Ester

         A character has a unique assortment of natural behaviors that combine with a distinct personality. This mixture reveals how they view their actions, deal with other people and fit in with their surroundings. The colorful expression of their individuality is what sets them apart from the crowd. These are the people I like to write about.

Ester

         Ester was eighty-something. No one truly knew how old she was; she never told and no one dared ask. She was unusually tall and wiry for a woman her age and often boasted of her good health and ability to win at arm-wrestling anyone who thought her too frail. Her rowdy, white hair thrust itself in all directions giving her an “orphan Annie” caught in a windstorm kind of look. Strands would often get trapped in the frown channels between her eyebrows and frame those piercing brown eyes that missed nothing; examined everyone and calculated their worth.

         Living alone, Ester was lonely for conversation and attention. She had few friends and even less family who were willing to accommodate her out of pity. Many people thought of Ester as a common nuisance. She loved social engagements and would attend as many as she was allowed, but in her eagerness Ester dominated conversations and demanded the attention of as many people as possible. If she saw someone not paying attention she spoke louder to make sure she was heard. She wasn’t captivating. She was a captor. Her habit of dipping snuff didn’t set well in company and the dark brown streaks around her fingernails and yellow stains at the tips put many people off. It was hard not to notice the tobacco juice that steadily dribbled out and down the deep creases on either side of her mouth.

         I met Ester at my husband’s family reunion. New to the family, I only recognized a few faces and names. I was shy and nervous, but mustered up the courage to introduce myself to the people I didn’t know and make polite conversation. Sitting alone off to one side, sat a forbidding woman looking discontented and miserable. I pointed her out and asked who she was. “Ester.” I was told. She was an old woman and I felt bad that she was being ignored by everyone and left to sit alone. I went to her and introduced myself.

         “Hello. I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Stashia, Marion’s wife.”

         She looked at me for a moment, then suddenly leaped from her chair and grabbed me. I was startled and tried to step back but she wrapped her long arms around me in a hug and planted a long, sloppy kiss on each cheek. I struggled to free myself from her grip when she finally turned me loose. I was briefly shocked and frozen in place as I stared at this ill-mannered woman. She grabbed my hand and began to scold me.

         “Why haven’t you come to see me?” she bellowed. “I’ve been waiting for you to come but you haven’t. Why not?”

         I just stood there dumbfounded. I was blown away by her rudeness. She repeated her scolding.

         "Why haven’t you come to see me? I’ve been waiting for you to come but you haven’t. Why not?” She demanded to know.

         I had no answer. My face was red and burning and I could feel my anger rising. What began as a kindness had turned into a humiliating failure. I pulled hard to free my hand and reluctantly, she released her grip. I quickly walked away and avoided going anywhere near her the rest of the day.

         Each year it was the same. I would politely mingle with the family and extend a kind greeting to Ester and receive my annual scolding. Sometimes I watched how she behaved with the rest of the family hoping to see that she treated everyone the same as she did me and that I was not her only target. But I was. Although she was loud and boisterous, she talked, joked and enjoyed the attention, without a single rebuke of anyone. I just couldn’t figure why she was so rude to only me. Our greetings never moved beyond the same tedious questions that put us in a state of tug of war.

         One Sunday morning during church services, someone asked that Ester be put on the prayer list. She was sick and in a nursing home and needed prayer and visitors. I dutifully prayed for her recovery each day and then put her out of my mind. Although she was not my friend nor was she friendly I felt compassion and wished for her recovery. But I did not want to visit her and subject myself to more of her reprimands.

         I was washing dishes about two weeks later and a small quiet voice in my mind said, “Go see Ester.” I told my mind, “No,” and went on with my work. The next day I was grocery shopping and the same quiet voice told me, “Go see Ester.” “No,” I again told my mind. For the next two weeks I heard the same voice and repeated the same answer. Finally, I relented, gathered some flowers and went to see Ester, and hoped the voice would stop haunting me.

         She was sitting up in bed when I arrived, alert and full of energy. I steeled myself for her traditional dressing-down and told myself I wouldn’t stay long. Ester wasn’t surprised to see me; in fact it seemed as if I was expected.

         “I knew it was you,” she said with a big smile. “I knew you would be the one to come and see me. Sit down next to me and visit.”

         I sat in the wheel chair next to her bed and asked how she was doing.

         “I’m doing fine now that you’re here. Would you get that brush out of that drawer over there and brush my hair?”

         I was still waiting for the tongue lashing and brushing her hair was more personal than I wanted to get. But she continued to point to the dresser drawer until I got up and retrieved the brush. Resigned to do as she asked, I brushed her wild hair while she chattered away as I imagined she would have to a hairdresser. She told me how she was related to my husband, a cousin of some degree, and how much she loved his parents. She had been more privileged than most and when her parents died she inherited their money and property. But through the years and bad deals most of it had been lost. She lived long and hard afterward, married to a man who drank away what was left of their money and then died. The son she raised took what he could and moved away caring nothing about her welfare; waiting for her to die so he could get the rest. It was a continuous drone of her life history. I began to feel intrigued.

         I returned the next day and every day thereafter to do her bidding. She asked me questions and enjoyed my direct answers and dry humor. She would talk and laugh and then order me to move this, fix that, file my fingernails, rub lotion on my back, do my toenails, rub my feet, clean my teeth, wash my face and cut my hair. She was a woman determined to have her way. It was endless and she made me her slave.

         No one visited Ester except me. It never seemed to matter to her that no one else came. She was content to be where she was and grateful for what she received. It never occurred to her that being hard-headed and stubborn was anything more than a means to survival. When she talked about others it was always with generosity and kindness and I found that odd for as many people as she had offended. She loved everyone including me. I had come to care about her as well.

         One afternoon Ester was still and quiet, as if she was listening to something in her head. We didn’t talk much that day and she didn’t order me about.

         “I have cancer, you know.”

         “Yes, I guessed that.”

         “I had a stroke last night.”

         “Is there something I can do for you?”

         “Just hold my hand.”

         I held her hand and prayed for her comfort. I softly hummed the few hymns I could remember and felt helpless. She died that night after I left to go home.

         I think now how alike we were and how God placed us together. She was a God loving woman who needed someone. I needed a lesson in humility to dampen my stubborn nature and reluctance to obey. I look back to those reunions and wonder if she knew then that it would be me who would be by her side and prepare her for burial. I believe she did.

Would you like to read about another character?

"Paul"  [E]