Based on one of the stories that resulted from a Dramatic Lit class.
"Why won't you go to Florida again?" Jill asked her grandmother, "Last time was great."
"No it wasn't." the grandmother, Diana, replied, "Everyone there was like me, aging, decrepit and wrinkled. I couldn't even get away from them doing what I liked to do. The casinos were full."
Jill sighed over the phone. "You refused to spend time with us at the beach, that was your own problem."
"Exactly. Leave it be." Diana said, pride clear in her tone.
"Why won't you spend time with us?" Jill asked, "You always seem to complain about what happens, no matter where we live, and you never want to be with your kids."
Diana spat out a glob of mucus. "I don't like feeling old." She began to cough.
"Are you alright?" Jill asked, "do you need me to call something for you?"
"NO!" Diana said. "I've just got a slight cold. It's wintertime."
"Alright, if you say so. Call me back if you decide to change your mind, alright?" Jill asked, "we can pick you up if you want."
"From New York City? HA!" Diana began to chuckle. "Talk to you later, Jill. Have fun."
"I will. Love you, Mom." Jill replied.
Diana hung the phone back on the receiver on the wall, and hugged her blankets tighter around her. She walked over to the window, and looked out over a narrow street, cars half-buried in snow parked along the roadside. At least there wasn't any snow falling. Sighing, she turned away from the window, and started the coffee machine.
She slung on a heavy winter coat, and wandered over to the doorway of her small apartment, carefully avoiding the clutter, and gingerly stepping around the vacuum which had been forming a centimeter thick layer of dust for the past few years. Groaning, she picked up her boots, and toddled over to he chair by the phone. Letting herself fall into the chair, she began to slowly pull her boots on, pain stopping her every few moments. Soon after both boots were on, the coffee machine let out a ding, clearly audible through the thin walls.
Groaning, she carefully got up, and moved back into her kitchen. Filching a thermos from the top shelf, she poured coffee into it over the sink, making sure that whatever spilled didn't touch her shaking hands. Screwing on the cap, she looked around. She spotted what she was looking for on the table in the sitting-room, next to the purse. She carefully placed the revolver her father had given her for her tenth birthday into the purse, and zipped the purse shut. Purse under her arm, she tottered back across her tiny apartment, and wrapped her scarf around her.
This was winter in New York City, and in addition to the snow piled up in huge chunks around her the air was incredibly cold, but Diana slowly picked her way down to central park, two blocks away. The sun was setting over the snow piles, causing it to glare into her eyes. She held up a weak hand to block it from her eyes, and walked over to a bench. Clearing the snow away with her purse, she fell onto the seat. Carefully, she pulled open the zipper, and pulled out the gleaming revolver. Diana carefully loaded a single bullet into the gun, and placed it in her mouth. She was about to pull the trigger and end it all when she heard a scream. Pulling the gun out, and turning around, there was a young girl screaming at her. Her face reminded Diana of her own daughter. Smiling for the first time in a year, she looked back out over the snow in time to see the sun fall behind the skyscrapers.
She tossed the gun into the bushes. Diana Winthrop had places to be. Carefully zipping her purse shut, she steadily walked out of the park, leaving the young woman behind her. Making certain to keep track of the stoplights, she walked over to JFK international airport, and strode through the doors. Walking straight to the ticket counter, she asked the woman behind the counter when the next plane to Florida would be flying.
"The next plane to Florida is down south." The woman replied, her tone cheerful. "Would you like to buy a ticket?"
"Yes, I would." Diana replied, confidently.
"And what class would you like to sit in?" the woman asked, looking at the computer next to her. "Economy, Business, First Class?"
"First class, if possible." She said, "Here's my credit card, to pay for it."
The woman behind the counter smiled and accepted the card. Quickly punching information from the card into the machine, she handed the card back. "You have more than enough to pay for a one-way trip, First Class, to Florida. That was what you wanted?"
"Precisely what I wished for." Diana replied.
"You're so nice. I wish my mother was like you. She's always grouchy, never wants to be with us." The woman said.
"Call her up when you get home, Family's important."
Diana walked through customs, and patiently waited for her plane, watching the people rush about in the terminal. An hour later, she was on a plane to Florida, looking out across the sea as the sun set.
Suddenly, a loud bang seemed to shake the plane. "What's going on?" she asked. A faint smell of smoke began to fill the cabin. Then it became horribly clear. One of the engines on the plane's right wing had exploded, and the plane was going to crash into one of the hills below. She began to pray, as the pilots and stewardesses began shouting orders to please stay calm.
Tears began to fill her eyes as she whispered to herself, "Sorry, Jill. I forgot to call you."
The next day, Jill hung up the phone. "No answer. I wonder if she's mad at me." Picking up the remote from the table, she turned on the TV to the news. A plane traveling from New York City to Florida had an engine malfunction, and crashed in Virginia. There were no survivors, and the dead were still being identified. The phone rang; she picked it up. "Yes?"
"Is this Mrs. Johnson?"
"Yes, who is this?"
"This is the investigation team at the site of the recent plane crash in Virginia. I'm sorry to tell you this, but your mother has been identified among the dead."
Jill Johnson, daughter of Diana Winthrop, began to cry.
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