Live My Dream… (A #BlogHop Reveal)

hugo h‰ring, siemensstadt housing, 1929It was a brisk, beautiful, fall day.  The kind of day that Cindy had always loved as a child, before her life had changed forever.  She had been a mere child the night an officer showed up at her house.  he had asked Cindy’s mother a couple of questions.  Then he showed her a photograph.  It had been past Cindy’s bedtime and she remembered sitting at the end of the sofa as quietly as she could, making herself as a small as a mouse, lest her mother remember and send her too bed.  She remembered her mother’s pale face as the photograph fluttered from her grasp.

Cindy’s father had left earlier in the evening to go to a bullfight with “they guys” but apparently he had never gotten there.   The police had said that he had been run off the road by a drunken driver, his car flipping several times before landing upside down in a nearby ditch.

Somehow, life had gone on for Cindy and for her mother though it had been extremely rocky at first.  Cindy’s mother had gone through a period of great  depression at the pointless loss of her husband.  For a period of time she had turned away from God and the idea of a saviour.  If it hadn’t been for Granny, the older lady that lived in the same apartment building, and had watched Cindy practically since she had been born, Cindy would have been lost – no doubt following in her mother’s footsteps.

Every day, after school,  Cindy had gone over to Granny’s apartment and every day Granny had a new bible verse for her to read and ponder over.  When Cindy’s mother got sick with cancer, Granny had been there selflessly taking care of both Cindy and her mother.  And when Cindy’s mother passed away, Granny had taken Cindy in without a second thought.  Cindy had never really thought much about the importance of the older lady in her life.  She had simply always been there.

A month ago, on another brisk fall day such as this, Cindy had come home from her college classes to find an ambulance parked in front of the building.  Cindy’s stomach had lodged into her throat as she  ran up the stairs to Granny’s apartment, a police officer (the same one who had come to the apartment the night her father was found dead) stopping her before she could get in the door.  “I’m sorry” he had said.  She remembered little else of that day just the empty feeling of loss.
Now, Cindy stood by her car.  Everything had been packed up and was ready to go.   All that was left was to go to the airport.  Granny had often spoke of wanting to visit the Islands in the Philippines, but had never gotten the chance.  When she died she had left Cindy a large inheritance, the note given to her by the lawyer stating that, in case that she should die before realizing her dream, Cindy should live her dream for her.

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