MAGPIE TALE: What Remains
Nothing remains of that day, of those lives, of that moment except for that ugly little black sculpture made from the iron remains of a push cart wheel.
Not one stitch of clothing remains of the old 999 shop, and no one remembers Hattie Kuykendahl's shrill laugh as she told women how smart they looked in their new shirtwaist dresses.
The bankers walking across the street for a Reuben sandwich -- that conversation that at the time seemed to hold all the gravity of the world -- have all fallen to the ash heap. Even the coins in their pockets have slid down storm drains or have since been melted down for new dimes.
The daydreams of the driver waiting for what felt like hours are still out there if you look closely, dancing on electric wires of balancing on the wings of a dragonfly.
Some people looked at Otis and Cloyce walking down Pine Street, unlikely friends in that time, Cloyce with the rugged rope holding his bag to his shoulder. They stole a glance together of the new sled they hoped to buy for Cloyce's son Ralph.
Some felt Q. Henry Larkin to be a poetically contemplative man as he always walked across the street as if in prayer when, in fact, he was only trying to keep those patent leather shoes free of horse manure. It proved a costly habit when, four year later, he was run down by an electric carriage. His eyes had not adjusted to a time when horse carts had become rare and speeding powered buses had become the norm.
For now, however, it all is dust. Dust that replaced the entire block down that afternoon when the wrecking ball slammed into the Majestic Theater and shut down the show forever.
Labels: Magpie Tales