101 Words

I started piano lessons young. My tiny hands struggled to traverse the octaves or climb the mountains of the black keys.

Mother would make me practice hours every day—even sitting next to me in a chair. Through the years I mastered all the classics.

Our piano was near the living room picture window and as I got older, I watched my friends playing baseball.

My beloved mitt never left the top of the piano.

Today, I play baseball in a neighborhood league. But I cannot execute a note of music. An empty piano bench sits next to a dusty keyboard.

Sylvia waited, foot tapping against the deck, crumpled telegram scorching her palm.

Noises filled the RMS Mauritania—crying infants, heartbreaking gossip, excited chatter. War brides leaving countries of origin, cramped quarters, and turbulent Atlantic waters for Canada. For the unknown cost of hasty war-forged unions.

A grainy announcement disturbs her son. Sylvia nuzzles him, the words of the telegram searing her mind. Sent by an unfamiliar mother-in-law—not husband.

“Will meet you STOP don’t know where he has gone STOP.”

Sylvia is guided from Pier 21 to the stranger awaiting them. The woman beams, arms extended. Tears slip and, shakily, Sylvia steps forward.

Cupid rushed toward the coffeehouse with a quiver of fifty arrows. He needed to work his magic today. Jewelry, chocolate, and flower shops depended on him for their Valentine’s Day sales. The café brimmed with patrons engrossed in phones and laptops, deafened by earphones. His first arrow hit a redhead browsing animal videos. His second, a stately gentleman on social media. His third, a brunette taking selfies with a frosty pink concoction. Not one looked up. They didn’t even blush. Cupid shook his head with a sigh, then ordered an iced coffee and asked for an application. He could start tomorrow.

Roberts. Whitmore. Newsome. Beck. Sign here. Let’s get these brave boys home. Wives and fiancées are waiting. Siblings, parents. Couple of grandmothers. One baby.

Douglas drove slowly in the autumn afternoon rain. He felt so honored to transport these heroes. The men, riding silently, were broken, but they would make it home.

Finally they arrived at St. Ambrose. After each courageous soldier was out of the vehicle, the procession was met by the four families standing under umbrellas, their faces moist in the fading light.

Douglas, saluting, held one door open. A chaplain held the other. The funeral director waited inside.

Desi had always been skeptical of internet devices, so when her husband asked for an Echo Dot for his birthday, she moaned, “Please think of something else. You never know who might be listening.”

“Desi, I just want to listen to music when I shave. Stop being so paranoid.”

She grudgingly relented and they put the new gadget near the sink.

A few days later, Desi noticed the device seemed to glow brighter each time she used the toilet. It made her skin crawl.

When she started getting Facebook ads for Kaopectate, Desi smashed Alexa into a million pieces.

The new year sky was bursting with a blaze of color and sound.

“Grandma would have loved this.”

He looked at his daughter as emotion welled up in his throat. “I know. But we’ve tried to do our best for her.”

“She told us how she wanted to be celebrated. It’s everything she could have hoped for.”

“So do you want to do the honors, Ellen?”

She nodded and lit the fuses of the last two rockets, then stood back beside him and watched the multicolored explosions scatter the last memory of her Grandma as she became one with the universe.

Tangled amid the folds of her voluminous cloak, Mortabelle’s legs faltered, sending her careening to the pavement. “Ooof.”

Gripping the snath of her scythe, she hoisted herself upright. Her target had vanished. Good.

“You let her get away!” her father bellowed. A hood obscured his face, but Mortabelle felt his caustic scowl.

“So what? She’s only sixteen!” Such bullshit—to get someone her own age for her first reaping. “Why can’t we let her grow up?”

“We don’t decide. We simply collect.”

Mortabelle rolled her eyes. What a cop-out. Destiny commanded she’d run the family business someday. Then things would change.