1938
Just last year, she said she saw rainbows.
She swept that corner of the street where she had lived for an unbeknownst time, and had always given us a warm, adjective smile; sometimes rosy reminiscent of children's winter blushed cheeks, sometimes blanched with worry when the telephone called her in with incomprehensible figures and past-dues, and lately the color of forget-me-knots. A warm periwinkle, and an unending smile of recognition at my still small footsteps.
"Alistar, your hair is as beautiful as sunset," she delighted, the color of sky resting in her eyes. I approached her familiarly and let her run her dark wrinkled fingers through the ruddy hay strands that Mommy refused to cut shorter than bucket length around. It needed constant brushing from my face to see, but somehow nobody'd mind. I had my puppy. We were quite the matching pair. Two shaggy ones.
"It's good to be 10," she said, sharp as ever. I'd had my birthday, on the 9th of Nov. and she had remembered it was important, a true marker on her register. I'd hardly keep track. I've no idea how she had. Like some math-trick. "Child, I don't need a calendar. I have you to remember by," and she had pulled out a sparkling piece of hard candy, strawberry flavored, knowing it was my favorite. The scent hit my heart before I even received her outstretched hand. "I picked the shiniest one," she whispered. She certainly had. The clear cellophane caught every ray of sunlight and beamed iridescent.
But that day, the purple in her lower lip suggested to me a lingering memory. She tussled my hair, and pulled out a treat for my growing fur twin. ("I got the darkest one," she winked, knowing that Roamer really shined for the savory-scented gravy that was layered in stripes.) She must have been felt different that day. Ready. Her mouth curled upward pleasantly, the clouds in her gaze were soft milky white, and she sat heavily down on the stoop.
We sat instead of passing through. She pulled out a photo.
"Grandma and Grandpa!"
We had moved into their house when Grandpa became too frail to care for Grandma on his own, and Mommy would not hear of hiring a nurse and Daddy had agreed. This photo I'd never seen. She took it, gingerly. They were pale, high contrast of shadow. "Such a pretty yellow house. I remember the day they bought it. So friendly. Early Spring, with tiny lime buds, leaves about to unfurl and forsythia bursting. Winston in muddied dungarees, but Emilia was picture-perfect in that sundress with tiny flamingos wading between a cool sky and big warm blue-green waters. So much has changed!"
She put the fragile paper in my hands. "I had put this photo in a square envelope at the bottom of my dresser below our family albums when you were a baby. I wanted you to keep it. This morning."
The next day her windows were drawn.
12.16.2023
FFF#10Black&WhiteChallenge@ChrisSadhill