Read Online Hens and Chickens by Jennifer Wixson - Free Book Online Page B

traced the outline of a rose on the wallpaper above her head. “I think she’s just a kid that never grew up,” she said. “Miss Hastings is the female version of Peter Pan.” Lila paused, her hand dropping to the quilt. “Do you think we get a chance to start over in life, Becca?” she asked, earnestly.
    Rebecca laughed, her tousled mop of loose brown hair making her appear 10 years younger than her 48. “I hope so, because I already have!”
    “No, seriously.”
    “Seriously!  But let’s not go there. It’s such a lovely start to the day and I don’t want to dredge up old stuff—for either of us. Let’s just agree that ‘starting over’ is a necessary and welcome part of the human experience and decide – to – start – over – today!” Rebecca emphasized her statement by pulling her feather pillow out from under her head and lightly bopping Lila over the head with it.
    “PILLOW FIGHT!” exclaimed Lila. She responded by whacking Rebecca over the head in return and a playful battle ensued. White down feathers flew like fat April snow.
    The house beneath them had been quiet, but, suddenly – in the midst of the pillow fight – a muted sound of music was heard from a distance below. “That sounds like someone practicing their scales,” said Rebecca, pillow arrested in mid-air. “It’s coming from the studio, that funny-looking part of the house where Miss Hastings used to give piano lessons.”
    “Omigod, do you think it’s her?” said Lila. “Her hands are sooo arthritic.”
    “Where there’s a will—there’s a way,” replied Rebecca. “It’s either Miss Hastings or a ghost playing her baby grand piano since there’s nobody else but us in the house! Shhh, let’s listen.” Rebecca clutched her pillow to her chest and sank down onto her knees on the thick mattress. The scales ended abruptly, and were soon replaced by a light-hearted and lively piano concerto. The two women listened in worshipful silence.
    “Oh, my goodness! That’s ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’,” gushed Rebecca. “It’s Rachmaninoff’s arrangement of Mendelssohn’s Opus 21!”
    Lila nodded, dumbly. The exquisite music had unlocked something deep inside her, something that had been hidden away for nearly 20 years. A little girl was slipping out from behind iron bars and moving ethereally from Lila’s flesh into the dusty motes of light that expanded through the eastern window. Lila’s heart hurt, and she pressed her hand to her chest to keep her heart from breaking.
    Oh, no! Oh, no! she cried, silently. Don’t go! Don’t leave me!
    The vision – an eight-year-old dark-haired, pony-tailed girl in a red sweater and Oshkosh B’Gosh® blue jeans – turned and lifted her chubby hand to Lila in a cheerful greeting.
      Why, s he’s saying, ‘Hello!’ noted Lila to herself. S he isn’t GOING; she’s COMING—coming home to me!
    There are very few of us who remember the day, the moment, when our childhood ends. For most of us, the sun sets on our innocence gradually, sliding down over the western horizon like a toboggan run down over a long, steep slope. We are never really conscious of the moment we reach the bottom of the slope; we just know that one day we wake up and the toboggan ride is over. For a few unfortunate children, however, the loss of innocence is so tragic and dramatic, that it is a miniature Hiroshima which is etched upon the back of their eyelids forever. Alas, our heroine Lila Woodsum was one of these children!
    However, whether or not the loss of childhood innocence is duly noted and recorded in our diaries, the day in our adulthood in which our childlike sense of trust and wonder is reborn is always remarkable, a truly momentous day – and one that we will never, ever forget. Today was THAT DAY for Lila Woodsum.
    Lila closed her eyes, and allowed her heart to be healed by the sound of the music. The piano acted as a cauterizing agent, singeing evil memories from her heart and