Greta

An old record was playing somber music and filling the house with a wailing woman’s beautiful voice. An electronic alarm went off and a heavy sigh escaped the awoken lady’s mouth. She walked past neatly kept uniforms, picture frames, and shiny boots. After a bath, she dressed in her best attire and grabbed the picnic basket she had prepared the night before. She looked at her husband’s and son’s grins, “Good morning my handsome men, I made you peanut butter and jelly sandwiches! Oh, and I’m sure not to forget to take off the edges.” Eight in the morning, and she had already started walking as she ritually clasped the basket’s handle with her wrinkly hand. Her straw hat protected her from the sun’s eventual prowess, and a pocket-sized lotion and gloves were contained in a light sweater that she held in another arm.  

She looked forward to reaching her destination, and she knew what to say, what news she had in store, and she knew what songs to sing. The lady walked alongside busy streets, and greeted the usual morning flock who had grown to admire the size of her dedication. She smiled throughout the trek and like clockwork, she reached the location. The groundskeeper and his family always let her in, he had grown accustomed to even wait for her by the gate, and she gave her good morning to the man as she continued on her path. This was private property, overlooking empty ranch lands. 

“She always comes here, never fails. You can tell time with her arrival, chingao. Es una senora decente. You know she sold the land and it was divided, but the owners allow her pa’ dentro.” The groundskeeper spoke with the new ranch hands as they gazed at the elderly woman standing in sync with the antiquity of the Laredoan landscape. She laid out her blanket on a hill overlooking the entirety of her husband’s former possession and sat on it before preparing the sandwiches on a plate. 

A giggle and a bite of her lunch initiated their daily gathering. “Junior, the children have grown taller, I’m so proud of you. They ask that you go to their games, you know. Miggy, Miguel, honey, I played our favorite record and I danced like we first did in that ball, remember? Uh.” Something unexpected had occurred. A tear ran down her pained and pale face, she gulped and continued speaking. “Oh dear, I miss you so damn much, I close my eyes imagining you in front of me. In these arms. I want so much to be with you. I know, I know. Greta get a hold of yourself. You always know how to ground me, Miggy.” She started to sing Patsy Cline’s Crazy, and heavy tears dropped out of her blue eyes. 

A few hours later, she was startled by the groundskeeper after she was peering into the vastness that lay in front of her. “It’s 5 already? Yes, I’m fine. I’d usually say no, but I feel awfully tired today, thank you.” She hopped into his truck and was given a ride. “Mrs. Sanchez, I noticed you look really pale today, and sweaty. Do you feel alright? My wife can take you to the doctor tomorrow. We already phoned-” He was interrupted by her frail and stern voice, “Age, it happens. It creeps up on us, and gradually habit settles in. My habit is love, and it’s all I’ve got. It’s all I ever had.” She smiled at the groundskeeper, and walked into her house after thanking him.

The lady walked towards a cupboard and retrieved a wine bottle. A few glasses later, Greta uncontrollably smiled and her sad blue eyes intently looked at her husband’s grin in that picture taken right before he passed. She kept her dress on, and played a different record tonight. Patsy Cline’s Today Tomorrow and Forever filled the house as the elderly woman swayed side to side with eyes focused on his.