Memory of a lost love
What is she wailing about this time? The old coot. Always sitting on the porch rocking in her old chair. Her hair all twisted and mangled like the weeds in her overgrown vegetable patch. Suffering from severe neglect. It needs the touch of a sane mind, I'm afraid. What grows now in that once oasis of nourishment? Just the remnants of a life once lived well. Every time I come to drop off her mail, she starts her sorrowful lament. It is almost too much for me to handle, this senile old gal. She starts calling out to her husband, "Henry, why did you leave me. You left me here all alone." She keeps repeating the same things like a mantra. "Why did you leave me, Henry? Was I not enough for you? I gave you the best years of my life. You just tossed it all away to be with her, your little mistress, your little whore. But I have forgiven you Henry. Just come back to me, I miss you so"
I must confess I feel really sorry for the old gal. I remember when Henry and her would potter together in the garden and work together on their farm. They really seemed so in love back then. I wonder how it could have gone so wrong. It's kind of harsh for a man to leave his lady of all those years behind like this to wilt and fade away. She was always such a smart and sophisticated woman. Such a contrast now, her rocking back and forth with that stick in hand, cursing at the world and looking out over all those pumpkins in the pumpkin patch. I must admit they are quite impressive large pumpkins considering they grew naturally without the hand of a careful nurturer. He moved to Mexico they tell me. It is sad to see her tossing that stick into the yard and watching the old pooch darting after it and retrieving it for her. Again and again, day after day, the same affair over and over again. "Why did you leave me, Henry? Come back to me my love. I promise I will be better, I'll be the wife you always wanted. Just come back to me my dear." Even if I greet her, she just ignores me and continues on her whimpering way. There is no more reaching her I'm afraid. She is lost to the real world now. Stuck in some kind of time loop, replaying the same memory over and over again. Just best I drop off the mail and leave her on the porch. Until next time, my tearful Lady Gray. Henry, you bastard. You really did a number on this old lady.
Oh, Maxwell. You are still with me my boy. Where has my Henry gone? You are the only thing that reminds me of my dear Henry. Henry hurt me so, him and his little whore. But I have forgiven you Henry. Just come back to me again. Come, Maxwell, I'll throw your stick again. Henry used to throw it for you. It used to one of his favorite things to do here, sitting on this very spot. He would hurl the stick so far into the bushes. But, Maxwell, I'm sick of you just bringing back the same old stick. This time bring me back another memory of my dear old Henry, okay my boy? Here goes. Look at him scramble over the brush and through the vegetable garden past all the bright orange pumpkins. Will he surprise me with something new, a fresh memory by which to lament my love? Oh, look what you brought me my good old boy. A rose in your mouth. How could you know? It's like the time Henry got down on one knee, rose in mouth and asked me to accompany him to the dance. How romantic he was, back then. Such a handsome man I remember. Such a good man. I fell in love with him that day. Let me try again. I'll toss a rock into the brush to other end of the garden. Common Maxwell, follow it, bring me back another memory of my Henry dear. What is this you bring to me now? That looks like Henry's old working boot. The leather all worn and wrinkled like his old face and hands. He was a hard working man, my Henry. After a long day of back breaking work in the fields, Henry would come home and relax here with me on the porch and smoke his pipe. He would take his boots off, and I would let him dose off while I finished off the cooking. I remember him being woken up by the honking of the geese. Henry said he saw a sly little fox in the bushes over there and tossed his boot at it. He never was able to retrieve the boot after that. I guess he must have had a drink too many that day to remember where he launched it. Oh, Maxwell, let us try again. So many good memories are coming back to me now. Let me toss it back there by the sycamore tree. Oh, please Maxwell, bring me back another wonderful memory. Oh, Maxwell. You can do better than this. Well I supposed it is some kind of memory. Let me grab the bottle of hooch from your grip. Well, my Henry did like his liquor. I did not always approve of his drinking. He started spending less and less time with me here on the porch and more time at that goddamn bar in town. That is where I caught the two of them kissing in the twilight. The worst night of my life. That is the night he left me for that Jezebel, left for Mexico soon after. This bottle is all he left me with. Emptiness. But I still love you Henry. I have forgiven you.
Okay, Maxwell lets try a last time, fetch me something from the vegetable patch, between the pumpkins. Off you go, my boy. Maxwell, what is taking you so long. I hope you are not digging up my potatoes again. Come on Maxwell, it is getting dark now. Time for us to get inside for the night. Forget about bringing me something, just get back here my boy. I can see you digging up dirt, Maxwell. What has gotten into you? Wait, what? Maxwell, what do you have there? What are you dragging along the dirt with your teeth. Did you catch a bird or a rabbit? Oh my god, Maxwell. That is not a rabbit. It is all black and shriveled and leathery, Maxwell. That is a dried out human hand! Where did that come from Maxwell? Oh my god! I better alert the police or, wait, look, someone cut off the finger tips. Was this a mafia hit or something, cut with such precision? I should call the police I think. I bet the Mafia used my farm to discard their unwanted. That must be it. Oh Maxwell, I better get the police on the phone now. Oh, it is just ringing and ringing. Did I dial the correct number? Why wont they answer the phone, my boy. I better try later again. You naughty little rascal you. Look at all the trouble you caused me now. They will want to know who this hand belongs to, wont they. They will ask me all sorts of questions again, about that Jezebel and Mexico and all. Oh wait. That shiny band on the finger. How forgetful of me. What is that inscribed on it? "To love and to cherish, till death do us part." Maxwell, actually you did good my boy. This is quite a special one. I've been looking for it all over the house. Here, you chew on this, while I drop this little memory off inside my jewelry box.
I must confess I feel really sorry for the old gal. I remember when Henry and her would potter together in the garden and work together on their farm. They really seemed so in love back then. I wonder how it could have gone so wrong. It's kind of harsh for a man to leave his lady of all those years behind like this to wilt and fade away. She was always such a smart and sophisticated woman. Such a contrast now, her rocking back and forth with that stick in hand, cursing at the world and looking out over all those pumpkins in the pumpkin patch. I must admit they are quite impressive large pumpkins considering they grew naturally without the hand of a careful nurturer. He moved to Mexico they tell me. It is sad to see her tossing that stick into the yard and watching the old pooch darting after it and retrieving it for her. Again and again, day after day, the same affair over and over again. "Why did you leave me, Henry? Come back to me my love. I promise I will be better, I'll be the wife you always wanted. Just come back to me my dear." Even if I greet her, she just ignores me and continues on her whimpering way. There is no more reaching her I'm afraid. She is lost to the real world now. Stuck in some kind of time loop, replaying the same memory over and over again. Just best I drop off the mail and leave her on the porch. Until next time, my tearful Lady Gray. Henry, you bastard. You really did a number on this old lady.
Oh, Maxwell. You are still with me my boy. Where has my Henry gone? You are the only thing that reminds me of my dear Henry. Henry hurt me so, him and his little whore. But I have forgiven you Henry. Just come back to me again. Come, Maxwell, I'll throw your stick again. Henry used to throw it for you. It used to one of his favorite things to do here, sitting on this very spot. He would hurl the stick so far into the bushes. But, Maxwell, I'm sick of you just bringing back the same old stick. This time bring me back another memory of my dear old Henry, okay my boy? Here goes. Look at him scramble over the brush and through the vegetable garden past all the bright orange pumpkins. Will he surprise me with something new, a fresh memory by which to lament my love? Oh, look what you brought me my good old boy. A rose in your mouth. How could you know? It's like the time Henry got down on one knee, rose in mouth and asked me to accompany him to the dance. How romantic he was, back then. Such a handsome man I remember. Such a good man. I fell in love with him that day. Let me try again. I'll toss a rock into the brush to other end of the garden. Common Maxwell, follow it, bring me back another memory of my Henry dear. What is this you bring to me now? That looks like Henry's old working boot. The leather all worn and wrinkled like his old face and hands. He was a hard working man, my Henry. After a long day of back breaking work in the fields, Henry would come home and relax here with me on the porch and smoke his pipe. He would take his boots off, and I would let him dose off while I finished off the cooking. I remember him being woken up by the honking of the geese. Henry said he saw a sly little fox in the bushes over there and tossed his boot at it. He never was able to retrieve the boot after that. I guess he must have had a drink too many that day to remember where he launched it. Oh, Maxwell, let us try again. So many good memories are coming back to me now. Let me toss it back there by the sycamore tree. Oh, please Maxwell, bring me back another wonderful memory. Oh, Maxwell. You can do better than this. Well I supposed it is some kind of memory. Let me grab the bottle of hooch from your grip. Well, my Henry did like his liquor. I did not always approve of his drinking. He started spending less and less time with me here on the porch and more time at that goddamn bar in town. That is where I caught the two of them kissing in the twilight. The worst night of my life. That is the night he left me for that Jezebel, left for Mexico soon after. This bottle is all he left me with. Emptiness. But I still love you Henry. I have forgiven you.
Okay, Maxwell lets try a last time, fetch me something from the vegetable patch, between the pumpkins. Off you go, my boy. Maxwell, what is taking you so long. I hope you are not digging up my potatoes again. Come on Maxwell, it is getting dark now. Time for us to get inside for the night. Forget about bringing me something, just get back here my boy. I can see you digging up dirt, Maxwell. What has gotten into you? Wait, what? Maxwell, what do you have there? What are you dragging along the dirt with your teeth. Did you catch a bird or a rabbit? Oh my god, Maxwell. That is not a rabbit. It is all black and shriveled and leathery, Maxwell. That is a dried out human hand! Where did that come from Maxwell? Oh my god! I better alert the police or, wait, look, someone cut off the finger tips. Was this a mafia hit or something, cut with such precision? I should call the police I think. I bet the Mafia used my farm to discard their unwanted. That must be it. Oh Maxwell, I better get the police on the phone now. Oh, it is just ringing and ringing. Did I dial the correct number? Why wont they answer the phone, my boy. I better try later again. You naughty little rascal you. Look at all the trouble you caused me now. They will want to know who this hand belongs to, wont they. They will ask me all sorts of questions again, about that Jezebel and Mexico and all. Oh wait. That shiny band on the finger. How forgetful of me. What is that inscribed on it? "To love and to cherish, till death do us part." Maxwell, actually you did good my boy. This is quite a special one. I've been looking for it all over the house. Here, you chew on this, while I drop this little memory off inside my jewelry box.
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