A Plain Brass Key

Sometimes relationships last and move past the minutiae - hope is a powerful force. This story offers an example, a model of hope for the reader and is well worth the read.

A Plain Brass Key

Benjamin Edgar Williams

© 2007

 

          The creak of the door’s opening made a sound as if aged and painful arthritic joints were being flexed.  It offer staunch resistance and barked loudly in protest because the square of the jamb had changed, shifted and settled forcing the door’s bottom edge into the etched and worn linoleum flooring. Many years had passed since anything entered through this door; this portal of pale, faded blue slats framed by cracking, formally enamel, now powdery, white paint.

 

          As Joffre pushed and twisted the door’s tarnished brass handle, he mused at how easily the key had found the hole and released the lock, while the door itself, with its crocked jamb, offered a deal more security and resistance.  He wondered had he changed as much.

 

Joffre applied more pressure and persistence.  Finally the door yielded and allowed him and air into its space.  Light waited at the threshold and permitted Joffre and air to enter alone.

 

Joffre raised his arm to head level in the dark and swung it slowly back and forth, as if swatting away invisible flying insects.  There were none.  He found the cord attached to the light fixture in the ceiling and pulled lightly.  A 60 watt GE bulb invited light in and sent its rays throughout the space forcing darkness into shadows.  Light also reached Joffre’s eyes by way of thick-lensed, frail looking wired glasses.  Time adjusted the view and soon he spied the object of his quest.

 

Guarded in Joffre’s aging and modestly fortified, locked, walk-in, pantry on a rear top shelf behind bags of flour, rested an unopened liter bottle of Johnnie Walker Red Label Old Scotch Whiskey.  It had occupied its station for 59 years.  A family friend, Smitty, who had owned a liquor store a long time ago, had made it a gift when he married Sienna. They had vowed to wait before opening it.  It would be a last toast to the partner that departed first.

 

Sienna’s mother, Clarise, had named her after the color.  She had recalled the color from a crayon box when her niece, Netty, had come to visit.  Clarise was six months pregnant and had been babysitting Netty.  Five year old Netty had brought her crayons and asked her aunt if she wanted to help color her pictures of Bennie & Cecil.  Clarise remember the color Burnt Sienna, a yellowy, bronze – but it wasn’t so much the color as it was the name.  She liked the sound of Sienna.  It was different.  She also liked the sound of ochre and umber but didn’t think any child deserved to go thru life with that type of burden.  So on March 25, 1962 when Clarise’s 7 pound 13 ounce daughter was born, she named her Sienna Delores Stephenson.  She grew up and made her parents proud.  In time, her tone and temperament came to match the color of her name – like café mocha.

 

She married Joffre Allen Alexander when she was 25.  It was a small wedding on the 27^th day of May.  She never regretted her choice.  Not that there weren’t disagreements and arguments from time to time, there were.  Both were stubborn and strong willed but in time with commitment and love the rough edges were worn down and the fit cemented. No children were ever born to their union and that too in time dimmed in import and their lives were no less full.  They had nieces and nephews and other relative that gladly lent their offspring to help satiate the need of children from time to time.  They were loved deeply as Auntie Si and Uncle J. Allen.

 

Sienna and Joffre outlived their siblings and in time their nieces and nephews grew to have lives that left little room for their aged union.  Of course there were the obligatory calls and cards on birthdays and holidays and even a family celebration on their fiftieth anniversary.  Occasionally a visit would happen from relatives but illness and age had reduced their mobility. Joffre’s diminishing eyesight eliminated his ability to drive but not his desire.  Moreover, Joffre’s days were spent watching his wife of 59 years prepare to leave him.

 

Sienna spent her last years in and out of the hospital with various illnesses and ailments that culminated in a debilitating stroke that left her ride side immobile.  It also left her without an ability to speak.  Her care an attention became the unyielding champion of Joffre’s energies and efforts.  He was her warmth and shield from night’s terrors and devoted and attentive companion that woke each morning before her.  He knew no limits in his concern for Sienna.  He was her voice and her legs and would willingly be her heart if needed.  He was as much her as she had been him throughout the years.  Now she was fading.

 

Joffre wrestled to keep Sienna joined to him and present.  Time became his adversary and relentless opponent.  Joffre fought valiantly, as fiercely as a man half his years but reality scoffed at his age as if heralding his defeat.  Joffre still fought on and defended the place where his dearest lay.  During the fiercest battles Sienna would shout encouragements when her eyes met Joffre’s tear-filled gaze.  She had no desire to move past the threshold and was relieved at each battle’s rest that the gateway to death remained locked.  Increasingly, the tempo and fervor of these breeches upon life, wore them down and they both tired.  Finally Sienna accepted the invitation of time and calm entreated her.  She looked at Joffre and mouthed something without speech.  Joffre could tell by the way she clenched her teeth into over expressive smile she was saying “key”.  He knew instantly and he felt as if a knife’s cut transected his heart.  He buckled. He wept louder inside than out.  Mere sniffles were his only audible display.

Now his veined and tissue thin hand married hers deeply against his face and kissed it lovingly and wished eternity had an end.  He forced instruction and demands to his legs and body to rise.  The response was slow.  When he was erect, or at least on his feet, he felt the space increasing from Sienna and dreaded and doubted if his gait and strength would allow him the grace to complete Sienna’s last request.

 

He did.  Now back at her side, a washed with relief that she was still there, he poured a shot for her and for him.  He placed the key in her right hand, the hand with no feeling or connection.  He closed her fingers around it and cried aloud.  He laid his head on her breast and embraced her, using the very deep reserves of strength to raise her off the bed and into him.  She held on with her left arm and nestled into his neck and kissed him on his cheek.  He turned and kissed her as he did at 25.  It was beyond passionate.  For them, in this embrace, time stopped and death waited.  Joffre felt he’d only release his darling the day after eternity but his strength was not convinced and he relaxed his hug.

 

Gravity pulled him back to his seat beside Sienna and he watched.  Time past and for the moment they were safe.  Sienna broke her gaze and glanced to the shot glass.  A shiver, that seemed somewhat convulsive, rippled through Joffre and he felt a coldness of a draft.  He ignored the feeling and focused on the real.  With his left hand he reached under Sienna’s back and elevated her head.  With his right, he gave his wife her taste of Johnny Walker.  She took it down without hesitation.  She smiled at her husband and he took his drink down echoing her action.

 

“It was good”, Joffre sighed looking to Sienna.

 

Her eyes agreed... then her perspective and countenance changed.  The door was unlocked and Joffre didn’t mused, this time, at how easily the key had found the hole and released the lock...Air and Sienna pushed through the door and Joffre didn’t see the light – he just felt the egress of the space the accompanied his wife.  The pain was too great and a great vacuum beckoned Joffre.  He climbed into his wife’s space and held her body.  As he lay there, the pain of the knife in his chest became overwhelming and he recognized Sienna’s voice of years past.  It reminded him of 25 year old Sienna.  As the pain diminished her voice increased.  Now he imagined Sienna standing before him, youthful and straightened and she called to him.  He ran to her and they loved again.  They both were found together in an embrace.

 

Some time later when there estate was being inventoried this poem was found in Joffre’s nightstand:

 

Our Last Toast

 

We celebrate

We kissed

And drank

A taste of spirits rare

 

We knew and loved

We danced

And grew

Now lay to ever care

 

We cried now laugh

We joined

And bond

No end to loves affair

 

We left this view

We lived

And die

A key to different air

 

A plain brass key

A toast

A life

A love, not here but there

 

A time to live

A move

A door

A place we both can share.

 

Thank you for a good life...we hope you’ve found your key.

Joffre Allen & Sienna Dolores Alexander

May 27, 2037