 Natalie Books, Skies, Colours, STARS And Time will have his fancy To-morrow or to-day icon : violetbirdy |
Tuesday, June 14, 2016 @ 3:57 PM |
comment (0) You are sitting on a sofa with cool worn leather. Its glossy magazine black hide has turned to grey, and has cracked like the heels of an old woman's feet. You tell him you are leaving, and he turns and smiles at you. The two jade teeth capped with gold have fallen out, now he smiles at you with gapped teeth and you are suddenly, shakenly, reminded of his age.
But for a moment, it is as if he is a young man again.
I remember, he says, when I went to London and it was so cold. But you'll be there in the summer, so it won't be so bad. It is their day time when we are at night. No one opened for breakfast until 12 pm, so we stayed in our hotel and ate bread. He laughs. We went to Chinatown and ate, your uncle brought us there, we took a fast train under the sea to Paris and again the shops didn't open until 12. Your cousin was studying there. It's good that you're going now. It's good to see the world.
He pours himself another glass of wine. Red and rich, from America, he explains, good wine.
---------------------------------
You are sitting at the dining table studying the curls of marble veins. The table top is cool beneath your palms. Here, she says, I found it! From long ago, a bag of pound coins. You heft its weight in your hands and your mind runs over the things to say. Thank you! You want to exclaim! You want to be funny! You want to let her know that her gift is appreciated, that the coins are so foreign so strange so new, so old, that you like it best just because it comes from her. Because it is her gift to you. Because she thought of you...
But you, you with your clumsy tongue, the words of a language so familiar and so foreign in your mouth, you say: thank you, I have never seen these before.
--------------------------------
You fight and whine with the people who think they know best—your family. You hear scorn in their voice, worry, and you get angry because they treat you like a helpless little girl. You tell them no. You swallow your words and hunch over and try to block out the expectations they are saddling onto you. You feel like a mule. Stubborn, kicked around and overlooked.
Can I give you money for your meals? You hear the note of desperation in her voice and get resentful. You can take care of yourself.
--------------------------------
Behind you, three aunties speaking Hokkien, playing Chinese music. They are out for a walk too.
In front of you, runners, heaving and huffing, shoes scratching the ground.
You are walking along the side of the canal. The sky is red and threatens to rain, but the air is cool and fresh. You, though, are angry. You stride across the concrete, walk like a boss, head high, shoulders back, as though the whole stretch of road was yours. You stare ahead, look at no one, speak to no one, you simmer in your anger.
You have a long way to walk.
-------------------------------
He holds out his hands to you and looks at you with eyes of gentleness and so much gladness. Look at you, my darling. You stare at him in frustration. There's nothing to look at Lord, I'm so angry. And your cry for help comes from between clenched teeth and swallowed emotion.
Of course, I will, he says.
You are walking through a meadow, where the grass is green and the water is sweet and the sky an indeterminate grey colour. He walks beside you.
You give him your hand, and he walks beside you in silence until you're ready to talk.
"Angry," you tell him.
"Why?"
"They treat me like a child."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because you're young, they're not used to it, because everybody likes to think they know best, and so you're feeling hurt because you think they think you're not good enough to live up to their expectations."
"What do I do?"
"Tell them the truth," he says smilingly, "show them what you've planned, and how prepared you are, that's all."
He takes your hand and walks with you all the way home.
|