I sit here, tracing the thin yellow line in a pattern over this old wooden table. In my head I am making little car noises as I pretend the lines are little highways leading me nowhere. My feet barely reach the floor, swinging them away with some random rhythm that I notice matches a song that's playing in the background. I hear her hands working hard peeling the bananas and mashing them. I raise my head a fraction, so I can look at her. Even at that age, in my head I am thinking "God I hope I remember this exact second forever." I do. Her hair is snow white, even though she's only in her late 50's. She's biting her lower lip on the right corner as she concentrates on her task, a habit I inherited from her. Her arms jiggle as she forcefully keep peeling green bananas, and I look at her freckles...the way her arm shakes. She catches me looking, smiles at me and asks 'What?'. I giggle, and stick my tongue out at her. She gestures me to come over, and when I'm close enough she kisses my cheek and gives me the first batch of dough to put in the kitchen. I know the drill. Take it and bring a new bowl, as fast as I can without dropping anything...which is an amazing task for a clumsy child.
I sit back down, next to her this time. She knows what I want, and that is a story. The same stories of her adventures when she was growing up. Stories that make me hang on to every word even though I've heard them hundreds of times before. Stories that make her get this mischievous sparkle in her eye, almost evil. So I wait quietly, as she starts...ahhh...the one where she stole her mom's money and went to get a perm. I can't believe she did that! Did you really not come home that night grandma?! You're so crazy. You slept on the mango tree?! Ha, ha, ha! I'm gonna remember this forever grandma, I promise. Aww, no time for another? Ok...
I want to remember you like this always. But there you lay, still...cold. Your casket is beautiful, a dusty rose color with porcelain roses on the corners. You're wearing the beautiful ivory dress you wore to the wedding a few months ago. The youngest of your sons, he danced with you most of the night. You look the same as you did, but sleeping, pale. It is you in there...freckles are the same, your lips, the nail polish I had put on your hands 2 days ago was still the same.
It was NOT your time yet. I hate that you are not going to hum around the house during Christmas time. That you never saw me graduate...or met my first boyfriend and automatically categorized him as an asswipe. That you never saw me get married...and that you left me. But I will see you soon, Nana. I want to hear about the time you broke the church bell and it rolled downhill and over the priest's foot...hahaha...*sigh* I need you.
