Jasmine's Fight

Mama, Where Did You Go?

It was one of those rare, perfect days on the quarter-mile promenade in Central Park. The towering elms' interlocking branches created a stain-glass effect as the sunrays trickled to the hexagonal pavement blocks. The walkway was sparsely filled with grown-ups and children gleefully talking as they strolled through. On the outer edges, thousands of wooden benches lined the walkway, and on one of them, a woman and a little girl could be seen. The woman scribbled in a notebook while the girl admired the robins chirping in the elms. In that fleeting moment, the woman beamed with joy just as she wrote her final word on the ivory-colored page.

"Jasmine, it's finished!" she rejoiced, turning towards her daughter.

"What's finished, Mama?" asked the girl, with a puzzled look upon her face.

The woman smiled warmly, "A story. Open it and take a look."

She placed the notebook tenderly in her daughter's hands. Jasmine looked even more bewildered. She had never seen a storybook without a pretty picture, let alone any letters on the cover.

Jasmine hesitated, "Open it?" turning her head playfully to the right.

Her eyes widened. She looked to the left, back to the right, and all around.

Her Mama was nowhere to be seen.

Jasmine, Wake Up

Jasmine opens her eyes just as a teardrop rolls down her delicate face. She is wide awake, and her heart is racing. The bedside alarm clock and the one-foot opening in the curtains spared the room of total darkness. After kicking off the covers, Jasmine swings around to face the light. She gently picks up the small black notebook resting on the nightstand and places it close to her heart. LUB-DUB-LUB-DUB...LUB-DUB...LUB...DUB. With every slowing beat, her hands are gradually lowered until they softly hit her lap. Her body is as still as a rock. However, inside, her thoughts are still crashing against one another as fiercely as Atlantic storm waves. She can't stop thinking about her dream.

Oh, Mama. How I miss you. So many questions. Why were you taken from me? Have you come to tease my guilt? Why now? Because I didn't say goodbye? I'm sorry, they wouldn't let me. If only I spent more time with you instead of spending countless days and nights working. Don't leave. Mama, I'm sorry. Please...come back.

Jasmine glances down at her Mama's notebook as she caresses the fabric band enclosing the notebook—the last of her Mama's things. It was also the only thing the hospital staff would give back to Jasmine. The hospital staff—how she pleaded with them to let her see her Mama. They said it was too dangerous. They were right. But, their concern for her safety gave her a false sense of hope. The red shatter was inevitable.

Her Mama died all alone in the night without a familiar face in sight.

The mere thought of her mother's beautiful suffering face has kept her up for many nights. Nothing could prevent the swelling tears during the workdays that followed. Her bosses were not impressed. Jasmine wished they cared more about her feelings than a puffy-eyed worker writing loans to overtrusting clients.

I guess I can't blame them. Revenues this. Profits that. The people we are supposed to help? They don't care. It makes me sick. Even to get this rare day off, I had to beg for—

Jasmine shudders as goosebumps appear all over her body.

Mama, have you come to give me...permission...to open your notebook?

Her eyes and the notebook enter a staring match. Argh! What do I do? The whole year, I've been scared to open it. It's her notebook. It would be rude! But, but Mama just told me to open it. This is no coincidence. Mama said so. I have to open it. I can't ignore her wish...

She looks at the braided ribbon reaching out to her from within the notebook. It's so tempting. Where does it lead?

... ok...

THACK! The notebook is freed of the enclosure. It's lying on Jasmine's flat palm...waiting.

... ok. Breathe in for 4. Hold for 7. And exhale for 8. Just like you were told. You got this.

She tugs on the ribbon...the notebook is opening...tears start racing down her face...it's Mama's writing...each line is perfect...and on top of the page...

...a name.

Who is that?

Mrs. Williams

I met Mrs. Williams during one of my weekly walks. It was one of the few times I saw her smile. I guess seven pigeons resting on the 'Angel of the Waters' sculpture can do that. Maybe that's why she visits the fountain each morning from 7:30 until 8. To see if her lucky birds are back?

Mrs. Williams is a woman whose life is abundant and yet hollow. Every time I see her at that fountain, she is always dressed in black from head to toe. Her wardrobes are brimming with the most exotic colors; however, she can express herself with just one after what happened to her son.

Oh, that poor boy! The people who swore an oath to protect her only son deprived him of his right to live. They pushed out all of the air from within his lungs. He could neither breathe nor move. They pinned him down in the street while he gapingly looked at the bystanders with his bloodshot eyes. No mother should have to go through that! I can't even imagine how I would feel if something like that happened to my sweet Jasmine. I hope one day it will be better. We can't be losing children like this. It doesn't matter how old they are. We have to protect our babies.

Until then, people like Mrs. Williams will feel trapped in eternal mourning. I hope I can keep meeting people like her to help them with whatever they are going through. Who knows what will happen if I don't. Most people don't understand that all they want is just for someone to listen to them. To those brave people, I would say, "I am here to listen. You are not alone. I love you."

"I love you too, Mama," whispers Jasmin. This was waiting for me all this time. How could I be so foolish? Jasmine thinks of Mrs. Williams. I need to see her. Jasmine squints at the clock. 7:47. I can make it.

Jasmine quickly washed her face and got dressed. With nothing more than the notebook in her hand, she quickly darts out of the studio apartment onto the slightly busy street.

She doesn't stop running until she is greeted by the Bethesda Terrace at Central Park.

HUFF PUFF HUFF PUFF. She catches her breath.

BONG-DING-DONG-BOONNGG! A music clock can be heard faintly in the distance.

Oh no! It's 8:00!

Jasmine flies down the first flight of stairs.

"Agh!" Could it be?

She speeds down the second and through the first set of arches.

It's her.

"MRS. WILLIAMS!" Jasmine's voice echoes.

Just as Jasmine passes through the middle arch, she yells one more time.

"MRS. WILLIA—"

BAM!

Jasmine comes down with a thud. Ouch! She was so fixated on Mrs. Williams that she didn't notice a tall man in a loose gray suit following her.

"Henry! There was no need for that! The child just wants an autograph!"

"My apologies, Mrs. Williams," Henry steps back unapologetically, placing his hands behind his back.

"Come here, child, I'll sign your notebook."

"NO!" Jasmine yelps as she quickly brings the notebook closer to her chest, "I'm sorry, I don't want an auto—"

"You don't? What do you want then?" snaps Mrs. Williams.

Henry inches closer to his protectee as Jasmine springs up.

"I'm really sorry to bother you, Mrs. Williams. I was just hoping to talk to you about my Mama."

"Your Mama??"

"Yes, my Mama, Athea Lewis"

Mrs. Williams faintly smiles. "Ah...Athea! My goodness. Where's that girl? Ahh! You're Jasmine! You're as pretty as your Mama. I thought she was busy helping the other folks out. What a treasure she is. I see she—What's wrong?"

Jasmine's tear ducts have failed her.

"What's wrong, child?"

"My Mama..."

"Yes?"

"She..."

"She's what?"

"She was taken from me...as in—"

Mrs. Williams puts her arm around her, "Oh, Jasmin! I'm so, so sorry."

Jasmine whimpers quietly.

"Oh, you poor child. Come, Jasmine, let's go for a walk." she turns to Henry briefly, "Leave us but don't lose sight of me."

"Yes, Ma'am"

They walk up the stairs towards the promenade.

"Mrs. Williams?"

"Yes, dear."

"I'm...sorry about your son."

"Ah, yes, that," she lowers her head, "Thank you. It's been so long."

"If you don't mind me asking. How did you cope?"

"Well...after they took my Perry, I was a mess. Couldn't eat. Couldn't sleep. It felt like nothing mattered. Mind you, the whole world didn't know any better except your Mama. She knew. She has a rare gift. Whenever I see your Mama, she tells me such beautiful stories. She makes me feel like all is not lost. She helped me restore my faith in humanity. I will be forever grateful to her." Mrs. Williams looks up briefly at the sky before returning her gaze towards Jasmine, "What a pity she isn't with us right now. How are you managing, dear?"

"Um...I'm ok for the most part," Jasmine gulps loudly.

"Jasmine. It's alright. Let it out."

"Um...well...few things seem to matter. I lost my friends. I couldn't stand them. They wanted to talk about the latest fashions and about cute guys who they thought were the 'one.' I was like that before. But I couldn't relate to them anymore. Only thing that kept me going was my clients at work. But it's hard. My bosses aren't happy with me crying all the time. I'm just appalled at the things they do. They charge clients more money just because of who they are. I started working there because I felt sad for all those who lost their homes during the crisis. I want to make a difference, but now I feel like I'm part of the problem...and...my Mama...my poor sweet Mama..."

SILENCE.

"Oh, Jasmine. You're such a brave young woman." Mrs. Williams grows concerned. "The bitter truth is—that sadness will always be there. You just learn to live with it. Jasmin, your intentions are good," Mrs. Williams glances at the notebook, "but sweetie, your heart is needed elsewhere—"

"Mrs. Williams!" Henry bellows as he runs up, startling Jasmine, "We have to go! We are already running late for your next appointment."

She waves him off. "—and if you ever need to talk, you know precisely where to find me." SIGH, "Jasmine, I'm sorry, but I have to go, dear."

Mrs. Williams opens her purse, scribbles on something, and folds it.

"Here."

Jasmine is in a state of disbelief. Why would she give me a $20,000 check? I just met her! "Mrs. Williams...I mean...thank you, but I can't accept this. This is one-quarter of what I make per year!"

Mrs. Williams raises her eyebrows and tilts her head, "Is that before or after taxes?"

"Before—But it doesn't matter! This is too much money! I'm sorry, I can't take it."

"Jasmine, honey. These are mere pennies compared to the value of what you have there in your hand. I suspect that you will find a unique story on every page—stories about the people whom your Mama helped and those who are still in dire need of help." She starts walking away, "Trust me, dear, you will need it."

Jasmine sinks into a nearby bench.

CHIRP. CHIRP. A robin lands near her feet. It looks into Jasmine briefly and flies off.

Jasmine sat there for many hours, reading her Mama's notebook. She laughed. She cried. Then laughed some more. She was inspired.

The robin was never to be seen by any other living person or creature again.

What happened to it?