Beautiful Things - Bob Killion

I remember my moms when they had their adventures: chasing giants, rescuing children, singing to the moon… it was a long time ago.  When she walks me to school, Laurie reminds me of everything that happened and we pick flowers that grow around the sidewalks.  My moms used to be famous; they made everyone jealous.  When I tell the kids about my moms, they only listen until I talk about the adventures.  Then they say, “Ah, now you’re pushin’ it, Daisy!”  I tell my teacher all the things I remember and she smiles at me and says, “That’s nice, Daisy.”  Grown-ups don’t believe me when I say I remember.  They tell me I couldn’t remember because it was before I was born.  But I remember.  I remember everything.

My moms met when they were fighting terrible battles at the hospital.  Maggie came from Canada on a flying dog sled with a blue flowery backpack and a great green coat with two hundred pockets.  When they heard she was coming, Mayor Gregory had his soldiers surround the city and told her she was on thin ice, and that she better not come any closer.  But she pushed through.  She shouted and swung her backpack, and all her flying dogs charged.  The soldiers got so scared they ran home and jumped under their beds.  Mayor Gregory is still hiding in his closet to this day.  She took her dogs right down Broad Street to the hospital and kept up the fight.  That’s where she met Laurie. 

Laurie fought at the hospital too.  She says she was a good fighter, but she got tired and used to cry a lot.  She says Maggie helped her fight.  Then she shows me her pink ribbons and tells me it’s okay to cry, but it’s better to cry with someone else.

When the battle was over, my moms moved to Washington Street and lived together, far away from the hospitals.  On Fridays, they took the bus uptown and made everyone jealous.  They wore blue suits with pink blouses or silky hats with peach dresses, and everywhere they walked, people turned their heads and wanted to know who they were.  At Jim’s restaurant, they would go to hear the band, and Donny would ask Maggie to sing, “Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina.”

In the day-time, my moms fought giants.  They put on their old battle clothes and chased them all over the city.  They rode dragons and forged shields; swung their swords and blew their trumpets.  Laurie says the fights weren’t as scary as they used to be.  And when they won their fights, people got their homes back, or they could afford food, or their children got to go to school.  And when they said thank-you, or sent them a picture, or baked them a cake, or cried with them, Maggie called it “beautiful things.” 

They rode Maggie’s dogsled to the moon for vacation, and had picnics under the stars.  In winter, they went hiking in the forest, and learned how to speak to the wild wolves. And when they had seen everything there ever was to see, my moms came home to Washington Street and decided to look for me.  Laurie says they looked for a long time and filled out a lot of papers, but that they finally just asked Donny because he had a good heart and they wanted me to have a good heart too. 

On the day Maggie died, they told her something was wrong.  The doctor said she had to stop pushing so they could take her to the hospital.  She didn’t want to go.  She wanted to stay at our house.  She didn’t like hospitals anymore, but she went.  For me.  So I’d be okay. 

Laurie cries sometimes but she says she’ll be okay because she has me now.  Donny brings me books on my birthday and teaches me how to draw clouds and dinosaurs. 

I remember everything about my moms, especially in the days when they had their adventures.  Some days, Laurie tells me new stories.  She tells me about driving in New Jersey and about Law school and about how Maggie liked apples.  And when I tell her I remember—that I remember how they were, she and Maggie together—Laurie smiles and tells me it’s beautiful.  She tells me, never forget, let it move you. And when we walk down Washington Street on the way to school, Laurie points to all the new flowers.  “That’s Maggie,” she says, “that’s your mom.  Still fighting battles.  Still pushing beautiful things into the world.”