Not Forgotten
Updated: Aug 27, 2024

I've been entering short story contests lately. Although this piece did not win I am still proud of it. The contest was for a story of 500 words or less.
The interesting thing about this story is that part of it is true. At one point in my life, I worked for Hospice in the Bereavement department. A bereaved daughter, who had lost her mother, shared with me that some evenings the music box in her apartment would suddenly start playing by itself. She attributed this phenomenon to her mother who had recently passed.
"Mom plays the music box sometimes to remind me I'm not alone."
What do you do in a situation like that but look at the person and say, "That must bring you some comfort."
I will be releasing stories regularly through the new Bully Beard - One Plan. Join here.
Not Forgotten
“As I sit here in the evenings reading, maybe watching TV, doing the crossword…her music box will play.”
Did anyone actually believe Audrey? I, for one, passed it off as a woman’s grief. Dinner, in her tightly packed one-room apartment, had become suddenly awkward.
“Truly. The box will start quiet – slow,” Audrey recounted, sensing some suspicion. “I know it sounds crazy.”
I’m not sure anyone knew how to respond until Rebecca broke our stupor.
“You never wind the box?” she asked, passing the carrots across the table to her husband Sidney.
“No, never. I make a point of it.”
I prodded for some weakness in her admission.
“Never?” I asked.
“Never.”
Neurotic grief, I thought, turning back to my meatloaf.
I remembered that she and her mother had been close. In fact, it was just over a year since her mother had passed; in this very room. We had all been there when Audrey took her in. Rebecca moving boxes. Sidney and I trying to squeeze the hospice bed into the corner. The microscopic apartment, fighting back.
Rebecca placed her fork on her plate and reached out for Audrey’s hand.
“That must be so comforting for you.”
Were we really encouraging this?
The two women exchanged a knowing glance, as a tear rolled down Audrey’s cheek.
Sidney, prompted to action by a swift kick under the table, handed a fresh paper napkin to Audrey.
“Thank you. You are all good friends to come here tonight.”
Rebecca and Sidney smiled and I nodded my head with apprehension.
How, in the past year, had we missed this part of her life?
I glanced over Audrey’s shoulder. Her mother’s music box was a few feet away. Everything in the apartment seemed a few feet away. The tiny box sat on a low corner bookcase, nothing more than a simple wooden item on short legs.
A malfunction; not fully unwinding. Stuck spring.
Sidney cleared his throat.
“Well, I wonder if…”
Audrey’s phone suddenly rang and she popped up to answer it.
“Hello. What? Ok-ok! I’m on my way!”
Hanging up she quickly reached for her coat by the door.
“That was Marcus,” she said franticly. “Dad took a bad fall. The ambulance is taking him to the hospital.”
Sobs were starting.
“He said it doesn’t look good.”
We were shocked. A year ago, her mother – dead, and now this.
Rebecca jumped up.
“We’ll drive you!”
“Yes, yes,” stammered Sidney. “You shouldn’t go alone.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course, don’t be ridiculous.”
All eyes fell on me.
“Go. I’ll clean up.”
They were gone, down the narrow stairwell and into Rebecca’s sedan.
The table held plates with half-finished meals and cups partially emptied of wine. Shuffling the mess to the sink, my mind wandered.
Losing both parents. What a curse that must be.
In quiet response, the music box began its tune.
コメント