A Bad
Day
Tuesday, December 16,
2008
MAGGIE HAD REALLY BEEN HOPING FOR A QUICK SALE. BUT AS THE days dragged by, she was becoming more and more concerned. She’d had her hopes up a few weeks ago, when a nice woman who had come to an open house had loved Crestview, but today, when the husband came to see it, he had not liked the floor plan, so that was that. And to make a bad day even worse, when she got home that afternoon, Miss Pitcock had just faxed her some new information that had completely blown a hole through her entire theory about Edward Crocker and his sister, Edwina. Miss Pitcock had traced the Crocker-Sperry family’s records all the way back to Scotland and had found a photocopy of Edward’s birth certificate. There had only been one child born on that date.
To Maggie’s surprise, there was no sister at all.
According to the records, Angus Crocker and his wife had only had one child, a male named Edward. Then who was that woman in London, the one Edward claimed was his sister? Was it his mistress? Edward had supported her. But why hadn’t he married her? It made no sense. She looked at the photos again. To her, they looked exactly like twins. They had to be related in some way. Maybe she had been a cousin. But that wouldn’t make any sense either. If she was a cousin, why not say so? Maggie was completely stumped. Oh God, now she had a headache. She went to look for an aspirin and realized she had thrown them all out a few weeks ago. So she put a cold washcloth on her forehead and lay down on the couch.
While Maggie hadn’t expected this news about Edwina, she guessed she really shouldn’t be surprised. It was the story of her life. She had also expected that Hazel would live forever, but she hadn’t.
Easter morning, about six years ago, the entire staff at Red Mountain Realty was already over in the park, hiding all the Easter eggs, and after church, Maggie had gone home with Hazel to help her get into her bunny outfit. Later, driving to the park, Hazel had been very excited. “Oh, Mags, don’t you just love Easter? Christmas is great, too, but just think, every Easter, we get a chance to rise up and start all over again. And even when you’re dead, you still keep going. Isn’t that great? Isn’t that wonderful?”
After another few minutes, she said, “You know, Mags, I’ve been thinking, since this is my favorite holiday, I’ve decided that I want to be buried in my bunny outfit, okay? Will you see to that for me?” Maggie was taken aback. It was the first time she had ever heard Hazel mention anything pertaining to sickness or death, but she said, “Well, of course, Hazel, whatever you want, though you’re a long way off from being buried.”
“Oh, I know that,” Hazel said. “I’m planning on becoming the oldest living midget in the world.”
“You are?”
“Yes, and you know me, if I set my mind to do it, I will.”
Of course, three months later, when Hazel had died so suddenly, it had been difficult when Maggie and Ethel had shown up at Johns-Ridout’s Funeral Parlor with a bunny suit on a hanger, but last wishes are last wishes.
The day of Hazel’s funeral had been a real revelation. They had expected that all the real estate people in town and all of her friends would be there, but a good hour before the service was to begin, the church was packed to the rafters with people they had never seen before. The governor and the mayor were there, as well as all the local news media; representatives from clubs, organizations, theater groups, the fire department, the police department, and all the charities she had been involved with; and girls who had received scholarships from her. Plus, members from chapters of the Little People of America from all over the country had shown up. They said everybody at the Birmingham airport had nearly had a fit as each plane landed and all these little people came piling off by the busloads, all going to Hazel’s funeral. So many people came that hundreds had to stand outside the church and listen to the service on loudspeakers. As the preacher said, “It was a big turnout for such a little lady.” Even Ethel, who had known her better than anyone, had been surprised at the number of people’s lives Hazel had touched. That day, they heard stories about money she had lent and time she had devoted to people and causes she had never mentioned.
Poor Little Harry had been completely devastated by the loss. He had not even been able to come up with something for her tombstone. What could you possibly say about someone who had been your entire life? Ethel stepped in and took over and said as simply as possible:
Hazel Elaine Whisenknott
1924–2003
Gone but Not Forgotten
Little Harry left for Milwaukee two days after the funeral and never came back to Birmingham again. The office kept in touch through his family, but they said all he did now was sit in his room. Maggie understood how he felt. They all missed that three-foot-four dynamo ball of energy, that silly little funhouse of a human being who had kept them amused and entertained, who had pumped them up, lifted their spirits, driven them crazy, but, most of all, had made them feel special. Hazel had been that one in a million who seemed to have come out of the womb and hit the ground running; one of those rare human beings who only comes along once in a blue moon.