Getting in on the Action

By Rick Horowitz

Myrna the Mourner makes all her own ribbons -- short ones to wear, long ones to wrap around trees. At the foot of her bed, there's a big wicker basket filled with neatly stacked remnants from the fabric store. She starts cutting as soon as the news comes in, and she notches the ends of each ribbon. It looks nicer that way.

Myrna has remnants in a dozen colors or more. Sometimes she consults with Grieving Gene; other times she just decides. Yellow is still her favorite.

Whenever the news comes in, Myrna the Mourner puts everything else on hold. One time -- she forgets which, there have been so many -- she waited for "official confirmation" before she started cutting her ribbons. By the time she went outside, somebody else had already gotten to every tree in town. It just ruined the whole experience for her.

Now she has radios in every room tuned to the all-news station, and both TVs tuned to CNN. And she doesn't wait.

Before this one, Littleton was probably the best. There weren't as many people to mourn for in Littleton as there were in Oklahoma City, but Littleton was all kids, which made it special, and they got to decorate a whole park. Not that Oklahoma City wasn't special in its own way. It was the first time she ever got to mourn out of town.

She still remembers Oklahoma City, how she was glued to the TV for hours, cutting and watching. It was all so horrible, and then all those people started gathering around, leaving little mementos right there where it happened. She felt cut off, disconnected. There she was, stuck at home, while the important parts were happening somewhere else. She was so excited when Grieving Gene called.

"Are you watching?"

"Of course I'm watching."

"We should be there."

And off they went in Grieving Gene's van, Myrna with her ribbons and Grieving Gene with his signs. They met so many wonderful people, all sharing their sorrow at the terrible tragedy, and everyone thought Myrna's ribbons were the nicest of all. (Grieving Gene got compliments, too.)

They ran into some of the same people after Paducah, and then after Jonesboro and the rest. Some people specialized in floral arrangements, others in stuffed animals or giant signature boards or scented candles for the candlelight vigils. Everyone contributed whatever he or she did best; that's what made it so special.

"Until next time," they'd say when the last prayer or arm link was over and they had to leave for home. They were all quite sure there'd be a next time.

But Myrna never thought it would be this one, not in her wildest dreams. Until the precise moment she heard the terrible news about John Kennedy, Jr., the saddest Myrna had ever been was when Princess Diana died. If only she hadn't used up all her frequent-flyer miles, Myrna could have been part of all that misery and pageantry. She could have been tying her ribbons to the fence at Buckingham Palace!

She wasn't going to miss this one.

Within seconds, she was on the phone to Grieving Gene; within minutes, they were on their way to New York. Myrna cut while Grieving Gene drove, and then they switched places so Grieving Gene could paint and paste. By the time they got there, they were fully stocked and ready to join the crowd.

What a crowd it was. There were people everywhere -- old friends to greet, new ones to meet. On the sidewalk in front of the apartment, Myrna was convinced, were more flowers and candles and stuffed animals than New York had ever seen in one place. They even had singers.

When it was finally their turn, Grieving Gene waved his signs briefly so everyone could see them, then set them gently against the building. Myrna unrolled the longest, shiniest ribbon she'd ever made -- with notches at each end, the same as always -- and draped it beneath Gene's signs and against somebody's daisies. Then they took pictures of one another and of their handiwork, until the policeman told them to move along.

Myrna the Mourner started to cry; it was the saddest day of her entire life.

She wouldn't have missed it for the world.

Posted 7/23/99. Don't miss Rick's stuff -- and tell your friends!

Rick Horowitz

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