Page 21 of Finding Parker

“I see. Sorry to hear that. Your dreams are?” I asked, my voice trailing off, inviting her to respond .

“To be a chef. To live a normal life. To have a family. Not a husband and kids kind of family, but a father, mother, brother, and sisters. I guess that’s about it,” she responded, rubbing her palms together.

“No siblings? You have no brothers or sisters?”

“I have a mother. That’s it,” she said as she stood from her chair.

“I’d love to stay and talk, I really would. I like talking to you for some reason. But I have to get to work, I’m sorry,” she placed her purse strap over her shoulder and began to gather her magazines.

“I’ll put them away. Go ahead. Thanks for taking time to talk,” I smiled and nodded my head slightly as I stood.

“I’ll get them,” she responded.

“I insist,” I chuckled.

“Fine,” she shook her head and turned toward the steps.

I watched as she began to walk down the steps, filled with gratitude to have seen her again. As she began to gracefully walk away, I recalled Kenton’s remark, which I was now asking myself several times a day.

If this were my last day on this earth, would I do anything different?

“Victoria,” I shouted, quickly making my way to the staircase.

Halfway down the steps, she turned to face me.

“Yes?”

“Your number. I would like to get your number,” I placed my hands on my hip and raised my eyebrows in wait.

She stopped, sighed, and stared at me for a long moment.

“I don’t know why I’m doing this. Fine. Six one nine four four seven one zero three five,” she smiled.

I smiled in return and repeated the number silently until she walked through the front door.

I walked back to the table and began to pick up the magazines she had left. As I straightened them, making note of what she was reading, I noticed a scrap piece of paper that marked one of the pages. As I removed it, I saw something had been written in pen on the other side. Curious, I turned the piece of paper over.

One word, neatly written in block lettering.

My first name.

Parker.

PARKER. Growing up, for me, wasn’t necessarily difficult. Accepting life as it unraveled into my lap, on the other hand, was a different story. My grandmother proved to be instrumental in my ability to understand most things regarding living life.

“Life is hard. No, life is tough,” I complained as I walked into the kitchen.

I may have been eleven or twelve at the time. Frustrated from what had been, in my opinion, a difficult day at school – I had expressed my opinion regarding life and its hardships to my grandmother.

“Parker, life is just that. Life. Living it is easy. It happens while we’re alive, without thought or effort. Even if or when we choose to do nothing, the clock continues to tick. From our feeble beginning, through all of the complications, and to what will certainly be an unscheduled and unwelcome ending, life happens. Life is easy. Live it while you’re alive.”

“Because when you’re gone, Parker, you won’t have an opportunity.”

I wouldn’t have necessarily described my grandmother as an intelligent woman, but I always admired her for being wise. She seemed to have a different outlook on life, and her outlook, for the most part, became mine as time passed.

“What about mom and dad? Why did they have to leave here so soon?” I asked as I placed my books on the table.

“I suppose it was to bring us closer together,” she smiled, opening her arms to hug me.