contemporary play based off a collection of Robert Frost poems. Get it, The Frost ?” she said, animatedly.
“Oh, yeah, I see what they did there,” I replied amusedly.
“Well, anyways, it’s split up into different acts or poems, and I’m auditioning for act 5, or poem 5, his ‘Fire and Ice’ poem.”
“I love that poem,” Mom mused.
“I know, it’s why I picked it,” smiled Aria, as she winked at me knowingly.
“Do you girls remember that one year we had those series of real bad hurricanes and we had no power for a week? All I did was read books to you, mostly poem books because that’s all I had. That poem was my favorite, and Dacey, if I recall, you wanted me to read it at night until you fell asleep.”
“I don’t remember that, Mom,” I said quickly but smiling—showing her I did remember.
“Oh, I do. Every time she would go to close the book, you would whine and ask her to read it one more time,” Aria said, starting to laugh.
“How do you even remember that? You were six!”
She pointed to her head. “Steel trap. I remember everything.”
“No, you don’t.” I laughed because she really did have a horrible memory.
“How does it go?” asked Mick, putting me on the spot. “It sounds like it was your favorite too, and if you’re good at journalism, you have to be good at recall as well. So let’s hear it.”
“Oh, I haven’t read it to them in years. I’m sure she doesn’t remember it, Mick.” Mom tried to save me.
Aria had a huge grin on her face and mouthed the words “just do it,” rolling her eyes from across the table.
I looked Mick dead in the face and begin to recite the poem I knew by heart. After I was done I looked over at Mom and saw she had tears in her eyes, as I knew she would.
“I can’t believe you remember, after all these years,” she said softly, as she dabbed at her eyes.
“Yeah, well, it’s a classic, and it’s your favorite. And I only heard it a million times that week.” I tried to act as though it wasn’t a big deal, when really it had meant the world to me. It was truly when I knew she loved me. It was only a year after the marriage, and I was still calling her Ann when the storms had hit. I had been terrified of the dark, and to be without electricity for a week was traumatizing for me. Wally was no help. The only thing that helped was for me to know that I wasn’t alone, so Ann would read to me until I fell asleep, and I just happened to like that poem. I felt it kind of fit the occasion at the time, with the hurricane winds blowing and everything, and I guess we bonded. When it was all over and the lights were restored at the end of the week, she was telling me good-night one night and, instead of saying my normal “Good night, Ann,” I said, “Good night, Mom.” I’ve been calling her that ever since, so I knew she would cry when I recited the poem, because in a way it was our poem, and Aria knew that as well. I looked over to her and mouthed the words “thank you,” and she smiled big and proud.
Wally and Mick just looked at us, then back at Mom, and then asked why she was crying, to which she replied that it was just a moment she had with her girls, it was nothing.
After dinner, Aria and I helped Mom clear the table and Wally excused himself to his bedroom while Mick just hung back and watched. Then he and Mom went to the living room to talk, and Aria and I went upstairs to work on her play.
“Surprised?” she said as soon as we got in the room we once shared, her room solely now.
“‘Fire and Ice’?”
“Yeah, I know how much it means to you and Mom, and I wanted it to be a surprise to Mom for opening night, but I couldn’t hold in. I’m so bad at that.” She was bouncing on tippy-toes in excitement at her gift.
“You are bad at that, but it was a great surprise. But why did you give up going out for a lead part because you wanted to do this for me and Mom?” I asked her
“Oh, yeah, I see what they did there,” I replied amusedly.
“Well, anyways, it’s split up into different acts or poems, and I’m auditioning for act 5, or poem 5, his ‘Fire and Ice’ poem.”
“I love that poem,” Mom mused.
“I know, it’s why I picked it,” smiled Aria, as she winked at me knowingly.
“Do you girls remember that one year we had those series of real bad hurricanes and we had no power for a week? All I did was read books to you, mostly poem books because that’s all I had. That poem was my favorite, and Dacey, if I recall, you wanted me to read it at night until you fell asleep.”
“I don’t remember that, Mom,” I said quickly but smiling—showing her I did remember.
“Oh, I do. Every time she would go to close the book, you would whine and ask her to read it one more time,” Aria said, starting to laugh.
“How do you even remember that? You were six!”
She pointed to her head. “Steel trap. I remember everything.”
“No, you don’t.” I laughed because she really did have a horrible memory.
“How does it go?” asked Mick, putting me on the spot. “It sounds like it was your favorite too, and if you’re good at journalism, you have to be good at recall as well. So let’s hear it.”
“Oh, I haven’t read it to them in years. I’m sure she doesn’t remember it, Mick.” Mom tried to save me.
Aria had a huge grin on her face and mouthed the words “just do it,” rolling her eyes from across the table.
I looked Mick dead in the face and begin to recite the poem I knew by heart. After I was done I looked over at Mom and saw she had tears in her eyes, as I knew she would.
“I can’t believe you remember, after all these years,” she said softly, as she dabbed at her eyes.
“Yeah, well, it’s a classic, and it’s your favorite. And I only heard it a million times that week.” I tried to act as though it wasn’t a big deal, when really it had meant the world to me. It was truly when I knew she loved me. It was only a year after the marriage, and I was still calling her Ann when the storms had hit. I had been terrified of the dark, and to be without electricity for a week was traumatizing for me. Wally was no help. The only thing that helped was for me to know that I wasn’t alone, so Ann would read to me until I fell asleep, and I just happened to like that poem. I felt it kind of fit the occasion at the time, with the hurricane winds blowing and everything, and I guess we bonded. When it was all over and the lights were restored at the end of the week, she was telling me good-night one night and, instead of saying my normal “Good night, Ann,” I said, “Good night, Mom.” I’ve been calling her that ever since, so I knew she would cry when I recited the poem, because in a way it was our poem, and Aria knew that as well. I looked over to her and mouthed the words “thank you,” and she smiled big and proud.
Wally and Mick just looked at us, then back at Mom, and then asked why she was crying, to which she replied that it was just a moment she had with her girls, it was nothing.
After dinner, Aria and I helped Mom clear the table and Wally excused himself to his bedroom while Mick just hung back and watched. Then he and Mom went to the living room to talk, and Aria and I went upstairs to work on her play.
“Surprised?” she said as soon as we got in the room we once shared, her room solely now.
“‘Fire and Ice’?”
“Yeah, I know how much it means to you and Mom, and I wanted it to be a surprise to Mom for opening night, but I couldn’t hold in. I’m so bad at that.” She was bouncing on tippy-toes in excitement at her gift.
“You are bad at that, but it was a great surprise. But why did you give up going out for a lead part because you wanted to do this for me and Mom?” I asked her
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