Sorting (a middle scene)
Friste decided to use his personal time this Cycle to go through Mother’s things. He took the lift inward four levels and found his way to stowage. He entered his credentials via the comm panel next to the door, indicating his purpose for entering and his implicit authorization for doing so as a family member. The display changed to a map of the stowage hall directing him to Mother’s things with the code for opening the storage locker and providing an option for sending the map to his pad, which he tapped. But the door didn’t open as he expected. Instead, a security officer appeared on the comm link. “Hello. We just wanted to let you know that Aharon Cerdeira Hevelius Urania also recently requested entry for the same stowage location. She is currently at that location.”
Friste blinked. “This isn’t a problem, is it?”
“Not as such,” the security officer intoned. “Sometimes family can get… particular… about going through relative’s things when they do it at the same time. We like to forewarn folks before they simply find themselves in a potentially uncomfortable situation. You don’t think this is a problem, do you?”
Friste hesitated slightly before agreeing that it wasn’t a problem for him, in fact, he continued, it was her suggestion. He was a little miffed about not sorting Mother’s things alone, but Aharon had told him she would be doing this. The security officer terminated the comm link and allowed Friste to enter. Stowage was a well-lit place with rows upon rows of storage lockers of varying sizes. Frist followed the directions on his pad. Turning the last corner, he saw Aharon sitting on a stool near the locker with Mother’s things arrayed around her like a flower of memories. She was facing away from him with her head bent over some precious object. He felt his anger rise. Who was she to dictate when he went through Mother’s things? Why should she get any priority for sorting through who should get what? His anger near a breaking point, he crossed the remaining distance between, ready to unload his feelings upon her.
But when reached the edge of the circle of things, he heard Aharon weeping softly but consistently. He stopped in his stride, concern overtaking anger. “Sis, are you OK?”
Aharon turned, holding a piece of pottery on her lap. “Oh, Friste, I’m glad you came. I think this is too much for me. Too much for any single person.” She held up the pottery. “Do you remember this?”
Friste looked at it intently and stepped closer, careful not to tread on any of the other things spread out on the floor. “Is that the piece you made in pottery class when you were in primary school? It’s a bit amateurish, isn’t it?”
Aharon laughed, with tears of sadness still flowing down her cheeks. “‘Amateurish?’ Aren’t you sweet? No, it’s utterly horrid! But she kept it all this time.” She returned to crying.
Friste crossed over to her and hugged her until she quieted down. “Do you remember when our kids were in primary school together and they made that pottery piece of us hugging? I still have that wrapped in padding at the bottom of my personal trunk.”
She looked up at him. “You mean that pair of three-dimensional stick figures on a roundish stand?”
Friste nodded. They had made that just before Aharon had moved her family to the Urania.
Aharon laughed again. “We are all silly creatures, aren’t we? But I think that was supposed to be them hugging, not us.”
Friste stood and shrugged his shoulders. “You’ve got your memory of it, and I’ve got mine. I know which one I believe.” He gestured to Mother’s things. “Do you have a plan yet, or would you like some help?”
