Grace & Despair
part:with
Grace & Despair
My plan was simple: I'd go to the local library, and search for
Grace's name in the directory. It was against my better judgment.
However, this unease had unintentionally sparked feelings that had
hitherto been suppressed. I knew I wouldn't be able to rest easy again
until I checked. The archive turned out to be superfluous. On the first
page of the current issue of the newspaper, I found what I was
looking for.
JULY'S "CITIZEN OF THE CENTURY" PICKED BY ILL CITY
The headline read CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION.
And the image below the subject line . . She was eighty years old
now, but some faces you never forget. The photographer may have
suggested she turn her head to hide her left side, but Grace faced the
camera straight on. So why not? It was an old scar now, the wound
inflicted by a man long dead. I thought it added character to her face,
but I was biased. Even smallpox scars are beautiful in the eyes of a
loving eye. After volunteer work ended in late June, I packed my
belongings and headed straight for Ill City.
The dusk of a summer night in Ill City. It's slightly larger than it was
in 2020, but not significantly. The café where she used to stay up all
night doing her homework is no longer there, and the Shell gas
station where she used to buy chocolates getting home from school is
now a 7-Eleven. The speeches commemorating Grace's centennial
have come to an end. The one provided by the woman chosen as
Citizen of the Century by the Historical Society and Town Council
was charmingly brief, while the mayor's speech was lengthy but
informative. This was where I learned that Grace had served as mayor
once, but that was the least of her troubles. There was her charitable
work, her tireless efforts to improve the quality of education for
indigenous people, and her year-long sabbatical to volunteer in
typhoon relief centers. She never married again. She never left Ill
City. She remains firm, her body unaffected by osteoporosis. And
she's still stunning, with her long white hair cascading down her
back. The speeches are now finished, and Main Boulevard is closed.
A banner displayed proclaims each end of the two-block business
section
BOULEVARD DANCE, 7 PM-MIDNIGHT!
EVERYONE IS WELCOME!
Grace & Despair
Grace is surrounded by supporters, some of whom I believe I
recognize —so I go down to the DJ's platform in front of what used
to be the Festive Mall has been converted into a hotel. The young
twenty-something jock fiddling with the records and CDs has bright
red-dyed hair and a lot of personalities, but I'm not sure those
square-bear pink-rimmed specs go with the appearance.
“I see the circular mound of sound is still there”, I say. As to which
he looks up and smiles, “Never leave without it when going to a gig.
Do I know you?”
“No”, I say. “But you do know how to keep the party going, do you
have any of those old records?”
“God, no. It long since vanished. But I have a CD collection of big
band music. Do I sense a request coming on?”
“In fact, you do. However, it is unique.”
He chuckles. “They're all the same.” The DJ, ever ready to please,
agrees when I tell him what I want. As I return to the end of the
street, where the woman I came to see now resides, he calls after me
as he is being helped by the mayor.
“I didn’t catch your name.”
Over my shoulder, I say, “Alfred.” “George Alfred.”
“And you want it at eight o'clock?”
"Exactly on time. Time is of the essence. Let's hope that works out."
DJ red hair hits Ill City with the sound of party music five minutes
later. Under the boulevard sunset, dancers crowd the street. At five
minutes before eight, DJ plays a calm Tony Bennett song that even
adults enjoy. For the first time since the speech, Grace is left alone. I
walked up to her. My heart is pounding so loudly that it makes my
entire body shake. "Are you Miss Grace?"
She smiles and lifts her head slightly. Although she is still short, I
am taller. Always has been. “Yes?”
“My name is George Alfred, and I'd like to introduce myself. I
wanted to express my admiration for you and for all of your hard
work.”
Her grin becomes a little perplexed. “I appreciate it, sir. I'm not sure
who you are, but the name appears to be familiar. Are you an Ill City
native?“
I can't go back in time, and I can't read people's minds, but I can tell
you something. That's exactly what she's thinking. In my dreams, I
hear that name.
“I’m not, I’m from a different city.” And before she can pursue
ssssss
Grace & Despair
another question: “May I ask what caused this? Your passion for
public service?"
Her smile has faded to a phantom around the corners of her mouth.
“And you're curious because—?”
“Was it the pandemic?” “The COVID19 pandemic?”
"Why . . . In some ways, I suppose it was. I'd like to believe I could
have gotten it. I was already involved in the wider world, but I
believe it began there . ." Her left hand involuntarily rises toward her
cheek, then drops once more.
”Mr. Alfred, how did I come to know you? Because I am certain that
I know you . ."
But the DJ comes in through seven tall speakers before she can
finish.
"Okay, Ill City, here's a blast from the past, a platter," the
loudspeakers announce. "That's what counts, only the best and upon
request!”
Then there's the mellow piano start from a long-forgotten tune:
Plonk-plonk-plonk-plonk . . . plonk-plonk-plonk-plonk
Grace exclaims, “Oh my God, Moonlight in Vermont.” “This one I
used to listen to, someone introduced me to this song a long time
ago.”
I extend my hand. “Come on. Let's get this party started.”
She chuckles and shakes her head. “My swing dancing days are long
gone,” she says.
“But you’re not too old to waltz. And call me George. Please”
Couples are jitterbugging on the street. Several of them are even
attempting to but none of them can swing it as well as Grace and I
can. That's not even close. Yellow, red, and green party lights dangle
over the roadway. Grace trips over someone's chair, but I'm prepared
and quickly grab her by the arm.
"I'm sorry, clumsy," she apologizes.
"You've always been that way, Grace." "It's one of your most lovable
characteristics."
I wrap my arm around her waist before she can ask about it. She still
looks up at me as she wraps hers around mine. The lights dance
across her cheeks and catch the brightness in her eyes. We grasp
sssss
Grace & Despair
hands, fingers instinctively folding together, and the years fade away
for me like a heavy, tight coat. I hoped above all else at the time that
she wasn't too preoccupied with finding at least one excellent man . .
Her voice is nearly too quiet to be heard over the music. But I always
did hear her.
"Who are you, George?" ”
"Honey, someone you know in another life."
The music then carries us away, rolling the years away as we dance.
As the party ends, she’s been taken away by her car and zooms off to
a distance. It was there in the still of the moonlight that I realized
that she was real. The woman that I could have spent the rest of my
life with was real. We both shared the same passion for changing the
world. She succeeded in doing it her way, I succeeded in doing mine
as well. With all the people in her life, she must have clearly
forgotten me, with the brief moments that we shared together. I
decided that I'm not taking a cab back to the inn; instead, I plan to
walk the entire distance beneath the starlight. I suppose I should say
my goodbyes. Hearts aren't supposed to break. If only they knew
how. I'm not going anywhere right now except to my bed, where I'll
lay my head. I lay my wet forehead on the pillow and pray to a God I
don't believe in to send my beloved Grace a good angel to help her
live. And love. Also, dancing.
Grace, farewell.
You've never met me, but I love you.