Short Stories

  

  This is one of my earliest short stories called ' Aunt Fred and Sylvia'. I hope your enjoy it.

  Aunt Fred and Sylvia

  Every Thursday morning, Betty visited Aunt Fred at the Rosevere Rest Home for the Elderly. 
  In her basket she had a few magazines, a packet of ginger biscuits, and a jar of rose scented 
  lotion for Aunt Fred. She climbed up two flights of stairs, walked along the corridor to room 209,
  and knocked on the door.

  “If it's you again, I don't want to wash now. Find someone else to bother".

  Betty went in. Aunt Fred was her mother's younger sister. Her name was Frederika, but
  everyone called her Fred.

  "The stupid nurses want me to wash again. Always washing and scrubbing,” she grumbled.

  Each morning the routine was the same. The nurse on duty would fetch her before breakfast
  and help her to the communal bathroom. Standing on the rubber mat in the shower cubicle, the
  nurse would scrub her vigorously from top to toe and then leave her for a few minutes under the
  warm spray. She would be returned to her room wrapped in her dressing gown, dusted with
  talcum powder, and told to dress for breakfast. This morning she had refused to have a
  shower.                     

  “I had such a bad night. I was thinking too much. I want to tell you about Sylvia"

  Betty put the kettle on for tea and sat down on the visitor’s chair. The room was small, but Aunt
  Fred had made it very comfortable with the few items she had brought with her from her large
  flat in Edenvale. A small cupboard, a bookcase and her upholstered armchair fitted in well with
  the general colour scheme of cream walls and peach coloured curtains. Framed pictures and
  photographs were arranged carefully on top of the cupboard, but everything else was neatly
  stored away, so the room felt larger than it actually was.                

  “What about Sylvia'? Betty asked.

  Aunt Fred cleared her throat and began to tell the most moving story. 

                   

  "Well, Sylvia occupied a room on the floor below mine where the very old people stay. We all
  suspected she was senile, which was probably why she had few visitors. One morning after
  breakfast, I decided to walk along that passage instead of using the lift. I needed the exercise.
  As I passed Sylvia’s room I heard her calling "Edna, Edna, come here please”.

  I went into her room and saw a frail woman sitting up in bed. She held out her arms to me as I
  approached her and said, "You are not Edna, but you will do. I want to go to Ireland. Do you
  think you can take me"?   Without hesitation I said, “Yes, of course I can. Do you want to travel
  by sea or by air?” Her eyes lit up and she smiled, which made her look like an excited young
  girl. “Oh, by air!” she said with delight. Then she looked at me with concern and said “but I don’t
  know how to fly?”

  I said "Don't you worry about that. I have a lovely little airplane that will take you there.”

  I asked her why she wanted to go to Ireland and she said that she had grown up in a big house
  in Kilkenny, and she was afraid that the roses that her mother had planted would die. I held her
  hand as she rested back on her pillows and her eyelids slowly closed. She drifted off to sleep
  with a serene look on her face.

  The next morning I passed her room again. Sylvia was sitting up in bed. "Good morning” I said.
  A delighted smile spread over her face and she beckoned to me. I walked up to her bedside.
  “How did you enjoy your trip to Kilkenny in Ireland?” I asked. “Oh Edna, it was wonderful to see
  the house and garden again. My mother was there and she looked so young"!          

  The whistling of the kettle interrupted Aunt Fred’s story and Betty stood up to make tea in the
  small brown teapot. She put a few ginger biscuits on a plate and then settled down to hear the
  rest of the story.

  “Well now, this trip to Ireland took place around the middle of April. After that, I flew her to
  Turkey, Madagascar, India, and all sorts of wonderful places. One morning towards the end of
  April, Sylvia seemed very agitated. She was relieved to see me and with an urgent note in her
  voice, she asked me to buy her a coffin. Well, my dear, I can tell you, my hair stood on end but I
  said in a very calm voice, "Certainly, Sylvia dear, what kind would you like". She said that she
  would like a white coffin, covered in red roses from her mother's garden. Not sure how to
  handle this, I simply said that I would organize it right away.

  The following morning I went to her room and told her that everything had been arranged, and
  she asked me how much it would cost. I told her not to worry, as I had plenty of money and I had
  paid for the lot. I began to feel a little nervous at this stage as she started to cry, and took both
  my hands. I felt very guilty for deceiving her, but she said, "Edna, you are such a dear friend,
  and I wish you could stay with me always. Nobody has been so kind to me for a long while. The
  nurses think I don't understand them and they speak to me as if I am a child”. I told her I would
  stay with her as long as she wanted me to. Fifteen minutes later she was gone, just like that".

  Aunt Fred sat there looking pale and weary. The tea in the teapot was getting cold but neither of
  them felt like it anymore. A little later Betty spoke to the Matron and expressed her concern for
  Aunt Fred. Matron said she would keep an eye on her and arrange for her meals to be sent up
  to her room so that she could rest. A few days later on a cool windy morning, Matron phoned
  Betty and said that Aunt Fred was not well.

  Betty sat on the chair next to Aunt Fred’s bed in the Infirmary, holding her hands and listening to
  her rumpled breathing. Aunt Fred’s eyes were closed but when Betty stroked her hand, she felt
  a gentle pressure in response, and realized that Aunt Fred was aware of her presence. Betty
  spoke gently about silly everyday things, like the toast she had burnt and the traffic snarl-up
  earlier that morning. She wished she could say things of great importance and meaning. Her
  words burbled quietly into the space around the bed, and eventually Aunt Fred seemed to drift
  off to sleep. Betty was startled when Aunt Fred opened her eyes, took a deep breath, and said,
  "You know, my dear, I was the kite flying champion at school.  I won a prize. I dreamed that I flew
  away on my kite and visited the whole world”. Betty waited for her to continue but Aunt Fred
  gave a deep sigh and closed her eyes. A few moments later, she called Matron. Aunt Fred had
  gone, just like Sylvia.

  After her funeral, Betty asked each of her friends to write a short letter to Aunt Fred, telling her
  how much she had meant to them and what they remembered most about her.

  On a windy autumn morning, Betty stood on a hill overlooking an open field and looked up at
  the gray sky. The delicate kite was eager for freedom. She reeled out the string and the kite
  was caught by the wind, swirling and soaring up into the sky. After a while, Betty could hardly
  make out the patches of different coloured paper with fine writing on them. “Goodbye Aunt
  Fred. Enjoy the journey”, she said quietly.

  She cut the string and set the kite free, waiting in the wind until the rain sent her scurrying for
  shelter.