She Was...

It had been a while since I last time opened that white apartment door. I was gasping slightly, the wind had been strong and it had made biking hard. At least the sun was shining. I closed the door behind me and took off my shoes as a faint smile rose to my lips. I reached and opened the other white door that separated the entry from the rest of the apartment. There was no one to greet me, I wasn’t surprised. “Hey!” I greeted casually from the door. “Well, hey!” I heard a glad voice reply from the other room. I opened my dark brown suede jacket, actually it was my mom’s but I had been using it for years and kind of grew attached to it. I walked through the short hallway entering the living room. I threw my self on the brown, cushioned chair that to me had always seemed too square-like. I leaned my back against the other chair arm and laid my legs on the other, the arm dug into my back and my thighs. I relieved my existence by grabbing a small pillow placing it behind my bag. I let out a long sigh.

I looked at the couch opposite of me, where an old woman was smiling at me with a tired look on her face. She was lying there with a magazine in her hand. From the pen she was holding I figured that there was a crossword puzzle she had been filling out. She pulled herself up sitting now normally. “What have you been up to? You haven’t visited.” The woman, my grandmother, asked with a grin. I know she would like me to visit more. I smiled and sighed. “Well, nothing really. Just gone to school. Studied.” I answered like I pretty much always answer. Then I complain about how tired I am and how annoying the school can be. And not to forget that I was supposed to return to school in an hour, I only had one hour free time. There was blank in my schedule. That day I had school from 8AM till 8PM; “Oh my,” was the reply of my dear granny to this. She seemed to think school was bull shit. Somehow I feel like standing up for studying hard, for a great occupation, but she never really said it out loud that school was bull, so I didn’t say a thing. I know she knew education is good, everyone in this country knows that. My great grandfather, from my father’s side, thinks that the level of studies I’m on is a real matter of honour and is proud of me for studying, which I find strange but I remind my self that during the war time it was more uncommon. And yes, my great grandfather is still alive. The father of my dad’s mother is still alive and kicking. There we went on with my grandmother, talking about what our relatives had done, how were they and who’s going to visit and when if at all. We talked about everything we always talked about but that’s pretty much the only thing that’s completely normal.

I looked at my dear granny. She had lost weight, a lot. She used to look healthy normal but now I was staring at someone who could well be an anorexic. Her hands and body seemed to be nothing but bone with a too big skin suit on. The yellow tank top she was wearing looked so big that it seemed like a tent that was hung on her shoulders. Her bosom had almost completely disappeared and she was losing her hair; as she stood up I could see a completely bald spot on the back of her head. She complained about vomiting, back pain and the fact that everything tasted like crap. She was also annoyed about losing hair, she could have gotten a wig but she didn’t bother.

My grandmother had been diagnosed with cancer. They performed a surgery over a year ago; they removed her womb. She stayed at the hospital for a while recovering but got home rather soon really. Since that she had gone to treatments. But just now recently she has started to get the ‘stronger stuff’, which really showed on her. She talked to me about how tired of that she was, after the treatments she felt so sick. I told her to suck it up. I made the giving up sound like a ridiculous thing. She admitted I was right and started to talk about my cousin, Inka, who had confirmation party during the summer, like a good Lutheran she had participated the confirmation camp. She wanted granny to come there for the party. I smiled but then my grandmother told how she was hesitating; she didn't want to go because she was getting bald. I raised my brows and laughed slightly. “For crying out loud she doesn’t care about your hair, she wants you, not your hair!” I then said that who cares about other people, I didn’t think they would stare too long; a moron could figure she had a cancer; no one would stare at her for too long. Besides it’s Inka that matters, not the others. Then she admited I was right again and I smiled at her; I had cornered her and now she couldn’t figure out lousy excuses not to go. I think I would have been less into talking her over if she had said she was too tired and weak to go. She then stated that she could always put a scarf on her head. By this time we had moved to the kitchen where she had smoked a cigarette. Now we were sitting at the kitchen table glancing outside through the window in silence.

“Shall we play cards?” I grinned. We always played cards; she was the one who taught me my first card game. I became good and nowadays I always win her. She smiled and repeated my question with a playful grin. Then she squeezed my hand. The squeeze was gentle and it surprises me. The squeeze wasn’t meant to be gentle, never when she was grinning like that, never. The squeeze used to be so strong that it actually almost hurt. It was her habit that she would squeeze firmly my nose and say “bull shit!” when ever she thought I was talking bull shit. I stare at her bony hand for a second. The weakness of the squeeze was strange to me, no matter how bad she would look it was the squeeze that was supposed to be always strong and firm so nothing could escape from it. Then I raised my look and glance at the clock. It was time for me to go.

Month later:

“…And she will always stay in our memories. Shakespeare once wrote: ‘When she shall die, Take her and cut her out in little stars, And she will make the face of Heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun.’ We will cherish and look at those memories, those stars and remember her. And she will live on...”