Where has she gone again? Something is not right. Every Sunday for... Since. Leave that now. It’s too early for that. Why’s this room so cold again? Everything is breaking, dammit. Everything is breaking down. I can almost see my breath, dammit. How much is this going to cost now? I can call Stathi, he will come in to fix it. He didn’t charge that much last time. When did he come in last. I’m forgetting, dammit. I’m forgetting and I never used to forget, I never could forget. The walls in this room were green, I remember, and we painted them off-white: me, Georgey, the girls were cleaning the house, who else was with us? There were two more people. Leonidas from work, yes, dammit. Leonidas. What happened to him? He was a good man. He disappeared. He disappeared. Where did she go again? At least it’s not dark outside. All those cars not paying attention. Leave that. The floors are so cold. Where are my slippers? Ah, there they are. The little one made a good choice with these. They know something, these youth. No, pappou, they’re good for your feet. They keep them warm. But pappou doesn’t get cold feet, Michael, go ahead and touch my feet. Making a face. They smell pappou. Don’t you wash them? Giggling. And then, dammit, I started waking up with cold feet. The little kolopaido put a spell on me. How can I not smile, as hard as it is to. Let me go check on him. Even the door knob in here is cold. She probably went to go see... Make sure there are flowers there still. She won’t listen. Killing herself. Our room is colder than the hall. She left the light on in the bathroom. How many times do I have to tell her? Why is the popup drain off? Did she drop something down the drain? I don’t have my glasses to look down anyway. Twist it back in. Forget brushing my teeth. Let her nag. At least the light works when I turn it off. I wonder if the boy can hear the noise coming from the bathroom? He’s too quiet sometimes, and even quieter now. And his door needs to be oiled. Did I wake him? It’s warmer here. Good. And this bed, dammit, we need to go today to get another. Enough. Forget about waiting. I can’t take watching him squeeze into it. When he tells us to pick a bed for him, I’ll pick out the pink one. That will make him laugh. He can’t forget to laugh, dammit, not now, he’s too young. Did I look like that sleeping when I was his age? Stop. Damn floors. Wait. He stopped stirring. Let me go before I wake him up completely. I’ll leave the door unclosed. Coffee is what I need now. Where is that woman? She should have been back by now. This kitchen table needs to be replaced. Too much all at once, my God. These chairs are too hard now. I hate how the grind against my spine. I’ve lost weight, God. You know that don’t you? New bed repair the thermostat change the kitchen table. Too much. Every Sunday going out and she thinks I don’t know that she is slipping out. What is this? Crumbs sticking to my elbows? She baked something yesterday didn’t she? She said she would be back to make breakfast. I never saw any bread around. Where did these crumbs come from? And the dishes in the sink. Something isn’t right. How much more can we bear, my God? She said she would go for a walk over an hour ago.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Lefteris waits
She said she would go for a walk over an hour ago.
After checking that Michael is sound asleep, Lefteris walks into the kitchen to wait for his wife. He sits on the edge of his chair, hunched, his elbows balanced on the arced end of their oak kitchen table, the one she won’t let him replace. The table is too old and he is sick of the folded napkin wedged beneath one of the legs, permanently taped there by Michael. She said, two weeks ago, that there are too many memories on this table, too many plates have scored its surface, and there are finger prints that no amount of wiping will erase. You know you are crazy, he softly replied, regretting the words. If you look close enough, she pushed, and mercifully caress the table for them with the end of your baby finger, you will feel where George always put his hands during supper. Her voice meditative, consciously deliberate. Weaving his attention into each sober syllable, she continued: He always placed his fingers in the same place when he waited to be served, whether he knew it or not, Lefteris mou, and the weight of his prints are etched into the surface. She cast her eyes down on the blue pillow case she was knitting. Cutting all further discussion about the matter. The worry in his face receded into something less expressive, less assured, as he spied his wife nervously massaging her bottom lip with the tip of her cracked tongue.
Maybe she bumped into one of the old dog walkers in the neighbourhood.
Not wanting her to fuss over last night’s dishes, he unfastens himself from his chair and his reveries and takes two steps to the sink. He runs the hot water over the neat groups of dishes. Some forks and knives resting on three plates which sit in a frying pan. A quartet of glasses and a baking tray wait on the counter to the right. Squeezing a small amount of yellow detergent into a green sponge, he starts first with the glasses. They are the easiest to clean he hears himself say to Gabriel, in another life. The joints in his fingers finally soften as he folds the sponge into each glass. Then returns them to their row. Under the grey morning light, clusters of suds extinguish around the lips of the glasses. Steam draws out of them like transient crowns. But the forks are smaller, papou...forks are easier to do. He nodded at the boy squinting up at him under the bright morning light. Yes, agori mou, you are right, but you see how the forks have all that food on them? The boy brought the fork to his face, shielding his face with the other, and quickly nodded. Well, that means they are dirtier, you know...because your yiayia’s cooking is so good. He handed the smiling boy a glass. Now you see this one? Gabriel nodded three times, mindfully, knowing where his grandfather was leading him. The glass is not as dirty, papou, so that’s why you clean the glasses first. I knew that. He drew the boys head to his ribs like a treasure and said, You are too smart, my boy, and I’m proud that you want to help your yiayia with the dishes. Papou? Yes, agori mou. Yiayia said you’d give me five bucks to wash the dishes. Giggling into his sweater. Lefteris protectively puts the last fork into one of the glasses, rinses his hands, and wet like that brings them to his face and cries.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Christmas and chaos both start with "c"
The coffee table also longed to be perfectly itself. Instead, it gathered all the things that people held in their hands as they walked into the house. Magazines and shopping bags and gloves and keys created a community on the tabletop. Their endless chatter would have set the table's teeth on edge - had it possessed teeth.
Then, in a grand sweep of determination, the clutter cleared. Tabletops gleamed and made friends of the Christmas ornaments that appeared. Papers were hidden. Cards were displayed on neat garlands of ribbon. Christmas had come to the house.
The tree introduced its own element of chaos, dropping needles in living room, in dining room, in hallway. Its lights were not beacons; they sprawled across the branches and hinted at hope. Bags and boxes appeared and were arranged around the base of the tree. The family hoped - as it always hoped - that the tree would stand throughout the holiday.
Almost without warning, the house filled with people, with laughter and noise, with coming and with going. People ate dessert first and they ate it in every room of the little house. There was decorum in their coming and going but none in the space between them.
Then. Oh then. Wine bottles and chocolate and music and movies. Wrapping paper and bows and ribbon that sparkled on the floor. Bits of bone left behind when the dog got a better offer. The detritus began creeping back into piles.
The house sighed. And regrouped. Mail arrived, and so did the groceries. Gloves were dropped and keys misplaced.
Clutter introduced the figures in the nativity to the figures in the bill from the telephone company.
Clutter reigned as long as Christmas.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
the discovery
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Hurry up, please; it's time
He stood laughing on the rocks, looking back towards me. The wind was as real as the spirit within him. I had so much to learn. The water reached toward him. I thought that I should reach like the water, eager for connection, alive with movement. I wanted to be known, even after. I wanted to give myself to him as he gave himself to the spirit as it moved over the waves and through his hair.
He stepped lightly off the rooks, looking out at the light. It sparkled suddenly on the water, bouncing as the waves bounced. So much light. I thought of spring mornings and of candles glowing on winter nights. It is hard to look at anything else, once a candle's flame catches your eye. I wanted to follow him across the water, bouncing like the light off the waves.
I remember standing on the rocks, knowing that thinking would not help me. The water that splashed over me was cold, cold as the fear washing over me. I would like to know him by his sweater, by the lines in the stitching. It is time to know him in myself, in my footsteps across the water. It is time to know myself in the bouncing of light across the waves. I breathe in the spirit around me, feel it on my skin and in my hair. My leg begins to move.
I watched him laughing on the water, far in front of me. I held his flame in my heart and noticed all its colours, felt it burning as I felt the cool of water underfoot.