Where will I be?

Margie had dressed herself beautifully in a white linen shirt and navy slacks with a navy hair bow to match. I complimented her on the outfit, and she said, as usual, “My mother made it.” I asked if we could make a photo in her house, so I could get the whole outfit, and she very generously indulged me. It was harder than usual to leave the house. Three times she needed to be reassured that she had her keys and her phone. Walking to coffee, she was unsteady. I kept a hand on her back. “My legs aren’t right. Something's weak. I don't know...."

At coffee, I asked her to tell me more about Frankie Fortunato, who lived across the street from Uncle Herman and Aunt Mildred on Long Island.

“You knew Frankie? Oh I loved him. He was the first boy I had as a friend, other than my brother. We would sit on his front stoep and talk." A pause. She looked uncertain. "I don’t think he used the word ‘stoep.’ That was a city word, maybe he called it the porch, but you know what I mean.”

As we chatted,  she lapsed into silence several times, forgetting the question I had asked, and she didn’t feel like going for a walk after coffee. I went up in the elevator with her to be sure she was settled in her chair, and I said as I was about to leave, as I always do, “I’ll see you next week if you’re still here.”

Usually she laughs and waves me out. This time she  answered, “I wouldn’t bet money on it.” 

I came back and stood beside her, took her hand. For the first time she asked me, 

“What will you do when I’m gone?”

I felt a chill. I told her I will miss her, that my week will have a big Margie-shaped hole in it. She looked worried, so I added,

“But I’ll be grateful that we had these seventeen years of telling each other stories. What a joy it has been. I have loved all the stories you've told me, and every week you tell me a little something I never heard before.”

She smiled, but then she looked even more uncertain and added, 

“Where will I be?”

“When you’re not here?” I asked, wanting to be sure what she was asking.

“Yeah. Where will I be?”

“You will be in the trees and the leaves, the sky and the clouds, and most of all, in the ocean. You’ll be everywhere.” 

“Oh, I like that,” she clapped her hands. “I’ll be part of the ocean. I love the ocean. Yes, and the trees. And you’ll know where to find me.” She gestured to the sky outside her eleventh-floor apartment.

I said yes, Margie. Yes, I will.