Read Online Every Waking Moment by Chris Fabry - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Chris Fabry
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stare. It felt like he was trying to open a cellar door on some unimaginable horror in her life that made her numb. She looked out the window at the fluorescent lights of the parking lot.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “Perhaps I’m trying to expel the fear so that I can love well.”
He smiled and Treha chewed on her thumbnail. She put a foot on the floor and then the other and then brought them both back to the chair.
“I don’t remember my parents. I don’t think I ever had any.”
“How could that be?”
Staring at the floor now, her head swaying, eyes moving, herright hand typing and left thumb in her mouth. She slipped her feet into the open shoes. “I need to go.”
“Treha, don’t be upset.”
“I’m not upset. I need to go.”
Crenshaw nodded. “I understand. Treha, what would you say if I told you . . . ?”
“Told me what?” she said.
“What if I told you I need you to mail something for me? An important letter?” He struggled to stand and she told him to stay seated. “It’s on the desk. The one addressed to Calvin Davidson. Do you see it?”
She nodded and put the letter in her pocket and walked to the door, shoelaces flapping.
“Will I see you tomorrow?” he said.
She spoke to the door. “Of course.”
After she left, Crenshaw reached for the light, pulled the switch, and sat in the dark looking out the window until Treha rode past on her bicycle. He sat in the dark with the truth. He could not remake his life. But he could deal truthfully with it. And he could force others to do the same. He could let the truth do its good work in her life.
Something inside rose, a whisper that said an old man could not make a difference. That no one would believe him. Digging up the past would bring scorn. Doing such a thing showed ingratitude. He shook the voice away and stood, shakily, and walked to his nightstand, pulling the bookmark, a business card that said, Life Reviews —Devin Hillis, President .
He sat on his bed and caught his breath as he picked up the phone and dialed. A message said to leave his name and number.
“This is James Crenshaw. I am one of those you spoke with for your documentary. From Desert Gardens. I need your help. I want to enlist your services for something important. A story that needs to be told.”
Streams from Desert Gardens
scene 9
Wide shot of Ardeth Williams sitting in wheelchair in her room, plumping her hair.
I don’t know what you want me to say.
VOICE OFF CAMERA: Just tell us your story. When did you come to Desert Gardens?
Oh, not very long ago. I’d been sick for a time and living with my daughter and her husband. And they thought it best for me to be in a place where . . . They both have jobs and I was at home by myself and couldn’t manage.
VOC: Did you want to live here?
I can’t say for sure. I hadn’t thought of it, really. I suppose if you’d asked me, I’d have wanted my independence. But after coming here, that first day, the world opened for me.
VOC: What do you mean?
Well, it’s hard to explain. I think I had almost given up. And coming here made me want to keep going. It was meeting her that did it. The girl, you know.
VOC: What girl is that?
The one who looks like Tiffany, my granddaughter. I get them mixed up sometimes, there’s such a resemblance. Treha. That’s her name. She comes to see me and I look forward to her visits because . . . she doesn’t expect anything. Most of my life people have expected things. You, coming here and making your movie or whatever it is you’re doing, I can feel it. You’ve come here with a purpose, recording an old geezer like me. I don’t know what it is you want and I don’t pretend to care. That’s another thing age does for you: it makes you not care about what other people think. My daughter expects me to be the old me, the mother she remembers. My son-in-law expects me to kick the bucket before my money runs out.
But that girl. I think it’s the first
“I’m not sure,” he said. “Perhaps I’m trying to expel the fear so that I can love well.”
He smiled and Treha chewed on her thumbnail. She put a foot on the floor and then the other and then brought them both back to the chair.
“I don’t remember my parents. I don’t think I ever had any.”
“How could that be?”
Staring at the floor now, her head swaying, eyes moving, herright hand typing and left thumb in her mouth. She slipped her feet into the open shoes. “I need to go.”
“Treha, don’t be upset.”
“I’m not upset. I need to go.”
Crenshaw nodded. “I understand. Treha, what would you say if I told you . . . ?”
“Told me what?” she said.
“What if I told you I need you to mail something for me? An important letter?” He struggled to stand and she told him to stay seated. “It’s on the desk. The one addressed to Calvin Davidson. Do you see it?”
She nodded and put the letter in her pocket and walked to the door, shoelaces flapping.
“Will I see you tomorrow?” he said.
She spoke to the door. “Of course.”
After she left, Crenshaw reached for the light, pulled the switch, and sat in the dark looking out the window until Treha rode past on her bicycle. He sat in the dark with the truth. He could not remake his life. But he could deal truthfully with it. And he could force others to do the same. He could let the truth do its good work in her life.
Something inside rose, a whisper that said an old man could not make a difference. That no one would believe him. Digging up the past would bring scorn. Doing such a thing showed ingratitude. He shook the voice away and stood, shakily, and walked to his nightstand, pulling the bookmark, a business card that said, Life Reviews —Devin Hillis, President .
He sat on his bed and caught his breath as he picked up the phone and dialed. A message said to leave his name and number.
“This is James Crenshaw. I am one of those you spoke with for your documentary. From Desert Gardens. I need your help. I want to enlist your services for something important. A story that needs to be told.”
Streams from Desert Gardens
scene 9
Wide shot of Ardeth Williams sitting in wheelchair in her room, plumping her hair.
I don’t know what you want me to say.
VOICE OFF CAMERA: Just tell us your story. When did you come to Desert Gardens?
Oh, not very long ago. I’d been sick for a time and living with my daughter and her husband. And they thought it best for me to be in a place where . . . They both have jobs and I was at home by myself and couldn’t manage.
VOC: Did you want to live here?
I can’t say for sure. I hadn’t thought of it, really. I suppose if you’d asked me, I’d have wanted my independence. But after coming here, that first day, the world opened for me.
VOC: What do you mean?
Well, it’s hard to explain. I think I had almost given up. And coming here made me want to keep going. It was meeting her that did it. The girl, you know.
VOC: What girl is that?
The one who looks like Tiffany, my granddaughter. I get them mixed up sometimes, there’s such a resemblance. Treha. That’s her name. She comes to see me and I look forward to her visits because . . . she doesn’t expect anything. Most of my life people have expected things. You, coming here and making your movie or whatever it is you’re doing, I can feel it. You’ve come here with a purpose, recording an old geezer like me. I don’t know what it is you want and I don’t pretend to care. That’s another thing age does for you: it makes you not care about what other people think. My daughter expects me to be the old me, the mother she remembers. My son-in-law expects me to kick the bucket before my money runs out.
But that girl. I think it’s the first
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