The Mysterious Limousine
/The chauffeur of a mysterious limousine takes Marjorie to places where she misbehaved in the past.
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Marjorie was in the middle of washing dishes in her tiny kitchen when her smart phone beeped at her. She liked calling it her smart-aleck phone. The beep signaled a new text message.
“Stop what you are doing. A limousine awaits you at the curb. Jump in.”
She was somehow compelled to act. Quickly she removed her flowery apron. Patting her hair in order to fix it, she stopped at the hall closet and put on her jacket. She grabbed her purse and ran out the door, making sure it was locked.
Sure enough, there was a limousine. The door behind the driver opened as if by magic. “Get in, Marjorie.” The man’s voice was smooth and sexy.
She did what she was told. She had always done what she was told, from the time she was a toddler to now that she was a widow.
“Where are we going?” she said cheerfully, excited by the limousine, by the driver’s voice.
“We are going on a tour of the town.”
“There’s not much here to see.”
“Oh yes, there is a great deal to see and to understand, if you have eyes to see and ears to hear.”
“That sounds like something from the Bible.”
The driver didn’t speak again until he took a right turn on High Street.
“You will see 111 High Street where your best friend lived. Your best friend Sarah, until you dropped her for Alicia, who was prettier and richer and more popular. Sarah never forgot that.”
“Does she still live there?”
“No. Soon we will be going by your high school, the scene of many of your misdeeds.”
“Misdeeds? I was just an ordinary kid.”
“Yes, you were. That’s why you went along with the crowd. You went to parties and drank and smoked. You were, shall we say, rather free in your encounters with the boys in your class.”
“Everyone I knew acted the same.”
“That may be. Too bad. Your behavior caused your mother some pain.”
“Yes. I remember. Listen, what’s the purpose of this ride? Who are you? I feel like Ebenezer Scrooge in A Christmas Carol. Are you going to show me the present and the future too?”
“No. I don’t know what the future holds. It’s yours to at least partially create. The present is always with us. You can do with it what you want. Not totally, of course, but you have a fair amount of control over what goes on in your life. You have choices to make. As for the past, well, we know what happened there. I can tell you all about your past, and if you want to rectify anything, you can try to do that in the present, or in the future.”
“But the past is gone. How can I rectify anything, assuming I would want to?”
“Oh, I think you would want to. You have a conscience, a conscience that needs to be developed.”
They were now at a shopping plaza.
“Why are we here? Are we going shopping?” She let out a nervous laugh. Suddenly she knew why they were in front of Palmer’s, the store where she used to like to go shopping. And shoplifting.
“Oh. I know.”
“Tell me.”
“Sometimes I would steal a lipstick or some perfume. But I always bought something as well. I didn’t go to Palmer’s just to shoplift.”
“Oh, well, I suppose that makes it all right.”
“No, it doesn’t. But I lived a pretty good life as an adult. Didn’t I?”
She thought she heard the driver sigh. Then he spoke. “Thank you for reminding me. Once I make this turn, we’ll be near the office where you first worked as a secretary, Jackson’s Investments.”
Marjorie hung her head down. The driver, his eyes hidden behind large sunglasses, seemed to be looking at her for a second.
“I see that you remember.”
“Yes. I lied about Beulah. I told Mr. Jackson that Beulah was lax in her work. He believed me.”
“Why do you think he believed you?”
“Maybe because Beulah was black.”
“Yes. I think you understand how that worked.”
“Listen, do you think you could take me to some places where I behaved myself and was a good person?”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary today. Maybe if you rectify the past, I’ll come back and we can look at places where you behaved. And we could have ice cream.”
“Are you making fun of me?”
The driver didn’t answer.
“Where are we going now?”
“I’m taking you home. I think you’ve been reminded of enough memories for today.”
“Am I supposed to do something about the past? I mean, it’s the past.”
“What do you think, Marjorie?”
“I guess I could try to find Beulah. And I could look for Sarah. And I could go to Palmer’s and give them some money. Guess I can’t give back the lipstick and perfume. My parents are dead. I suppose I could go to the cemetery and tell them I’m sorry.”
They were back at Marjorie’s house. A neighbor across the street looked up from her weeding.
“What will I tell the neighbors?”
“I recommend telling them nothing.”
“Who are you?”
The driver didn’t answer. He got out of the limousine, opened the door for her, and bowed slightly.
By Anita G. Gorman
From: United States
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