The Day I Wore Purple

10.1 Generation 9

Year 70

Sixteen years later.

the couple fell backwards onto jon's 2019 theron-mitchell king-sized bed and watched hannah's sun behind the glass ceiling. it's surface undulated with a trillion paper lanterns of yellow and orange.

"i have a present for you," she said.

"ninety-three-year-olds still get presents?"

"i found it months ago."

"how'd you keep it a secret?" jon treasured the genuine anticipation in his chest.

above them, the sun began to expand in every direction as the lanterns detached from its surface and drifted into the sky, farther and farther until they peppered the heavens with specks of twinkling light. throughout the night, hannah's creation would assemble a million new lanterns, and by morning, there would be enough to re-illuminate their bedroom walls.

"i found your gift while poking around my childhood," she said.

jon was sure they had shared all their relevant memories. "show me!"

"close your eyes."

he closed them.

"don't say a word. okay? just listen."

he nodded. from the darkness, a quiet melody rose; gentle chords laced with the faint crackle of static from crappy speakers. "as the deer," was the name of the song; a staple from his childhood. he breathed the heavy scent of dust and wet wood.

soft chatter wove between the music. it was his mother's voice, polite yet cool. he didn't recognize the other woman, but she spoke with a lighthearted drawl that seemed to warm his mother's stoicism.

"you can open your eyes," hannah said.

jon was standing in his mother's antique booth. susan held herself like an ostrich—legs bent, neck back, feathers ruffled—as she engaged with another woman, shorter (but not short) with pretty red hair.

the other jon looked about seven. his scalp was visible through his hair and his limbs hung like popsicle sticks, legs dangling from a wheelchair, left arm folded over a yellow notepad, right hand clasping a black marker.

just as he remembered this was hannah's memory, a little girl emerged from behind the woman's skirt clutching an aluminum watering can. towheaded and tan, the strawberry had yet to kiss her hair.

"that's you," jon whispered.

"that's me," hannah replied.

the woman, anna lasker, stooped to her daughter's level. "did you remember to bring your allowance?"

the little girl unclasped her kid's-sized purse, removed a five-dollar bill, and handed it to susan. for a moment, the boy lifted his eyes from the doodles. the girl noticed his gaze and looked back.

too young for love, their connection was brief and unremarkable. but it socked jonathon in his core.

"aren't we beautiful?" the real hannah said. "all four of us... aren't we beautiful?"

as the girl took her mother's hand and casually abandoned the sick little boy, the real hannah took her lover and led him into their worlds.

* * *

although jon designed the inside of his home from scratch, the exterior was a perfect replica of the traverse city lake house.

"this way," hannah said.