan walks in. He
curses Alex, then adds, “Your brother’s over. Gerry’s snitch brought me down.
He’s going down, too. Maybe you, too. I don’t care that you’re a girl. You
probably know all about it.” Travis stands up
between Stan and Alex. He’s taller than Stan, but scrawnier. “Get out!” Stan:
“Ooooh, mouthy.” He rolls up a sleeve and then makes a fist. Then he laughs
at Travis and again curses Alex. Before he leaves the classroom, he adds, “I’m
still enrolled, here, this week. **** The
friend group is once more seated at their cafeteria table. Mable
scrolls on her phone and gasps. “Look!” Tami
leans over. “No!” Sylvia and Travis,
too, lean over. “No!” Sylvia: “Alex’s
brother!” Travis: “Ya know,
Gerry wasn’t in school yesterday, or today.” Sylvia: “Pity Stan’s
too young for real jail.” Mable: “Why’s he
still free?” Travis: “Grownups
are exceptional idiots.” Tami: “We should go
to the funeral.” Tami: “Should! Think
Alex’ll come back to our school?” Travis: “She’s no
idiot.” Sylvia: “Losing a
brother! I can’t imagine.” Tami: “She was
afraid and . . .” Mable: “. . . and we
didn’t help.” Travis: “We’re idiots.
But what could we’ve done?” Tami: “Revenge?” Travis:
“That’d make us idiots on Stan’s level.” Mable:
“And get us sent to juvie.” Sylvia:
“What’s to do?” Tami:
“A GoFundMe page. We’ll help with funeral costs and get therapy for Alex’s
family.” Mable: “They’ve
plenty of money. Besides, money won’t bring back Gerry.” Tami:
“Duh. Nothing will. The best we can do is small things.” **** Alex never returned
to that high school. She finished twelfth grade at a boarding school and then became a
roadie for a local band. Stan graduated from
juvie to adult incarceration. Every time he was released, he committed more murders. Eventually,
he, himself, was murdered. Travis became a
lawyer. He spends a significant amount of time on pro bono cases. Mable struggled with
high school math, so she entered art school. On weekends, she works at a woman’s
shelter. A few times a year, she conducts art workshops for kids living in the shelter. Tami
joined the army and then graduated from a police academy. She became a public information
officer. Sylvia opted for a gap year, which she
spent teaching English in Peru as a Maximo Nivel volunteer. Thereafter, she enrolled at
a local community college. She dreams of eventually getting a bachelor’s degree and
then teaching in an inner-city classroom.
Insouciant by KJ Hannah Greenberg Indifferent,
ostensibly unconcerned, elsewise appearing apathetic, Unhelpful for manqué mates plus
partners frustrated over life goals. Few emotional tocotrienols exist capable of changing attitudes among Persons under-impressed with
dear ones’ reduction to minute fragments. After all, comminuted feelings make no matter to self-serving individuals (They’d rather isolate in video
games or anorexically circumnavigate until Their lovers fall asleep, overdose,
or gun themselves down owing to grief.)
KJ Hannah Greenberg has been playing with words
and images for an awfully long time. Check out her poetry and art book, One-Handed Pianist (Hekate Publishing,
2021).
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