Short Story Memphis Woke To A Rustle

Tabitha woke to a rustle. At eight, she thought of a bunny in a bush. In her sleepy state, it took her a moment to notice the smiling stranger at the foot of the bed. He waved her to follow and, to what would be her mother’s horror, Tabitha crawled out of bed and followed. Tabitha was surprised to find, not her parents’ bedroom at the hall, but a line of child roughly Tabitha’s age. The man led her to the end of the line and went off, presumably to collect more children. Tabitha peeked around the pump boy in front of her to see the front line. However the line just went on, out of view. What she could make out was a handful of adults waking the line, comforting children with enough common sense to be frightened or herding the more adventures of them back to the line. Tabitha was one of the bigger number, sleepily shuffling forward.

She may not have understood the weighty words but she understand that whatever was happening was important. She tapped her foot, accidently on purpose shoved the boy in front of her when he didn’t scooch up fast enough for her. She did notice that no matter how big or small, every child had to stand on tip toes to see but all could peer in. That was true for the little baby in the orange acorn-covered footies to the big boy who looked to be older than the rest of them. The big boy whooped and a few other children giggled at whatever they saw.

When Tabitha was finally beckoned forward she rushed the fountain and leapt up to see over.

Tabitha saw herself as an old woman, nearly her mother’s age. She was laying on a batch of grass, a space carved out of a fairy garden from one of her books. A riot of color framed her and a park picnic table too small to share. Tabitha was wearing a red shirt and had a jacket or sweat shirt bunched up under her head. Even at the distance of standing at the fountain’s edge, the younger Tabitha could smell the flowers and feel the sunlight warm her