Addict With a Pen

This post was inspired by a prompt – https://brevitymag.com/nonfiction/naked/

She stood, back straight, lips pursed, head held high, surveying the scene.  Sixty years ago, she might have been mistaken for a ballerina, but for the hips that swayed a little too freely, and the unmistakable cookie dough complexion of her skin.

But that was sixty years ago, and dancing was out of the question now, with one new knee and another that needed replacing.  Yet she never lost the daunting command of her presence.  Whatever happened here today, she would have the final word.  It mattered not that the day was not about her. Kathryn Roberts had standards, and her standards would be met.

With eyes peering over bifocals that she managed to make look stylish, she took in the room – the decorations, the cake displayed with blue and gold writing (“Congratulations Ethan”). The food was being set up in aluminum containers along the wall. She noted the care the caterers took i setting up the food, taking silent approval of the display. Her approval, it should be noted simply meant turning her attention elsewhere.

“Terry!” she called, to her only daughter, her proxy in righting the egregious imperfections of the world around her. “They’re not just going to leave the cake in the box like that, are they?”

Terry sighed.  She didn’t care what the cake looked like, and Ethan certainly didn’t care.  He was a thirteen year old boy who was being celibrated for doing his homework. But she knew she’d get no peace until the matter was resolved. “I’ll fix it Mama, don’t worry about it.  Just go sit down and we’ll take care of everything.”

Kathryn was never much in the business of doing what she was told, but her legs were indeed beginning to ache after the short walk from the car. So she found a seat, in the center of the room of course, perched carefully upon it as if she were a doll carefully placed in her seat by a meticulous young girl.  Over the next thirty minutes, Kathryn pointed with her cane, with crooked yet elegant fingers, or even waving down passersby to fix this or straighten that, until she was satisfied.

Finally the party was to start.  As Ethan walked in, still in his cap and gown, the room burst into thunderous applause and cheers.  Kathryn, beaming with pride at her great-grandson, at once a young man but still a shy little boy.

She grabbed my hand, enclosing my hand in her bony fingers. For a frail woman she had a remarkably strong grip.  She leaned over to me, never taking her eyes off Ethan.  “This is probably the last graduation I’ll ever get to see.”