The Magnolia Blooms

Elise

"Your name, ma'am. If I may?" Asked Samuel, who was interviewing the elder sitting in front of him.

The woman watched with tired eyes, his pale hands as they readied themselves to write.

They both listened to the distant chirping of birds and the rushes of wind across the pale waters of the river.

The river, she had insisted on being interviewed by the river that flowed past her mansion.

Her brown eyes returned to meet his, those young blue eyes filled with curiosity and such... determination.

"Elise. Elise Bloomberg." She spoke softly, nearly a whisper. She was quite, that woman, who had rubbed her once skilled hands together as an attempt to calm herself, for she was nervous.

"And your age, madam?" He continued, turning to his notebook, his dark brown hair falling in his face at and angle in which the early sun caught it. Making his hair seem to gleam and shine in a golden color.

She sniffed the warm air, chuckling in her soft voice. She shifted in her wooden chair and crossed her feet. She smoothed her skirt and patted her hair in an attempt to make it somewhat more orderly under her scarf.

"102 years of age, sir. 103 in March, though I don't plan on making it."

The 24 year old looked up from his pen and notebook, he was shocked. She looked to be at least 50. "And, with all respect madam, why is it that you believe that?"

Elise closed her eyes and inhaled a sharp breath. She hadn't heard a young and strong voice in the longest time. 34 years to be exact. She admired his curiosity, though mature, he seemed very eager to know as though I child would.

"Well," she told him, looking out to the water. She watched the doves fly ahead and the lily pads float. "I'm quite the age aren't I?"

He chuckled at this. "Indeed you are, but I believe that is what makes you extraordinary, madam."

She flashed him her old smile, all her teeth were still in tact, perfectly healthy. He had admired her, she had taken care of herself for 30 years alone, with no one to accompany her until today. She was very healthy, and it showed.

"I do appreciate that, but I assure you, young man, I am far from extraordinary. I will be spending my last days at home."

He smiled warmly, avoiding the topic of death. "I'm sure it's very cozy."

She nodded. "Very much so, sir. It calms me when I'm upset."

His brows furrowed, as if he was concerned. "And why would you be upset, ma'am? If that isn't asking too much?"

She waved him off. "Such a nice gentleman, you are. I am clearly an elderly woman. I've lived a long life. In the beginning, my younger years, I labored every single day of my life. Nothing was handed to me, and I refused to let that happen."

She chuckled, watching the stilled water, which slowly was regaining it's blue color due to the sun's climbing of the pale sky. "I was stubborn. But to say my work had paid off was an understatement."

She smoothed her skirt again, tucking in a loose, curly, silver hair that had slipped from her scarf that was embedded on her head.

"And what is it that you've done?" He asked her.

"Nearly everything that paid enough. But for the most part, I weaved silk on the weekends and hand crafted furniture with recycled wood. There were no breaks, and as a result, I earned my fortune."

He smiles at her, scribbling in his notebook. "But," she continued, making Samuel return his gaze toward her. She continued to watch the water, her eyes focusing on the opposite side of the river.