Reflection is Key

There is a lock of hair in a locket in a locked jewelry case in a safe. Keeping the memory protected. Keeping the possibility, the hope alive.

“Eyes locked on me” his voice thin and raspy as the dose of morphine claimed him for the final time. He’d told her he wanted her face to be the last thing he saw. Until she stared into his eyes, watching his spirit disentangle, the life light dim, she hadn’t known she could do it. Grant that final request.
They’d had their futures locked-in, they were a power couple, on an upward trajectory. Then the diagnosis. Then the treatments. Then the news that there were no more options. They had not had children, they were going to retire early, see the world, doing that which brought them joy – together and individually. Then hospice, then all too quickly, he was gone.

Later, she realizes she needs a different path, different view, different air to breathe. She holds garage sales, and “Gives” – where she puts Free on everything in the yard. Until she’s downsized to have “stuff for one.” Moving day arrives. She wanders through each room of the house they bought because he loved the kitchen and she the secret library with the built in reading nook. She thought she’d still hear his laughter in the echoes once the furniture was out, but she only hears the staccato of her own footsteps.

Looking out the front window, she notices the movers and hurries to stop them.

“Not that, I’m taking that. Front seat of my car please.” She reaches for the small safe.

“We’ve got that ma’am. It’s heavy.” And Jorge, according to his monogrammed pocket, secures the safe on the passenger seat with the seatbelt.

“I’ll see you there.” She calls after Jorge and his partner.
She goes back inside. Picks up her purse. Turns and locks the door a final time.

+++

She makes a cup of herbal tea in the tiny kitchen and takes it over to the drop leaf table in the eating nook. There are brochures both colorful and informational. The procedure would be, as her once mother-in-law used to say, obscenely expensive. But the science is sound. There are over 900 success stories across the globe.

She takes her tea over to the window seat looking over the hydrangea in the back garden. “The Essays of John Locke” is open on the seat. She picks it up, and smooths the spine, putting a marker before closing it. She remembered something from undergrad philosophy about Locke’s memory and reflection, and wanted to make a note to ask, tomorrow, during the inquiry appointment. She hasn’t locked this down yet. It’s just an inquiry.
Before bed, as she does every night, she opens the safe, takes off the necklace which holds the key to the jewelry box, she doesn’t touch the locket, just checks to make sure it is still there. She locks everything up again before going to sleep.

At Take Two, she is offered Smart Water or Kombucha. The lights are bright and everyone is so young and peppy. Her meeting is with Kev who tries their best to reassure her: Yes, it is possible to grow a clone from the lock of hair. Yes, they can remove the cancer genes. No, the new person will not have her husband’s memories, but with time and patience.

She runs. She needs more time to reflect.

— Lkai