Scrapbook

THE SCRAPBOOK

Joyce Peterson

Molly went to the old book case and pulled the time-worn scrapbook from the top shelf. She didn't know why she thought of it, in particular, as the "old bookcase". Everything in the house was old. She guessed it was because the books in the bookcase, all reminded her of times that were gone and would never return, especially the scrapbook, over which she ran a loving hand. It held memories of all sixty years that she had lived in this house in Los Angeles, over fifty-five of them with Bill. They had bought it when they were first married. Some of their friends lived close by, but Molly had out lived, not only Bill but all of their friends and relatives.

When she heard a noise, she went to the window and pulled the curtain aside. It was just Dobey, the neighborhood boy who tried to keep the yard looking the way it always had , when Bill was taking care of it.

Dobey was the oldest child of the colored family who had bought the house across the street soon after Bill died. Molly had seen him working in their yard and asked him if he would like to work for her. She had tried to keep the yard up, but her age and arthritis interfered. She was glad she hired the boy when she saw he had a knack for the work. He was, now, a Senior at the local High School and would be going away to college when he graduated next year but he was training his younger brother to help her. Somehow, knowing that, made her feel comforted.

She and Bill had bought the house thinking they would have a big family and there would be someone to inherit it. In the beginning, it had been in a nice area. But life had, as Bill said, thrown them a "curve". In time, the neighborhood had deteriorated. When gunfire began to be, what seemed like, a daily occurrence, they thought about moving but Bill's job hadn't paid enough for them to think of it. Besides, they spent what ever money they could on the trips that were preserved in the photographs in the scrapbook. And, there had been no children. She wished they had adopted, but they hadn't. Then, Bill died. Molly had never been one to make, what she thought of as "cup of coffee" friends and she had outlived all the relatives she had known. There was no one to leave everything to. That was why she had the lawyer make Dobey her heir. She hadn't told the boy. It would be a surprise.

Her yard was the only one on the street that people might stop to admire. Dobey hadn't known Bill but Molly told the boy so often that Bill "would want this or that plant, here or there", he followed her instructions. And, when Dobey wanted to change something in the yard, he told her it was because he thought Bill would want it that way. She had become fond of the boy. They understood each other.

Molly waved at Dobey then went back and sat on the old couch that had been covered with a spread to hide the worn spots. She opened the book and let the pages fall open where they would. When she looked down, she was no longer in this shabby neighborhood, but was sitting in a tour boat on a river in The Netherlands. She watched as the houses glided by and spotted the little one that seemed smashed between the two on either side of it. She could feel Bill's arm about her. She knew she couldn't see him, she had tried to see him one of the other times she had opened the book and found herself in one of their adventures, but she knew he was there. He kept his arm around her as they explored Delft and she wanted to buy a Delft Blue cup as a souvenir but she thought she could hear him whisper, "Where you gonna put it? That old cabinet won't hold any more." So she put the cup back. She thought she heard a shot, but it wasn't in The Netherlands, it was in the neighborhood. She closed the scrapbook and went to the window in time to see Dobey running down the street. She kept watching until she saw him run back. When he saw her at the window, he shouted, "It's OK. Just a backfire this time, not gunfire" Molly wasn't a particularly religious woman but she uttered, "Thank God."

Molly looked at the clock that had hung on the living room wall so long that, when she tried to move it to another room, it had left such a clean, clock-shaped place on the wall, she left it where it was. She wondered about the mirror that hung near it. Was there a clean spot behind it? The mirror looked the same, but the wrinkled face looking out at her looked like a stranger to the one that had just taken a tour to The Netherlands. This one wore an old blue sweat suit that was a couple of sizes too big for her since she had shrunk with age. Since she never went anywhere and there was no one to dress for now, she wrinkled her nose at the old woman in the mirror. She wasn't the one to whom Bill told that she was so lovely, he couldn't believe his luck being married to her. She had always known she was the lucky one of that twosome.

When she noticed it was 5 o'clock, she went to the front door and called out to Dobey. "It's 5, Dobey. Better be going home. But come back tomorrow and finish trimming those rosebushes."

"OK, Miss Molly, by golly." He always said that because, after she had asked him to address her by her name, he could see that it made her smile. He started for the shed to put the tools away.

She called out, "By the way, stop in tomorrow. I want to show you something." When she saw him give her the big "O" for OK, she closed the door. She would show him the scrapbook and tell him what wonderful adventures he could have by looking at it. After all, it would belong to him someday. She would tell him that she would leave the book to him but not about the house and the rest of it.

She went to the kitchen wondering what to have to eat. Dinner would be one of the frozen dinners she bought or one that she had frozen from a dinner she had taken the trouble to cook for herself. She always cooked enough so she could do that. Cooking had never been one of her specialties but her hand went first to one of her own dinners. While she was eating it, she decided she hadn't been such a bad cook. Bill had never complained.

When she looked at the TV schedule for the evening, she decided she'd rather look at her scrapbook again. She turned to the section that contained post cards of places they had never visited. She had sent away for the cards. Her dreams of these places were not as clear as the others that she and Bill had visited and Bill never was as close in them, but she liked the postcards and wondered if her scrapbook adventures of them were anything like the real thing.. She fell asleep day–dreaming of climbing stairs at Machu Pichu but, when she almost fell off the couch, she woke up and went to bed.

The next day, Dobey knocked on her door, when he came after school. "You said to stop in. You had something to show me," he reminded her when she opened the door.

She was still wearing the blue sweat suit and combing her hair with her fingers. She had forgotten. Memory was not her best suit these days. "Oh, of course. Come on in. Take a seat on the couch." She saw him look at her, questioning whether he should come in. "It's all right. I just had a nap. Wait until I get my scrapbook."

The boy sat down and watched as she drug the big book down.

"I better get back to those rosebushes," he told her, sounding uneasy in unfamiliar situation.

"This won't take long, Dobey. This scrapbook will be yours someday. I'll leave it to you when I….die. I just wanted you to know that it's a magic book that will take you any place you want to go," she told him.

She must have captured his interest. "Even to the bull fights in Mexico?" He asked.

"I think you might be able to go there." She told him as she remembered the postcard in the book. "But I hope you will go to many other places, too." She sat down by him and let the book fall open to pictures of Egypt and suddenly she was there and Dobey was beside her. However, when she looked at him, he was looking at her strangely. "I think I'd better go do those bushes before it gets dark."

Molly could see that the boy had not been with her in Egypt. She wondered if the book had to belong to you before it was magic. She really wanted Dobey to see all the wonderful places the book held in its pages.

The next week or two was so quiet that Molly remarked to Dobey, "Maybe all the gunfire is over. Maybe the boys have finally come to their senses. They surely don't gain anything but jail time when they're caught."

"Yeah, you'd think they'd get wise but …" Dobey stopped when there was gunfire a couple of blocks away. "Go on in the house. I'll go home for a little while. Sometimes they think it's fun to shoot up the whole neighborhood."

He was right, because after he was gone, and Molly had found refuge in her living room, there were shots coming from a couple of blocks away in the other direction.

"Darn kids." Molly swore as she pulled the scrapbook down and let it fall open. Suddenly, she was on a bus in an Egyptian town. A Pyramid was in the distance but so tall it looked like it was guarding the town. She could feel Bill's presence as usual. He would protect her but then the gunfire got closer and it was so loud she looked up and Bill was standing there, Bill himself, in person.

"Bill, I can see you…" she said. He looked as he did when they married. Looking down, she saw she had on the dress she wore when they had gone to Las Vegas to be wed. Her hands looked younger. Feeling her face, she could tell the wrinkles were gone.

"I know, Molly. I've been waiting for you…" he answered, as he pulled her up beside him.

They both looked as Dobey burst in the door and rushed toward the figure on the couch. "Miss Molly, Miss Molly", he cried as he put his arm around her. "Miss Molly, by golly…." He sobbed over and over until he saw the scrapbook open on her lap.

Bill and Molly found themselves on the bus going to the Pyramids. In front of them, Dobey was gazing in wonder at his surroundings, "Miss Molly, I can see it. Just like you told me but why did you have to die so I could…"

"It's all right, Dobey," she told him. "I'm where I belong. Enjoy the book. I'm sure we'll meet again."

Dobey looked around but there was no one behind him. #end

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