A Few Simple Words by Stacy C.

Swoo-ish goes the waves as they move back and forth along the beach while the breeze invisibly swirls towards the Atlantic. It is cool, and the sand looses its heat from basking in the sun all day. The sole observer of this daily phenomenon is me, Flora Allen. I am stretched out on my beach. I can see the lights from my house reflecting on the water like glass as the sun’s light fades into the caramel tinted nocturnal horizon.

I get up from my spot in the sand to return some circulation. I scrutinize my reflection. My oversized green eyes make my long red hair pop out against my pale and hollow face. My short, but thin build, is a total contrast to my boyfriend John Clark. He has brown hair, blue eyes, a dark complexion, and a tall muscular build.

"Dinner’s ready!" John hollers from my deck right on cue.

"Be right there." I yell back, not really caring about the neighbors.

Now that I have been ripped from my tranquil state of mind, I reflect on my problem of the day. I just don’t know whether or not I want to give the eulogy for my Grams at her funeral in 3 days. My mom thinks I should. However, she’s overworked and tired so she could have mixed me up with some other relative.

Except, my Grams never really liked me that much, or so it seemed. Now as I walk in the screen door into my kitchen, I try to let it go for the night. But John knows me too well, and notices I’m a little distracted.

"Flora", he says as he bustles around the kitchen setting the table and putting food on both our plates, "Have you decided if you’re going to give your Grams’ eulogy?"

"I don’t think I’m going to." I say as I sit down at the table. I’m glad he doesn’t ask me to elaborate.

"Then you should call your mother before bed and let her know. With the time difference and all, it’s better to call when it’s later for us since it’s early for her." John said with a look of understanding. True to his psychiatrist ways, John knows what to do.

That night when I was about to call my mother with the phone in my hand after John went upstairs, I notice there’s a faint white light growing stronger by the second a few feet in front of me. I’m fixated by it, but not apprehensive or scared. Then it takes a peculiarly familiar outline of a woman. In a split second it becomes a translucent imitation of my Grams. I am immobilized still holding my phone. Her face looks so sad and worn. Then her hands covered her heart.

"I’m sorry". She says, and disappears.


Then all the emotions I felt at that second were too much, and everything went black. I woke to find John shaking me and asking me what happened. I bolted up and grabbed the phone. Before I realized what was happening, I heard myself telling my mother that I was doing the eulogy for Grams, now in 2 days. As soon as I hung up the phone, I go to my desk in the den and begin to write frantically. The task I thought that would be so strenuous is actually not. I just needed to remember all the good Grams had done, and remember what a good person she was.

Now, as I walk up to the podium next to the closed casket surrounded by red and yellow roses, I take a deep breath to keep from succumbing to tears. I take my speech and I begin to read to all of the people that came to pay their respects:

"Grams was cruel and bitter, but that was part of her charm as I have just realized. Now I kick myself for not getting a chance to know her better. Be weary of people, but give them a chance. Don’t deny yourself a good relationship just because you judge a book by its cover, old or young alike. I know everyone here is going to miss her. Goodbye."