The Sky She RemembersThursday, August 26, 2010
It's the sky she says, it's breaking. How the hell is it breaking one wonders. She says, it's really breaking, you can hear it. I say hush now it's alright it's just thunder..
Now she's a real fan of thunder and heavy rain pour. You can see the relish look, the satisfied smirk on her face. The calm that transforms her posture as she breathes in the weather, it's something to watch. On her chair, she sits, with a bowl of cut fruits, her gnarled fingers picking at a piece of star fruit.
I say come on now eat, your fruits are turning bad. You are turning bad, she says and chuckles. Do you even know me, I say. No I've not seen this face, the weather's not too good, but I like it, she adds.
This face? When she's lucid she'll see this face and say oh Maya you've grown so beautifully and I'll say oh Nana you keep saying that. The thing about Nana is I am completely fascinated with the 'break' in her memory center - something I don't say out loud.
She's alive in her head at different times, recalling details on events of somebody else's stories, sharing thoughts on how she dislikes certain attitudes of people she can't name. Showing pictures of her long gone great aunt that she adores, back when she was a young lady, the time before she received a proposal from a good looking fellow - who was my long-gone grandfather.
The moments when she keeps asking me the same thing again and again, trouble and comfort me the same. As long as she's talking, for me she's alive. She does not talk all the time, but she keeps to a routine, which amazes me.
She sees me as she rouses from her evening nap, but quietly ignores me. The leaves on the trees outside the window, steals her glance, her voice barely a whisper, she says, it's breaking, the sky is breaking. Can you hear?
shanaz@RS | 8:18 PM | Labels: short prose therapy