Annie

Roxanne sat on her luggage in her empty townhouse. She fiddled nervously with her phone. She’d checked her ride share app a dozen times. Nothing could distract her from her extreme impatience to leave this life behind her. She had lived here briefly, only two years. However, to her, it may as well have been 200. Just a few short years ago, yet lifetimes ago, Roxanne lived in a suburban mansion with her husband, Gordon. She lived comfortably, her marriage was happy, her grandmother, her beloved grandmother, Mary, was alive and healthy. Soon after, she spent most of her time caring for Mary while neglecting her husband. She then took a leave of absence from the hospital where she worked as a nurse. She watched as her grandmother and her marriage both died, along with her desire to ever be a caregiver again. No memory of the past 15 years sparked any kind of emotion, positive or otherwise. Nothing she had known as security or accomplishment remained. She felt completely empty.

Over time, memories blended, time didn't record as it normally had. Her divorce was final right before she moved here. Roxanne soon lost her grandmother after watching this vibrant woman in her 60's rot from the inside out from cancer.

Roxanne always knew the role she played in caring for the Sick. She felt she was a facilitator in combat, helping folks breathe or walk, battling against disease using her caregiving. With Grandma Mary, it was different. She found herself needing to be increasingly truthful, to tell her grandmother that she really was dying, that the time of darkness grew near. Why did Roxanne ever think that she could save her? Regardless of all her degrees, and training, Roxanne escorted her grandmother to the inevitable place, slowly, then finally.

During the first few months following her grandmother's death, she again worked as a nurse. She now knew she’d never be able to bear another wail of pain, or change another wound dressing. She instead began working for an insurance company, where she looked at patients in terms of cost, not care, no further consideration needed. However, part of her was appalled she looked at her patients as a member ID, but she consoled herself by accepting that she was doing the best she could with only a modicum of emotional health.

During this barren time, these days of wine and isolation, Roxanne began to fantasize as a way to cope. Her childhood fantasy of traveling through Europe began to visit her, as an old friend for tea. She envisioned eating all of the food in the most cultured of places. She admired all of the gorgeous men that would dance with her, kiss her, adore her. She'd listen to cutting edge music, her eyes would drink in the art, oh, the art! Everything in her fantasy was of the brightest colors, the loudest volume. It was perfect, as a fantasy is meant to be.

Additionally, her memories of sharing these dreams with her grandmother warmed her. This daydreaming was the only way she could remember her grandmother without falling apart. She felt, in those times, as if her grandmother would share these trips with her.

Yet, as always, Roxanne’s practical mind and her fear of uncertainty filled her with excuses.

“…After I get my degree…”

“…Now that I'm married, I can't…”

“…It’s too much money…”

“…I’d never get that much time off of work…”

These days, in reality, Roxanne had never been freer from relationships or schedules. In fact, she was quite comfortable financially after her divorce. If only these truths comforted her.

Roxanne had been isolated and lonely for long enough that she was beginning to hear the silence. Her immense losses amplified how frozen in time she felt. Tragically, Roxanne’s heart was dying between letting go of the past, and grabbing on to the future. She realized she’d never in her life been as alone as she was now. All of the guidance she had at other times in her life was gone. If only Grandma Mary were here…

During this measure of grief, Grandma Mary's attorney, Mr. Curtis Snow, called and requested to meet with her. Apparently, Mr. Snow had some unfinished business regarding Mary, and it involved Roxanne. Mr. Snow insisted to come to Roxanne. He said Mary had made the visit a requirement. Roxanne tried to trick Mr. Snow by claiming she could meet only on Saturdays. He gladly accepted the coming Saturday, then quickly hung up.

It was now that Saturday, at the appointed time, when Roxanne heard Mr. Snow's car door slam at the curb. She walked quickly toward her front door, wishing to get this meeting done with as soon as possible. She held the front door open for her guest to enter.

“Hello, Ms. Marx.” The attorney’s face was young, but stoic. Despite his rigid composure, his voice carried kindness. Curtis was dressed in worn jeans that were covered in dried paint. His pale yellow T shirt was similarly marked. His hair looked sweat-stained beneath his ratty baseball cap.

She had expected him to arrive for their meeting dressed in a suit, as it fit her idea of his personality. Luckily for her, this change caught her off guard, and did well to distract her from her nervousness.

“I'm so sorry to arrive looking like this. I don't mean to appear unprofessional. It's just that my husband and I have a strict schedule to keep with our home's upkeep. I let time get away from me, I had to leave in a hurry. Mr. Snow awkwardly paused, then blurted out, “Well, I was on time, I got that right!” Curtis embarrassed himself.

“Oh, it's OK. Don't worry about that. “, Roxanne answered with guilt in her voice. She tried to cover by motioning toward the living room and invited Curtis inside.

“I’d rather not, Ms. Marx, thank you. I promised Mary, uh, Mrs. Trent, that this meeting would be brief.”

The pair remained standing in the doorway.

"Now, I'm just dying to know what this is about!”, Roxanne exclaimed clumsily, attempting to ease the tension. The professional Mr. Snow continued.

“ As you know, Mrs. Trent's will left very little in financial terms. Did she ever discuss her will with you? "

“We never talked about money”, Roxanne replied. “All I knew was that she used the bulk of what she had for her medical bills, and she provided for me during the last months of her life. I quit my job at the hospital to care for her. “ Roxanne felt those last words sting her throat as she choked back tears. Mr. Snow’s face remained stoic, but his voice carried a hint of sympathy. He continued.

“Mrs. Trent told me how close you two were. She left specific instructions for me to give you something special.”

Roxanne remained silent, and listened carefully. She had just noticed Mr. Snow was holding a small, black book.

“Mrs. Trent arranged for you to have a small gift, kept secret between you and her. It's a financial gift, but it can be used only for a specific purpose. Curtis stood just a bit taller, as if delivering some remarkable closing arguments in the case of the century.

“Your grandmother remembered how you dreamed of traveling. She told me you were a practical woman, at times to your detriment. Her last wish is that you begin a trip to Europe with this.”

Mr. Snow handed her the mysterious black book. Roxanne extended her trembling hands to accept it.

She felt the soft leather cover. At one point, this book was brand new, although, upon inspection, she saw the pages slightly lifted up the cover. She imagined them to be well written and handled. Someone put so much love into this book.

Curtis encouraged her. “Please look inside.” His eyes gave a caring, but removed concern for her nearly overwhelmed expression.

Roxanne opened the cover and saw a check. All she caught was the figure $20,000 writtn in Grandma Mary’s handwriting. She panicked a bit, and without thinking, shoved the book back at Curtis.

“I'm sorry. I can’t accept this. Please take it back.”, Roxanne stammered.

Mr. Snow seemed ready for her response. He gently pushed her hand, along with the book, back toward Roxanne and told her, “Ms. Marx, please don't reject her gift. Take this book and read through it. The money has its conditions. Trust me, you don't want it to go anywhere else. “

Roxanne calmed herself and tried to let her genuine curiosity wash over her. She set the book down on her foyer table as her face got warm. She wanted answers.

“Why did my grandmother make you give this to me? She would have given this to me herself. Was this your idea, Mr. Snow? And what do you mean, it could go someplace else?”

Curtis was ready to plead his case. “We both know how Mrs. Trent did things her way. She asked me to give this to you, specifically several months after she passed. She really wants you to travel. She's directed me to donate money to some hateful organization if you don't use it for Europe. She knows you won't let that happen. She’s just not a woman who finds it a moral problem to blackmail someone.”

For the first time in a while, Roxanne genuinely laughed. Curtis joined her, and he finally felt they were on the same side.

“ She didn't want to hear ‘no’ from you. She was providing you an escape. Arranging this gift for you meant the world to her. You meant the world to her.”

Roxanne’s cloud of mourning lifted from her enough to be curious and exhilarated about traveling. The time in her life where her European dream was reality was approaching.

She looked at a relieved Curtis, as they shared an awkward silence.

The attorney then nervously said, “Ah, that's it for me. I've got to get back to the house. Painting, yeah.”

Mr. Snow extended his hand for a goodbye handshake. His other hand instinctively covered his mouth.

“Please take care to read everything. We’ll be in touch soon.”

He paused, remembering something.

“I'm so sorry for your loss, Ms. Marx. I don't remember telling you before.”

Roxanne noticed his eyes had teared up. She felt quite sympathetic toward him.

“Thank you. Did you know my grandmother on a personal basis?”

Mr. Snow turned away from her in an attempt to compose himself. After making a few unsuccessful attempts at speaking, he quickly wiped the tears from his eyes and told Roxanne, “Please be in touch soon.” Curtis turned and left through the front door. Roxanne watched as he hurried to his car and drove away.

She stood looking out of her screen door, resting as if the entire world had paused for her. She remained quiet, to breathe in the last of this reality. For she knew that once she opened that book and began to read, her life would never be the same.

Over the next few weeks, Roxanne poured over that little black book. She read Mary's travel suggestions, people and places to see. She gained encouragement and strength from the opening letter. She slowly nurtured her belief in dreams, and began to earnestly pursue making her reality reflect her fantasy.

So sitting on her luggage, waiting for her driver, she read through it for the final time in this townhouse. When she was done, she wiped the tears from her eyes, as she put the notebook back into her purse. She sat for a moment, feeling the familiar emptiness inside her.

Lately, however, she felt currents of hope, and excitement swirling in her soul. Roxanne knew her adventure world begin in Rome, and would mark the beginning of her new reality. She had claimed her rebirth, her mind was fresh and unburdened.

Taking residence in her new being, she surrendered no longer to her insecurities, but to all that was possible. She dreamed of all that awaited her in Rome, in life. At this moment, she felt lighter than air. She was the Phoenix shaking the ashes from its fiery wings, having been born from its own death.

Roxanne stood up triumphantly on her strong feet. She took up her luggage, and walked out of the coffin that was her former townhouse. Her confidence shining through her, she walked toward the curb, ready to meet her future.