Mrs. Merriton

She sighed deeply, as she sat on the wooden sofa she bought six years ago. The television was on her left; – (Beautiful… just beautifully huge! I could watch from it all day; however, I couldn’t.) – her eldest grandchild opposite her, writing on his notebook. What? What? – the mind repeatedly asked: What to write about? Oh that! To write; to record what I am seeing right now would be perfect! – Her middle granddaughter was on her right, doing a thing unfamiliar to her roots, but is on trend in the world she doesn’t recognize anymore.

Her day – the widow Mrs. Merriton’s – was typical, as it always goes:

- I will wake early (: her mind is programmed for it).
- I will cook breakfast: Hotdogs and eggs… hotdogs and eggs!
- I will wash their clothes – oh these children of mine and theirs: How will they be when I leave this earth? – (But could she?) – Can I? – Her husband left two years ago at seventy-four, and she couldn’t go next. Her household – (My household: I can’t just leave it behind!) – could not be left behind! Seventy years had I been living – not yet! Not just yet! Not now! – the mind said.

A recent law-involved case had Mrs. Merriton praying to the high Heavens fervently. Her youngest child (now near his forties) had an issue with his wife…. The rings were never even worn – two bands that should have strengthened their vows: What happened? Why? Why? Why? – the mind kept asking. Why did she do that? – To separate or not to separate? No. No. No. The mind can’t decide. It is unable to decide! The heart beats heavier! The heart is defeating the mind!

Mrs. Merriton looked around her house – still seated on the wooden sofa she bought six years ago. – What a lovely house this is! The memories built here are forever, she kept saying; but how devastating the fact is! The house is surrounded by secrets!

Secrets? Oh yes secrets! What secrets? – the mind asked.

Denying. She must continue denying. Hide them in the deepest chest of the house. Nobody shall unearth them – nobody! Nobody!

Murder? No. No. No! Nobody was murdered here! Only secrets in the family. Just secrets – each one’s secrets. Secrets. Simply secrets.

Mrs. Merriton looked at her eldest grandson as he scribbled words in his notebook – words that flow like the waves in the ocean. Oh yes: words! Words! Mighty as the ocean! Words: they will never perish on this earth. – Writer he will be: a successful writer! But can a writer earn a lot to support his family in the future? Would he not be so confined in his room and pour his mind all day and all night into his paper? He might forget his family because of his career!

(But what did Mrs. Merriton know of being a writer? She is not a writer: a widow she is. A widow! A widow for almost three years already.)

The middle granddaughter had secrets of her own: she was starting to mature: her heart was starting to beat in a confused manner! Love, is it? Is it? Love? – the mind kept asking. (How would she know? Her heart was juvenile – young and innocent. It cannot decipher love from infatuation. Everything it feels is love, though it isn’t.) Love. Love. Love – the heart kept saying. Juvenile… immature: Is it love? Love, is it? – the mind kept asking.

Mrs. Merriton’s youngest son locked himself in his room: crying – the eyes kept crying for days! – and staring at the portrait of his wife on the wall of the room. – Shall I forget? Can I forget her? She who made my life worth-living? What would I be without her? What? Tell me: What? What? What? – the mind repeatedly asked.
- What am I not aware of in this house? – Mrs. Merriton asked herself. The eldest grandson was about to finish his work and he rested a bit. – What don’t I know of him? Had he been keeping things from me? True… true: I am not aware of what he was writing about. I do not know him at all! Not at all… not at all! – the mind kept saying.

What then do I know of this house? I know a lot of myself – but these people I cradled in my arms when they were young and innocent: What do I know of them? What? Tell me: A little. Very little: just a little.