One Last Thing ✅

fifty-seven things

Monday comes too soon.

I step out of the shower and wrap a faded towel around me. Standing in front of the sink, I wipe the condensation from the mirror and stare at myself for a second. My blonde ringlets coil around my shoulders like snakes. My blue eyes are clear.

"You can do this," I tell myself.

You can.

In my room, a conservative navy dress is arranged neatly on my bed, right where I left it. There is one difference, however. A delicate string of white pearls is nestled on top of it. They are my grandmother's. I recognize them from her jewelry box. She explained to me once that she'd been planning on passing them on to Amy, but obviously that had never happened.

I drape my towel on the back of my chair and go to my bed. I lift the dress and pull it over my shoulders, struggling a bit with my bad arm. A twinge of pain shoots through my wrist, but I ignore it, wrestling with the dress until it falls around my waist, and then regard the pearls.

Lifting them almost reverently, I turn to the mirror in my vanity. I hold them against the dress. They are perfect. I hunch over to undo the delicate clasp, but my fingers don't seem to be working correctly. I realize that my hands are shaking.

"Need some help?" Grams asks from the doorway.

"Thanks," I say gratefully.

She takes the pearls and walks behind me. I watch in the mirror as she does up the necklace. We both stand there then, looking at ourselves reflected in the glass. The resemblance is remarkable.

It is me, young and old.

"You look beautiful," Grams says, like I'm about to go to prom instead of my arraignment.

"Thanks," I say again, unsure of how else to respond.

Grams must sense my fear because she puts her hand on my back. We stand still for a few moments, not speaking. I realize that I don't really need her to say anything. The fact that she is here with me is more than enough.

"Ready?" she asks me.

I touch the pearls for strength.

"Ready."