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Timothy's Elegy
They'd rushed home when they heard. Not that there was any real hurry, of course. But it was the principle - it was family.
Cecy had told Gia. A stranger had just walked up and told her, and Gia immediately knew it was her foster sister talking. The man had walked on, then looked about, rather shaken by his unaccustomed blackout. Gia was gone by then, though, rushing back to the car to share the sad news.
Gia had a mad urge to find Kino and invite her, but Christine put her foot down, as expected. The family was very private. Momma Elliott had explained that a wicked, vengeful relative had once divulged their secrets, and forced the family to flee. That would not be allowed to happen again.
They'd arrived in time for the funeral. The Elliots were, surprisingly, not ones to create a big production or fuss on these sad occasions, rare as they were for such a family. But Gia had been obliged to give Christine a thorough washing. While Gia scrubbed brake-dust from Christine's rims, squeejee-ed windex from her windows, and sprayed gel on her tires, they took a welcome break from the solemnity of the occasion with a cheery duet of "Splish Splash."
Then Gia rushed to the bath, and thence into a simple black gown with matching lace made ready for her. Respect.
Gia shared in a tiny libation at the wake, and dropped her handful of soil at the burial.
She'd liked old Timothy Elliott instantly. She saw at the time that he was decrepit, and some cautious part of her heart had braced itself, not allowing her to grow too attached. Nevertheless she missed the voice like fine summer wine flowing from the ancient oak barrel of his body. She would miss the busy Gene Kelly tap dance of his fingers across the old typewriter, so worn the letters had vanished, unmissed, from keys so well known.
He'd taught her the ways to foil the Autumn People, corruptors who, among other things, tempt with empty promises of turning back the clock and calendar. He'd warned her not to fall for that, not to yearn for years that could never return, but instead to treasure the years she had, and the memories. Good advice then, that would grow better as she grew older. In her time with the Elliott family, too brief yet, the old scribe had taught her much.
She listened to the words of ageless Nef, recited by Cecy, advice shared with Timothy almost a lifetime ago, now directed to the mortal members of this extraordinary house. "The best thing to do is to live your life to the fullest, enjoy every moment, and lay yourself down many years from now, happily realizing that you've filled every moment, every hour, every year of your life and that you are much loved by the Family." Such was Timothy's eulogy, and Gia silently promised to live by this wisdom.
A fine June had driven away the usual fog and gloom, and the Elliott home looked bright and cheery with its colorful (though tasteful, always tasteful!) burgundy and fir-green paint. After the eulogy and the burial the family retired to their sprawling manse, hidden away amid the bogs, leaving Timothy to sleep.
Gia waited patiently near her adopted mother. She spoke when spoken to, which was very often, to the members of her family with every ounce of decorum she could muster. Mama Elliott had been grooming her for her debut, but this large gathering had pre-empted that, and the former trucker's daughter was determined to have this elegant, aristocratic family think well of her. She politely hid her reaction to finally meeting the larger or more baroque relatives, as she'd been warned. They in turn seemed to know all about her sickly smile and paid it no heed.
Finally, after a slightly wilted mama Elliott had paid due attention to everyone's well-wishing, she sat, gracefully yet, in a rattan chair in her accustomed breakfast nook. Gia promptly brought two cups (California merlot, a root beer for herself - Timothy's favorites) and she waited as if for a report card.
The weary matron didn't notice this, at first, which showed how distracted she was beneath the facade. But in a longer-than-usual moment she understood. The remarkable lady seemed always to understand people's intentions or desires with nothing but a glance.
"Admirably done, Gia. Many rough edges, but don't fret. You and I will have time to tend to finer points. I only regret that we've spoiled your debutante ball."
"I miss him," Gia said.
"Ah, a life such as his, child, with such accomplishments and lived to a ripe old age, must be celebrated, not mourned." Gia wanted a hug and, sure enough, as quickly found herself inside the warm, now-familiar bat-wing embrace. "Yes, I miss him too," mama Elliott continued. "Welcome home, daughter. You too are much loved by the Family."
"Mama," Gia answered, eyes misting, perfectly content to let the hug last a long time.
June 6th, 2012
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