Is It Time Yet? | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: Is It Time Yet? | Previous Challenge Entry
By Kathy Kinzig
05/01/12
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“Momma, is it time yet?” Tillie called in a high-pitched, five year old voice as she stood outside the bathroom door. She heard momma turn off the shower and knew that she would soon come out wearing her pink flowered robe, hair bundled in a towel and smelling like lilacs.
“Well, Tillie, let’s go look at the clock,” momma said as she opened the door. Tillie was already down the hall standing impatiently by the nightstand next to the small wind-up clock when momma walked in.
“It’s not quite time yet, honey. You have to wait 15 more minutes.”
“But why can’t I go outside early just this once? The birds are all awake and making lots of noise. I promise I’ll be quiet.” Tillie’s blue eyes glistened with the taunting of a small tear as she pleaded her case.
“Tillie, you know that we don’t go outside until 9 o’clock. We don’t want to disturb the neighbors.” Tillie’s bottom lip quivered as she sat down on the side of the bed wearing her yellow smocked dress momma made, bare feet vigorously swinging back and forth.
“It’s going to be a hot day,” momma said as she looked for a light weight sleeveless dress. Tillie felt the cool breeze from the pedestal fan by the window.
“Momma, do you think we could buy an air commissioner to put in our window like Bobby Rae’s house has?” Tillie asked as she stood nose-to-nose with the fan, letting it blow her curls in every direction.
“It’s an air conditioner, honey, not a commissioner,” momma said as she sat Tillie on her lap and turned curls into pigtails. “Maybe someday we’ll have an air conditioner, but they’re very expensive.”
Momma pondered the thought of cool air on these hot, sultry days. How wonderful that would be. The nights had been stifling, making sleep difficult. Momma and Tillie often slept on the floor in front of the screen door hoping for any wisp of cool air. As they lay in the dark, Tillie would talk incessantly about everything that came to mind. As the crickets and frogs made music, her eyes would grow heavy. Momma would play with the curls in her brown hair as she fell asleep. Tillie would then wake with the song birds at the first light of day. She’d kiss momma’s cheek and tickle her face to wake her. Every night God seemed to renew Tillie’s supply of words. She’d wake momma with chatting about some new thought.
Momma tied little yellow ribbons in Tillie’s hair, and then said the anxiously awaited words, “OK…it’s time.” Wrapping her tiny arms around momma’s neck she squealed with pleasure and ran outside, the screen door slamming behind her.
Momma walked to the door and smiled as Tillie ran across the yard. She opened the screen door and sat down on one of the wooden rockers whose paint was worn from weather and age.

“Happy Birthday, Tillie,” the aide said as she gently touched her arm. Tillie always liked to sit in the old wooden rocker on the nursing home’s patio. “How are you today?”
“I’m happy. Do you know I’m 98 today?” she asked.
“I do, Miss Tillie. This is a special day for you!”
“My birthday always makes me happy. I was just thinking back to momma and daddy growing up in Louisiana. All we had was the roof over our heads and each other—but we had something more than money could buy. We were rich in love. My husband and I traveled the world. He gave me everything, but those days in Louisiana were special. It was slower back in those days. People really knew how to love and let people know it,” Tillie said as her gray-blue eyes glistened with the taunting of a small tear. “I imagine heaven being as beautiful and full of love as that little house back home.” Tillie rocked softly with a smile on her face listening to the song birds. “One day I’ll see momma and daddy and my husband, Bobby, in heaven. They’re waiting for me you know? And Jesus—I can’t wait to see Him.” She contemplated the thought. Looking across the garden her eyes seemed to focus as if someone was walking toward her. Her smile began to radiate as her eyes followed something come close to her. She looked longingly at something only she saw and quietly asked, “Is it time yet?”

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