Malia was dipping the tea bag in the cup, mechanically, the cup was cold and still full. She was trying to catch her great grandmother’s wondering eyes, she was so lost. Purple tears were falling down her perfect skin. The pink pale lips were not moving, she was not there but her thoughts and pain were suffocating the room in the most peaceful way. She was trying to ignore the deeper but scarcer breaths in the background of the small room. Panic was enclosing, Malia felt it smothering her and she wanted to shake her great grandmother, grab her all-knowing hands and spill the cup of coffee with two sugars. She need to know what were they going to do! But she felt that if she reached towards her she will break her, she will make her crumble in fading papers on the floor.
The deep voice in the background called her name and cracked time in pieces. She stood up, and fixed her white hair behind her years. She was there again, the soul of the ancient time.
She went next to the red raggedy bed and gently put her head on his chest.
A screaming noise was piercing through Malia’s head, she was sweating cold, she wanted to rip the sheets of the bed, tear through her chest and pull out her veins and heart, she wanted to dig her nails in the wood of the table, she was all delusional, restlessness. Her teeth were gridding, it was just like that one time she had tried cocaine, but this time it was all on the ultimate truth she was paranoid.
The room was serenity.
The living voice of the forever doomed said: “It is all good. You can go now… you can go my lover…”
All the love in the world was dying.
It was February, the sixth.
Her great grandmother lived for another seven years. On the porch, with her eyes lost just like on that day… Malia would feel her getting more fragile, but more connected to whatever it was that breathe life into her still alert words. “Complete…” she would whisper sometimes and Malia would witness her crossing into all the years she had stood on that porch, a little bit behind him, watching the birds settling on his shoulder, breathing his calmness, his certainty, while smoking those heavy intoxicating cigarettes he would desire until his last day. Nothing slipped his calling. Neither did her great grandmother now… All those years spent together with her eternal “lover”, more than what people live for a life time, were in front of her…she knew exactly where she was going…
Malia remembered telling Mike this story, on a black sandy beach, under an olive tree. He would say: “Don’t worry, you will find your drug!” But… did she want to? Could she bear it?…
To Elena and Lesley, the most loving and courageous women I’ve ever had the blessing of being around…