Remember That | Previous Challenge Entry

how it works

TITLE: Remember That | Previous Challenge Entry
By Margo McKenzie
11/24/24
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Clara Jones stood outside the brownstone home she had lived in for fifty years, as firemen yelled orders. She and her deceased husband had raised Cali there. The front windows were so heated by the flames, they had long blown out; the pink, lace curtains she and Cali had purchased and hung, now clung to the outside wall of the stone, seared and drenched. She remembered the day they had gone shopping for them. It was Cali’s eighth birthday. She always had unusual requests. That year she wanted pink curtains. When her father heard the request, he told Clara, “Keep her out all day. I’ll paint the room.” He loved showering Cali with surprises.

Mother and daughter had so much fun together that day. They even enjoyed a soft vanilla ice cream cone from a street vendor. Once they returned home with the curtains, Cali was amazed at her room’s transformation. “You didn’t even have that much time, Dad. Wow, the curtains are just the right shade of pink. You're the best. love you both so much.” Despite the odor of burning wood, the memory of that mother-daughter day of afternoon joy and warm feelings brought a smile to Clara's face. Neighbors looked with confusion at her. How could she smile while flames engulfed her home, and firefighters axed walls and drenched everything inside putting out the flames?

From a safe distance across the street, Clara saw her wood table come careening out the window. It was aflame and crumbled in pieces when it hit the ground alongside so many other smoldering items. She and her husband loved strolling along Atlantic Avenue, home to many antique stores. They stopped in one, and when he saw the table sitting in the middle of a display, his hand moved up and down its rich grain of cherry wood. “This belongs in our dining room,” he said. Clara agreed. The family sat around that table on many occasions talking about the things of God. Cali used to ask so many questions about the Bible. She did get a little salty at times, but, now, she talks about how she prays, reads the Bible for guidance, and how she’s so hopeful about the future. The table had served its purpose.

Though long gone, memories of those good times drenched Clara with joy. Standing there watching the hoses around her, she held her hands to her heart, her smile even broader.

So much commotion went on. Flashing lights. Sirens. Men in boots running around with axes and hoses. Neighbors in bathrobes and slippers, looking on, asking her, “Are you alright, Mrs. Jones?” “Can I get something for you?”

“No, thank you,” she said calmly to them all, leaning against a street lamp pole.

“I hope it’s alright that I called Cali,” said another.

Then she saw sixteen-year-old Cali rushing toward her. Lines of distraught tears fell from Cali’s eyes. Between heaping sobs, she looked at her mother, “Oh, Mommy, I can’t believe what I’m seeing. The house is gone and everything in it. I’m falling apart inside, Mommy. I’m falling apart.” Clara held her daughter tightly.

Then a news reporter, standing nearby, began broadcasting. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m standing here outside of 345 Morgan Street on a block of stately brownstones. It looks as though every valuable item inside this one has been destroyed in this horrific fire. Only the brownstone stands strong.”

Clara listened, shaking her head back and forth as if to say no, no. She gave her daughter another hug and then walked up to the reporter and said off-camera but loud enough for Cali to hear. “I am the owner of that home. This fire does rattle me to the core. But my daughter and I still possess the most precious three items we always used in that house.” She held both hands to her heart, smiled again, and went back to Cali’s side.

With her mouth wide open, the reporter watched Mrs Jones return to her daughter's side, put her arms around her, and heard the mother-daughter conversation, “Besides each other, I can think of three other things no fire can ever destroy.”

“What are they, Ma?”

“Our faith, our hope, and our love. Do you remember why a cord of three strands cannot easily be broken?”

“Yes, because it’s strong.”

“Stronger than that brownstone building you see still standing. Always remember that.”

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