a little kindness | [zori]

w i l l o w   a n n

This is the sound of one voice
One spirit, one voice
The sound of one who makes a choice

Mornings came easy to Willow Ann. She liked to say she’d been born at the stroke of midnight, so far as her mother would tell the story, which meant that she wanted to squeeze every last second out of the day. A constant source of frustration to her erstwhile nephew Joshua for sure, and half the reason her niece Briar had clawed her way off the ranch for her own pastures.

Still, it was common for the lady of the Lexington ranch to have milked the cows, checked the chickens, looked in on the sheep and whipped up a spread of toast, eggs, coffee, and grits all before the sun rose. These days even Joshua had mentioned the way she flitted from here to there, nervous energy abounding, going to bed late and waking up early. Burning the candle at both ends, Willow Ann felt half exhausted by mid-morning, but with enough coffee and a smile she could wear her way toward another sundown.

Things hadn’t been the same since the eighty-fifth election. She tried to be okay with it, to be honest – her son and nephew had both implored her to run again, after she’d already faced off against Mace ten years prior – but she quietly declined. She was too busy. Raising a son, trying to get the man child of a nephew to find a sense of purpose, and getting a grip on the direction her own life was going. She’d already served as an advisor to Mace years ago, and the compromises in politics had left something to be desired.

She admitted to herself, and not to the boys or anyone else that could’ve asked, that every time she saw Kieran’s face on the television, all she could think of was Nonnie.

Maybe it was unfair to blame the Emberstatts. It’d been twenty-five years and she’d thought she’d put the memories to rest a long time ago. But there was something about seeing them rise in the district from the very institution that had destroyed her best friend and brother’s wife, the mother of her niece and nephew – as though none of it had ever matter much, in the grand scheme of things. Nonnie had not been the one to stab her district partner in his back; but then, she was dead, and the Emberstatts were alive. In victor’s village, the mayor’s house, and some of them – if she was hearing from the neighbors – making trips to the capitol.

As much as the anger was set to boil, Willow Ann would ask why then, she bothered to spend so much time thinking about what they had, and what she hadn’t?

She’d read the paper one morning, news from the eighty-fifth, another story on the Jones’ and what was left of them. How both girls went through the games, both had been met with life or death, but only one was still sitting alive in the district. Willow Ann had read the piece again and again over the few days, mind turning over how the anxious energy had welled up inside of her. How she couldn’t help but scoff and change the channel at seeing another add for Kieran and the Emberstatts on television.

Joshua’d had a little crush on the Jones girls, if she could recall. Not that that went anywhere. Joshua was to commitment as oil to water. She’d lost a piece of herself, and – at that particular time, she could see more than a bit of herself. In knowing what it was to lose someone; if the dwindling after, the fade to obscurity aside from the occasional ‘oh aren’t you…’ when your last name dusted off a forgotten memory.

That morning she’d resolved to pitch on over to Temple Jones, and to pay her respects. She would say it was for the young woman but she knew, a part of this was for herself. Better to light a candle than curse the darkness, or at least, that’s how she’d always been raised.

So when she came face to face with Temple, Willow Ann offered a smile and a little wrapped package in her hands.

“Ms. Jones. I know – you’re probably sick of visitors coming to call. But I wanted to stop in and see you. You remember Joshua? Joshua Lexington? We live up the way on the ranch,” Willow Ann rolled her shoulder in the direction, and turned back to Temple. What a sight she was, poor dear. “I’m his aunt, Willow Ann. I don’t think we’ve ever had the chance to chat but, well, I thought I’d say I’m sorry. For all you must be going through and, I thought I could brew some tea with you and see how you are.”

She shifted the gift wrapped in brown paper under her arm and fiddled with the zipper on her jacket.

“Not that you have to let me in, I don’t mean to be a bother. I can’t help it sometimes.”

w i l l o w   a n n

This is the sound of one voice
One spirit, one voice
The sound of one who makes a choice

For a second, Willow Ann thought that Temple would close the door in her face. That would have been just fine, too. She didn’t expect to be welcomed in, stranger that she was, especially with all the folk that wanted to get a glimpse of the Jones family after another tragedy. Willow would’ve been on her way with a shrug of her shoulders and content to say that she’d tried. Well – for the length of the walk home, until she found another corner of the sky to fixate on.

Except Temple pulled back and offered entry into her home. Willow Ann gave a nod and pressed into the young woman’s living room. She shifted the gift from underneath her arm and grasped the brown paper in her hands. She held it out to Temple and cleared her throat.

“It’s a journal, with a nice ink pen. I thought you might want something to write what you were thinking about, to keep track of things.” Willow Ann made sure to keep her voice soft. It was only a suggestion – she knew how young women, strong ones the likes of ten knew, were keen on striking it out on their own – but she did hope Temple’s heart was open. She hated to see such a girl’s life mired by grief.

She recognized that grief often worked as mud on the road, set to trap wagon wheels and keep folks spinning in place. It often took a moment to realize you were stuck, and another to figure out how to get going. And sometimes, a hefty push from someone else behind the cart. Someone that wasn’t willing to get a little dirty.

“Where’s the tea? Oh, don’t worry, I think I can manage,” She winked back at Temple and started toward the kitchen. Dusting off a kettle and setting the gas stove to light, she filled the thing and put it over the flame. She searched for a box of tea bags as though the Jones’ were old friends.

“I journal almost every day. Sometimes just a few lines.” Willow Ann mused as she opened a box to reveal some loose tea. She sniffed and gave a shrug. “Joshua would never want me saying this, but he’s been doing it since he was nine. We spent a lot of time writing about his mom.” She missed those days, hard as they were. Lots of tantrums over every cross breeze, but nights she could cuddle with him on the couch and read fairy tales to get him to bed.

She put her hands on her hips and turned to face Temple.

“But look at me running off at the mouth. How do you take your tea Ms. Jones?”