Ruby stepped off the train to Manhattan accompanying a heavy heart, hoping that she would find work as a seamstress. She had no life experience. Ruby worked as a seamstress after her graduation from the eighth grade.

But now, she was regretting her decision to become a seamstress. She recalled what the work-experienced, soul-weary older woman told her on the train to Manhattan.

“Seamstresses running their own work in the city are a dime-a-dozen. If you want to work as a seamstress, try your hand at domestic service. You’re still young. They’d take a little whelp like you in the blink of an eye.”

The words were a gut-punch to Ruby, as she was expecting the older woman to praise her for her decision to find solid work in the city, like she promised her mother she would do.

The bustling crowds, even on that platform in Grand Central Station, was a shock compared to the quiet village life in Manhasset.

Passing by her, she heard people conversing in a language she had presumed to be French. Ruby noticed people who were from Turkey, as she picked up on one or two Turkish words in their conversation. She looked away after they realized Ruby staring. Their eyes were friendly, and the couple spoke to her in their language, but Ruby could not understand, so she shook her head.

She felt like a right fool. Their language intrigued her ever since she met Adem, the old Turkish man who lived in the village close to her old home when she was around five. Adem had immigrated from Turkey to New York some time ago and had set up a small milliner’s shop where Ruby and her mother would sometimes buy fabrics from Adem.

The thought of Adem and home made her heart squeeze in her chest, the almost foreign sensation like a lance piercing her soul.

As Ruby floated in and out of the crowds of Grand Central, luggage in tow, it hit her like bricks. She was in a vast sea of complete strangers. She had been in the city for five minutes and already she was having doubts. How would she survive in this place? A place that did not recognize her. She had no kin here, at least no one that would recognize her as their own.

Ruby floated in and out, trying to fly away from everything. She could find the ticket-stand. Ask for a ticket back home to Manhasset. She wanted to see her siblings again, embrace her mother again, and help her with the children. That was what her calling was, helping her family. Not this silly pipe dream where she would never find work and die alone and homeless on the streets of the city.

“No,” she whispered to herself. “You’ve come this far, Ruby. You’re not turning back now. Not after all this time.”

She wiped away a single tear and took her luggage and asked the person closest to her where the exit was.

One step.

Two steps.

Angry pointing.

Silent girl in stage. Scared and trying to hide.

The Queen has her

coloratura passage.

A glorious high F.

But the Queen of the night sounds too cheerful!

She is singing about

Death and curses.

Abandoning and cursing her daughter forever if she does not kill

a man.

Midnight blue, the music swirls around me

as the soprano continues to sing the melisma

leading into another vicious rant.

Mesmerizing. I am lost in orange and yellow.

The queen transcends her voice to the heavens.

The queen transcends her voice to Heaven though she does not belong there.

Too evil.

I always forget that the

benevolent, sweet Lady of the Opera is my wife.

Even if she's the Queen for a night or two.

The orange smell of cardamom and cinnamon waft around me as red leaves crunch underneath my feet. I drag my shovel next to me, keeping my head low. It’s hard to look up at the beautiful scenery around me. Swirling wind kisses my face as pale sunlight creeps through the branches of trees. I long to return to the autumn when my mother was still alive. All of this beautiful scenery in New England is not the same without her. Without her vibrancy, or her wisdom in what makes autumn seem so beautiful.

“Mom,” I say against the lump in my throat. “Did you hear that I got a job promotion? I took your advice and talked to the boss. I’m making twenty dollars an hour now.”

I smile against the tears that pool in my eyes. The leaves blur, almost like they’re drowning. The red, orange and yellow colors meld into one color.

I hear, in the distance, the sound of the river. Roaring. Mom always liked to sit by the river and tell me stories of her first autumn with Dad. Their first kiss, the proposal. He walks beside me, silent. He’s lost most of his hair since Mom died. Even lost a little more weight. But there’s a serenity in his face. Maybe he feels a connection to her still, as if she’s not gone.

“Dad, I’m still hurting.” I sigh, kicking a lonely tree branch. It reminds me of my childhood.

“Me too,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

I find that familiar old river and I sit by the oak tree like Mom and I would all the time. The umbrella that looms over me is a plethora of colors. Golden sunlight bleeds through the leaves, giving off a fairy-like glow. Or, at least, when I was a child, I thought they were fairies dancing joyfully. As resplendent and colorful everything is right now. Everything is so bare without her. Funny, how beautiful everything seems. Even though the leaves are at the twilight of their lives. Even though everything around me is dying. Even though everything is falling for winter. I remember how beautiful mom looked on her bed. During her final breaths, her eyes sparkled like diamonds. I knew she saw something. Whatever it was, I wouldn’t know. But she did see something and the permanent smile on her face reminded me of our days here at the river.

I take the shovel and begin to dig near the oak tree. Dad stays in the background and sits down. He seems lost in himself. In his own memories of her.

I continue digging, but then I find the box and my heart feels that profound pang in my body that brings me to my knees. Our old time capsule. We made a promise together that we would find the time capsule twenty years later. No matter what, I was going to stick to that promise and so here I am. My hands tremble as I hold the wooden box in my hand. Taking the key, I open it and smile when I see the first thing that appears.

My Baby Marley,

Today is not an easy day for me. Writing this letter isn’t an easy one. I’m sure by now you probably know all about my pain and suffering. I might not even be alive anymore. I didn’t want to tell you today since you love autumn so much and you love being here. Why would I sully your beautiful experience with this news? Marley, I have breast cancer. I just diagnosed a few weeks ago. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me in the future, but I just want you to be strong. I want you to grow up to be a fine woman. And the next time you come here to open this time capsule, I want you to take my ashes and spread them in the river. Always keep autumn in your heart. Even though winter follows, the spring will come. And I’ll always live in your heart.

                                                                                                                            Love,

                                                                                                     Mom