Memory

Lottie settled at the writing desk and took a sip of tea. Staring into all of the pictures she'd arranged before her, she could see the sparkle in their eyes (almost hear their laughter). "Who first?" she whispered, reaching out and touching the frame that held a photo of her namesake (Aunt Charlotte). Grinning, Lottie flipped in the binder to the "Charlotte" section and read a bit. "Oh, my goodness," she said (to no one in particular, but excitedly), "I think Oscar is going to propose!" Her spinster aunt remained forever in Newton, Iowa, frozen in a snapshot where she'd gotten the giggles while shucking corn (out of the reach of the illness that claimed her life not quite two years later). Lottie started writing, working on another chapter of the life cut short - something befitting the person who would have lived it, warm and wonderful. She would take the other narratives further, too, giving Matthew a chance to retire as an old man from the Air Force, having flown his full measure, and giving Roy a house in the suburbs and a family of his own (since this was the dream that drove him). She would write all day, on this day, and then be done for another year. In this way, Lottie could keep it all in perspective - that memory makes it possible for gone to not be gone.