Disrespect At Its Finest

“Uncle Dato built it.”
“Why?”
“It pleased him.”
“He calls it Memory Tree.”
Laughter from five cousins scorches the air.
“This from a man with dementia?”
“Open a door.”
“Holy der’mo!”
“Hello, Uncle.”
“Open.”
The eldest complies.
“Give it to me.”
A slip of yellowed paper passes hand to hand.
“Our wedding day. Zoya wore blue silk. Another.”
The youngest opens a door.
“Our firstborn lived three days. Another.”
“The army arrived. Few are left. Another.”
“The sun shone so brightly today. My heart is filled with joy.”
“We are eating dogs. Another.”
Doors open, shut, open, shut.
In less than an hour, memories of an entire lifetime flow over those gathered around the Memory Tree.
The final note.”My brothers have sons, I have none. I will pour love upon my nephews.”
Uncle Dato nods at each man before taking leave.
Silence. Then laughter.
“That’s one crazy old man.”