The Chandelier

Finding a Memory

I stood up, stretched, and then sat back down on Great Aunt Flossie's divan. I picked up another shoebox and leaned back against the green, nubby fabric. Great Aunt Flossie and I had a box of Grandma Zella's life on our laps, and were sorting through the yellowed newspaper clippings and the black and white photographs. Great Aunt Flossie had a story for each photo.

"This was your daddy. Leaving to go to the war."

"This was a house that we lived in. Down on the East End. Tornado of 55 blew it away."

"This was a little playmate of mine. Her mama got the polio and died. State came and got her. Don't know what became of her."

"This little girl here was your granddaddy's sister. She burned up in a house fire when she was just a mite bigger than this."

"This was your Aunt Pansy's kids. The boy was deaf and the little girl, well, she never was quite right in the head. Their daddy, he come from a long line of bad blood."

She handed me a photograph of a woman with high cheekbones, smooth white skin, wavy hair, full lips, and penetrating eyes. I had to struggle to find from where I knew the woman.