Maxi's Choice

  The silence of the cold, crisp air of an early February morning was shattered by the roar of the huge bulldozer as it sprang to life.  The crowd of bystanders felt the frozen earth vibrate and tremble beneath their feet as they watched the huge machine rumble toward the vacant house.  The operator aimed for the porch of the two-story, hundred-year-old building, tearing it away with a splintering crash.  At the sound the crowd gave a collective murmur, not a cheer and not a groan, more like a sigh of acceptance, which left frozen vapor hanging in the air, unwilling to dissipate, like their hopes. The watchers saw the reality; the Project had begun.        

    Maxine Taylor and Helen McGuire stood amid the shivering crowd, seeing what had been a lovely Victorian house tumble into a pile of debris.

    Maxi’s thoughts went to the small, frail, elderly woman standing staunchly beside her.  Helen was shaking from the cold despite her hooded and down-filled bright red coat that enveloped her from the top of her head to her ankles.  Beige wool stockings under her signature red high-top sneakers covered her tiny feet.  

Maxi’s thoughts centered on her companion.  Was she thinking of the memories being tumbled into a pile of debris? Six months ago I had just met Helen, when she was the occupant of that house. I never expected my first contact to be a 96-year-old woman who had lived all her life in this house.  What thoughts must be going through her mind?

     “Are you okay?”  Maxi asked as she put her arm around Helen’s shoulders and pulled the hood of her coat up closer around Helen’s small, lined face.

     “Yes, I’m fine.  It’s tough growing old, you know.  But it happens and I would have had to move out of that house soon anyway.  I couldn’t keep up with the expense of it anymore.  The memories are in my heart, dear, not in the house.  I can take my memories with me anywhere.”  She turned away from the house and looked at Maxi.  “Thank you for bringing me here this morning, Maxi.  You’re a sweet girl.”

Maxi smiled at being called a girl.  It was something she was not used to hearing, since she was a 54-year-old widow with two grown children.

     “I needed to be here,” Helen continued.  “It’s sort of like going to a funeral, you know.  You have to say good-bye.  Let’s go now; it’s cold this morning.”  Helen shivered and hugged her arms to her body.

As they turned away, a young, ill-kept man wearing a bulky black windbreaker and black watch cap, moved so that he bumped into Maxi, barring her way.  Greasy dark hair fell over his forehead and his shadowy dark, mean eyes glared threateningly at Maxi as he said, “You happy now?  Takin’ away old folks’ homes?”

     “Now you be minding your own business, John.  She’s only doing the job she was hired to do and they couldn’t have found a better person for it.  Go on home now, be a good boy, and don’t hassle the poor girl.”  Helen glared right back at John who gave way at Helen’s rebuke.

     He let th