Susan LaffertyThe organ shrieks as we enter the sanctuary. Dissonant. Avant garde notes bouncing off ancient stone floors. Filling the arched ceilings.
Discordant.
Disconcerting.
Seemingly out of place with the luminous stained glass and stately wooden pews.
Tennis. I took lessons once upon a time. During my elementary school years. Early morning lessons to avoid the tropical midday heat of Surabaya.
I learned how to hold the racket. Practiced forehand and backhand. And remember this advice, “Keep your eyes on the ball.”
Somehow watching the ball instead of the court and other players and my racket meant I had a chance of hitting it across the net.
My parents are cleaning out cabinets. And bookshelves.
They’ve done this before. Purging. For moves across states and across the world.
But this is different. A time for downsizing. Studying space. Deciding what will fit in the next spot.
They’ll move to a smaller place. One of these days. So now they are paring down. Letting go.
They push things into my hands when I express interest in a painting. A book. “Take it.”
