She leaned forward with a slow rustling movement that made me think she may have fallen asleep. The memorial fountain gushed with bubbling light and sparkles flew across her faded floral patterned dress, over her lined throat, up to a angular face fhat peaked in her mouth, only because it seemed to not stop moving, even when the sound was turned off. “I remember. I remember. What was it called. Over there.” She pointed with her eyes. “I have a mansion on the hill.” The blue eyes pierced the shadows and jabs of sunlight that careened quickly over the hedge, the fence, the skyline and the hillside with its famous Hollywood sign. The pupils landed on an edge of a mountain that was vaguely visible through mist and trees. “Over there.” Her crooked finger pointed in the direction where her home for more that seventy years stood, behind fences, trees and caretakers’ glaring stares. “I used to be a star.”
Then she leaned back as if the whole exchange had fatigued her. Her eyes closed. Closed on a memory. Closed on a dream. Closed on a life. Closed on a few film memories that she thought to be eternal, but now lay in forgotten dust, as she did. As she did. As she did.
Short Short Story to accompany my art work by the same title