Grandma had a neighbor who fascinated me. She lived next door in a small house that always looked a little tired, and she carried herself like someone waiting for important news. One afternoon she told me Prince Charles had asked her to marry him. She said he’d arrive in a limo and take her to the palace in England any day now. I’d watched his wedding on television the year before, so I knew she was mistaken, but I listened anyway. I didn’t want to be rude.
I remember standing in the yard, nodding politely while she described the life she believed was waiting for her. I didn’t understand adults very well, but I understood she believed every word she said. It left me with a strange mix of curiosity and worry, even though I couldn’t have explained it at the time.
When my parents came to visit later that week, Grandma pointed to new doilies on her coffee table and said the neighbor had tatted them. I asked why she thought she was marrying Prince Charles. My father shook his head and said, under his breath, that she was the mad tatter. I didn’t laugh. I just looked at the doilies and thought about the limo she was expecting.
The neighbor drifted in and out of our summer like a character from a story I didn’t fully understand. Her world simply ran parallel to mine, and I brushed against it for a moment. I still remember her standing in her yard, waiting for something that would never arrive.
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2 comments
That’s very sad, Kymber. God bless her. 🙏🏻
Thank you, John. It really was. 🙏🌸