By FC Pierce
Myra and Leon were best friends at the Scharome Manor for Seniors in Brooklyn, New York. They were inseparable. “Oh, you kids!” the nursing staff used to joke good-naturedly.
But they weren’t kids. Myra was eighty-one, and Leon was seventy-nine. They were rounding the final bend, reaching the homestretch of their lives, and that’s why Leon created the pact.
“Whoever dies first,” he told Myra, “will reach out from the other side to let the other one know everything is alright.” He suggested they use Madame Kozlova, another resident who happened to be a medium. She gave seances every Thursday afternoon right after Mahjong. Myra didn’t believe in mediums or Heaven, but she didn’t tell that to Leon who made her promise. “I’m counting on you,” he said.
As it happened, Leon died that December. Myra was heartbroken and angry at God for taking him from her. Still, she sat Shiva to protect his soul, just in case, and asked their temple congregation to pray for him each Saturday. Her friends reminded her about the pact. “When I’m ready,” she told them in her sorrow. But a promise is a promise, so one afternoon after Mahjong, Myra reluctantly called on Madame Kozlova.
Madame Kozlova closed the drapes in the tidy living room of her cozy apartment. “Hold my hands, dear,” she told Myra, “and don’t let go, or you’ll break the connection.” They sat on the sofa, holding hands in the darkened room while Madame Kozlova beckoned to her spirit guides to summon Leon. This is ridiculous, Myra told herself, and she was about to tell Madame Kozlova to stop, when her hands started to tingle, and she felt a light tap on her shoulder. “OHH!” she called out in surprise as her body jerked backwards. Madame Kozlova tightened her grip.
“He’s with us,” she announced. Then her voice changed. “Myra?” It was Leon. “Myra, is that you?”
“I’m here, Leon,” Myra replied. Tears streamed down her face. “Oh, Leon, I can’t believe it. Is it really you?”
“It’s really me, Myra.” Leon’s voice seemed to float in the darkness.
“Oh, Leon,” Myra felt her heart racing. “Tell me, how are you?”
“It’s wonderful here.” Leon’s voice swelled. “Every morning we wake up and make love.”
Myra almost let go of Madame Kozlova’s hands, she was so surprised. Leon never talked like that when they were together. She must have misheard him. Leon continued. “We have breakfast, take a little nap, and then we make love.”
There it was again. Myra felt her face burning and looked around the room reflexively. There was only Madame Kozlova, rocking back and forth on the sofa, her eyes rolled up in the back of her head, her lips moving as Leon’s voice rhapsodized in his distinctive sing-song Brooklyn accent. “We have a little lunch, then we take another nap, then we make love…”
“Leon!” Myra shouted, unable to contain herself any longer. “I can’t believe it. This is Heaven?”
Madame Kozlova’s expression went blank. She stopped rocking and cocked her head to one side, just like Leon used to do.”Heaven?” she grinned. “Heaven Schmeaven, I’m a rabbit in Idaho.”
Laughing – made my day!
Oy! Such a funny story! Love it.
Thanks Ephra…we should all be so lucky😁…right?
Ha! Succinct, believable piece with a nice touch of humor. Love the unexpected ending!
Lots of fun. Reminds me: why did the chicken attend the seance?
To get to the other side…..
Beautiful, funny and as classy at it’s author!
Thank you, Jonathan. I couldn’t have said it better myself😅