Holding On To Goodbye

Prologue

Sitting on my couch at home, I awaited the knock at the door. Earlier, Abigail had called and asked if she could spend the day with me, she was sick and didn't want to attend school, but her mother had to work and wouldn't let her stay home alone. Of course, I said yes; how could I turn down my own grand-daughter? She would just have to sit and watch T.V. though, because I had no plans for this cold, dreary day.

I turned the stereo on next to the floor lamp and listened to Patsy Cline sing me into a soft slumber. Oh, how I always have loved her voice. I cried for two days straight after she died--what a tragedy, to lose a beautiful singer like that--she'd always been one of my favorites.

I woke up to the sound of a rapping at my door. Looking at the clock, I became quite irked. Those two made me wait for an hour longer than anticipated. They should have been here ages ago. But Cynthia always has been famous for being late, I suppose; at least they're here now.

I braced myself on the armrest closest to me and struggled to lift my body up--getting old like this wasn't exactly what I expected, but then again, when I was young, I never dreamed of growing old. I thought I'd be young, bold, and beautiful forever.

The door knocked again, this time more fiercely and I had to yell that I was coming. Talking over Patsy Cline was nearly impossible, especially since I always turn her up. Thank the Lord, I haven't yet lost my hearing.

I opened the door and a gust of cold air tumbled into the foyer. I wrapped my house robe around my frail body and told Cynthia and Abigail to get inside before all my heat escaped out into the cold. How cruel is it that heat doesn't stand a chance when the frigid air grabs hold of it, almost suffocating it to a nonexistence the moment they meet. I've always loved the warm air--that's the main reason I miss California so much...that and our old house. Oh, Donald, I just wish we were back home. I hated it that Cynthia decided it would be best to move me in to a little apartment in Washington. "You'll be safe here, and I'll be able to keep a better eye on you," she had said. It'd been a month, and this rain was driving me insane. I might be safer here, but I certainly wasn't going to be in my right mind for much longer--and it wouldn't be just because of my tired brain.

"Thanks for letting her stay with you today, Mom. I told her that I have to work, but if she really did want to stay home that maybe you would be okay with her hanging out here. I hope it's not too much," Cynthia said.

"No, no. It's fine," I retorted. "Abigail and I hardly spend any time together, I feel like we're practically strangers anymore. I'd be happy to have her over. She better get used to it too, one day she'll be my regular care taker," I joked. She didn't think I saw, but I caught Abigail rolling her eyes. She probably thinks her old grandmother is a complete basket case, but I've tried to keep myself together and I think I've done a pretty good job.

"Well, thanks again. I gotta run, I'm already late for work! It looks like you've settled in to the new place quite nicely, Mom. I hope you like it. And you be good for Grandma," Cynthia said, turning to Abigail.

"Mother, I'm sixteen, not a four year old!" I inwardly gasped at how disrespectful she was. I realize that most children are in this day and age, but I would have never treated my mother that way...or else I would have gotten a slap in the mouth and then never treated her that way again. I stood by while Cynthia just gave her daughter a disapproving eye and then gave me a quick hug before leaving.

Abigail flopped herself on my couch and opened one of the books I had been reading earlier that day, before throwing it to the side, uninterested. "It's a good book," I told her. "A good mix of romance, suspense, humor, and tragedy. It's about a girl who's traveling through the trails, making her way for the west. Around the pioneer times--a new world--that sort of thing. You can read it once I'm finished if it sounds interesting."

"Do you have any vampire books?" Abigail asked. "That's all I'll ever read."

Who would waste their time reading a book like that? I wondered. I guess I should have known. Abigail has been wearing nothing but black for a few years now. Her mother keeps saying it's just a phase, but I gave up hope when I saw that her hair was dyed sleek black and that she wore so much eyeliner that I could hardly see her beautiful baby blue eyes. "I'm sorry Abigail, I don't have any books like that. Maybe you should try reading something different for a change."

"Probably not," she replied bluntly. I guess when you're hooked to something, you're hooked. "Oh, and Grandma? Everybody calls me Abby," she said.

"Would you like something to eat, Abby?"

"No. Mom took me to Mickie D's before we came here."

Mickie D's? What on God's Green Earth is that? I shrugged it off, not really caring. Maybe that's why they took so long to get here. "Alright, suit yourself," I said, nestling myself into Donald's old rocking chair and throwing a quilt that my mother had made me years ago over my lap.

I could tell Abigail was already deciding that this was a bad idea--coming to my house--she was already looking around my living room and probably wondering how on earth she was going to wiggle her way out of sitting at home with me and going to the mall with her friends. She stood up from my couch and walked over to an antique dresser that I've had ever since Donald and I first got married--it had been a wedding present from my grandmother, I've loved it all my life, always displaying it where I knew people would be able to admire it up close. I had decorated the dresser with little trinkets and a few framed photos--one of mine and Donald's wedding, one of both Cynthia and Harry as babies, and one of me when I was only seventeen.

I grabbed the book I had been working on earlier and began reading again. "Abby, you can turn the T.V. on if--"

"Grandma, what's this picture?" I looked up from my book and saw Abigail holding the photo of me when I was seventeen.

"That's a photograph of my best friend and me," I told her.

"Which one is you?" she asked. She brought the photograph over to me so that I could get a better look at the picture. It was a black and white, but I could see that the edges were yellowing, it didn't help that the frame was gold itself. I pointed to the girl on the right.

"That's you?" she asked incredulously. I mean, I know I've aged some, but do I really look that much different from the brunette beauty standing in that picture?

"Yes, that's me," I answered. I looked at the photo again. My best friend was next to me, our arms wrapped around each other, we were both smiling and laughing, waiting for Donnie to take the picture--he was so good with a camera, always had one in his hand. "The girl next to me was Kathleen. We always called her Kitty back then though, Kit for short." That picture had always been one of my favorites; both Kit and I looked raveshing that day. She was always so beautiful with auburn hair that slightly curled in all the right directions. Her hair naturally framed her pale, freckled, heart shaped face, and her eyes were a beautiful piercing of green.

"You were both so pretty," Abigail commented. "Where is she now?"

"Kit?" I looked down at the photograph once more, tears filling the brims of my eyes. I would sometimes think about her, wonder where she was, what she might be doing--if anything. "Oh, honey, that's a long story."

"We've got all day, Grandma," Abigail proclaimed. "There's nothing better to do," she said sarcastically, giving me a smirk.

"I'll tell you the story," I said. "But you have to promise to stop being such a pill."

Abigail laughed. "I promise." She moved back over to the couch and stuck a pillow into her lap, hugging it close to her chest. "Come on Grandma, tell me what happened to Kit."

I can still see it, see her, that day, that moment--it was a happy time in my life, in all of our lives. "It was 1954," I began. "I was seventeen, living in California. Kitty and I had grown up together, we had been best friends from the time we met in third grade. This here, in the picture? We were on our way to the fair, your grandpa was actually the one who took the photo. It was the middle of summer, and I couldn't wait to take a ride on the ferris wheel..."