Mrs. Abercrombie (original version)

Mrs. Abercrombie 

Mrs. Abercrombie saved every newspaper for decades.  She had one room upstairs that had stacks of musty and decayed newspapers covering the windows and under the four poster bed like three foot high carpet.  I nearly tripped over a stack one day when my mother was fixing her hair, getting her ready for her 100th birthday party and I was just a kid.  I thought fifty was old.  It was just too hard to imagine being that old. 

Mrs. Abercrombie had a wry sense of humor and a twinkle in her eye.  She always surprised me how she knew things.  Like that time I made a C in Math and I told my mom I left my report card at school.  She just up and said “Ask her what she made in Math, Betty, just ask her.  She knows.  You don’t need some piece of paper to tell you what your child should be tellin’ you if you raised her to be an honest girl…You did, right?”

Well, thanks to that little bit of urging, my mom asked me and I told her the truth.  I was honest only because Ms. Abercrombie assumed I was an honest kid, even if a bit rambunctious.  Ever since then, I knew Ms. Abercrombie could read minds or she had a little magic behind those twinkly blue eyes of hers.

On the day before her 100th birthday, I was reading through some of the more ancient looking papers and saw one with the headlines about the Chicago World’s fair of 1893.  Anxious to share it with Ms. Abercrombie, I carried it as if I were carrying my grandmother’s china. 

“Land’s sakes, girl, where have you been?  Have you been up there rummaging around in those newspapers again?  Look’s like you found something.”  She winked her eye at me before fussing about me to my mother.  “That young’un of yours sure is a curious one.  Sure does keep getting into mischief, doesn’t she, Betty.” 

“So, little lady, show me the headline on that newspaper you’re holding.”  She recognized it just from the picture.  “The world’s fair the year I was born.  That was the year something happened that changed things every year for millions of people.  Do you know what that was?” 

“No ma’am, Mrs. Abercrombie, was it an invention or something?”

“No honey, it was when the Happy Birthday song was written by two schoolteachers.  Can you imagine celebrating your birthday without that one little song?  Just wouldn’t be the same, would it?  When I learned about that, I decided I would quietly thank those two ladies every year when I blew out my candles.  They made my birthdays special every year.  You gotta have something to be thankful for on your birthday, not just a wish of things to come.  Remember that always, sweetheart.  I want to hear you belt out that song at my birthday party tomorrow.  I’ll be listening.”

I wish I could know for sure if she heard me singing.  The whole town sang it at her last party but she wasn’t there.  She died the night before her birthday.  We had the party anyway, being that caterers were already coming only it turned into a memorial service.  I think she would have had a kick out of that and sure would have hated to waste that food.

It’s fifteen years later and I’m in a crowded party room with five year olds swarming around my legs.  I look at my firstborn son, about to blow out his candles.  I told him recently about Mrs. Abercrombie and the birthday song.  As I fought off a tear, I caught my son winking at me with his sparkling blue eyes.  I had no doubt he remembered our talk. 

I listened as everyone started to sing “Happy Birthday”.  I wish I could say I thanked those two schoolteachers.  Instead, I whispered a little “thank you” to Mrs. Abercrombie for reminding me to be thankful for each year I get to spend on this earth with people I love.  With half the song left, I raised my voice and sang out loud, just for her.  I think she heard me this time. 



(700 wds - Prior to cutting down to 500 wds for contest)