Original story
George stood at the memorial with flowers in one hand and his cane in the other. Felix blocked the way to the plaque. Only families were being admitted for the ceremony, and George had no family pass.
“My friend’s name is on that wall,” George told him. When Felix reached for the bouquet, George held it closer.
Lena, the curator, came to see why the wreath-laying had stopped. George’s name was on her ceremony list. He was the last surviving member of the unit they had gathered to honor.
Extension
Felix stepped out of the way. “Would you like me to carry those up for you?”
“No, thank you,” George said. Then he looked at the low ledge beneath the names. “But you can hold my cane a minute.”
Felix held it while George bent to lay the flowers beneath his friend’s plaque. He adjusted one stem twice. “He used to send flowers to his wife,” he said. “Always worried they’d get squashed on the way.”
When George straightened, Felix returned the cane handle first. He didn’t rush to fill the silence.
After the ceremony, Lena asked George if there was anything he wanted added to the memorial record. He thought for a moment. The record already had his friend’s rank, dates and commendations. “Yes,” he said at last. “Write down the bit about the flowers.”
