Anna Lakatos
– Grandma! Grandma! – I hear the kids say and the tumbling of little feet from inside the house.
– Yes, my little troublemakers?
– Do you have any interesting stories? – Lillah asks, running to the porch where I am.
– Yes, yes, something about dad or… or about grandpa and you. Maybe a love story? – The last sentence is accompanied with a cheeky smile from Kya.
– You want to know how I met and fell in love with Granpa James? I’ll tell you.
The girls sit down in front of me while I am in my great old rocking chair.
– It all started with a bar in New Orleans. My famous love for jazz music started there, and I loved to visit jazz bars. As you girls know, Grandpa James knew how to play the saxophone, and most nights, he was also performing with the singers. I was eyeing him and he did the same, but we never had a conversation or even spoke a word to each other. As later I got to know, my brother Michael and Grandpa James were good friends, and your grandpa knew our address of course. One time I came home and there was a small but beautiful bouquet of lilies on my desk with a little note tucked in between the flowers. It said, “Dear Miss Ambrose, I would like to ask if you’d like to meet with me on this Sunday JH”
– Uh uh and did you go Grandma? – Lillah asked excitedly.
– Shh Lillah! Let her finish. – Kya said.
– Of course, I met him in front of the jazz bar I first saw him at, and the rest is history, girls.
That night as I get ready for bed I think about when I last saw the love of my life. It was when we were 29 and I was pregnant with Elizabeth, our second baby. He was called to join the army; we got the news only a week before he had to leave. He was such a poetic soul that he wrote small little lines on sheets of paper and hid them all over the house to remind me of him while he was away. I accompanied him to the train station, and I saw so many couples like us. As the train was about to leave, some men leaned out the windows to give the final goodbye kiss, and of course my dear husband was one of them, that was the kiss I poured all my love into, and thank God I did, because after three months an official knocked on my door.
– Good evening Mrs. Hawthrone, it is with deep regret that we inform you of the lose, of James Hawthrone, who fell in line of duty.
I remember this sentence breaking me, slapping me across the face, but I held myself together until the official left. Then I broke. A few days later another official delivered me what was in James’ cap. A photo of me and a half -finished poem. It was about leaving and him being hundreds of miles away from his home, from me.
I sit up in my bed and pull out the sheet of now yellowish paper from my nightstand and just read it over and over again. Oh how I love you, my dear… – I say as a tear travels down my cheek.