Umber (71)

I wondered what she would do.  She examined the ephemera spread across her room for a while.  Then she pushed a call button on the wall.  Maybe she would ask Benny to escort me out of the building, along with all the stuff I’d brought in my handbag.  But when he appeared, she cried, “Benny!  Bring glue!  Scissors!  Envelopes, felt pens and glitter!”

Benny obeyed.  I watched as the old lady’s hands, steadier now, darted about, reaching for photos, snipping some in two, some in quarters, taping others together.  She laughed aloud at times, saying “Oh, I know!” and “What if we do this…” and “No, wait, this is better!”  I wondered at the change in her demeanor.  This was no longer an old, decrepit woman–this was a magician, a whirling dervish, a small tornado, so fast was she moving, clipping, gluing, drawing, glittering.

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