NARRATIVE: ?Nahime?s white wall? PG

[takisha16]

Hey guys!
Long time no see, college is taking its toll on me, all I've been able to write is due to class work. Here's something I wrote based on a memory, a narrative of something that impacted my life.
For once, there is no Disclaimer...yay!!! It's alllll mine...mwahahahahha....
Dedicated to zapenstap, blackrose, Andrea Sinisterra, Goldberry, Tomorrow, kmf, Lady Casper, melrose_stormhaven, Jooles, War Dove, Leia Avenrose, perfectpeach, matisleonhart?(think I have everybody?) who always inspired me to write the unwritable.
This was done based on therapy, maybe it will help me move on and come to grips with certain emotions that my writing teacher at college should not have to witness while describing my memory to him in weekly discussion sessions...
Just a little something for you, YES you reader?to get to know me! I love new friends!
Bio: 18 year old palestinian/Honduran/Lebanese girl, study at Boston College, true name: Aisha Kafati, for more information on Aisha Kafati and her whereabouts visit Facebook?
ok.
ON WITH THE STORY:

**********
The house was alive with the sounds of constant activity filled with rushed sentences and the bustling of swishing clothes accompanied by lightning quick footsteps. The bags were ready, the fridge was lacking items my grandmother would not use, the rooms were swept, and the family was done bidding goodbyes, except for me. ??there?s enough food in the fridge ma, don?t be up and about too much, though? Remember what the doctor said?? mom said. Before grandmamma had a chance to receive my hug and goodbye?s, I had to rush back upstairs to grab a light sweater. Its smooth texture gave me some sort of small comfort in the middle of daddy?s constant yelling and nervousness to be on time. I hastily checked for any missing article while striding towards the kitchen, my intent was to be the last person in the family to exchange parting words with her. We were always extra close, I was her first granddaughter and I wanted my goodbye to be private and one-on-one with her.

***

I was never punctual, I always forgot something; whether it was a tiny detail I would end up never using, or something that seemed utterly important, except that it shouldn?t have been. My grandmother told me that life was a great pristine white wall, with seemingly diminutive black spots never meant for the eye to catch. ?Human beings,? she said, ?were given that unique wall to appreciate and admire. Given time, they should eventually learn what exactly to paint on it and what not.? It seemed to make sense, but then she would frown and tiredly add, ?Of course, that rarely happens at all. Even though they were gifted with such endowment, they seldom valued what was placed right in their view. Instead, they misused what they were given, pointedly concentrating on the minuscule spots that weren?t meant to be infatuated over.?

***

The disdainful clicking of locks alerted me of the time. What a useful tactic. Before we left mama would lock up the house completely, from top to bottom. It was somewhat like a long journey, door to door, window to window. I hate being rushed, I always did. It made the forgetting of things much easier. As I rose from the wispiness of my cloudlike covers, I walked over to my closet to get it over with. The wooden floor was hard and menacing compared to my thin pale-like feet. I padded over to the sink, the water was too cold. I wondered who invented jeans; they were quite useful in times like these. The cloth was worn and softened by time; the shirt was modestly comfortable and would serve its purpose.

***

I patted my readied self, counting down the items supposedly already packed in my straining bag.
Shoes? Check. Pants? Check. Shirts? Check. Bra?s? Crap?it happens all the time.

***

Eventually, my room door opened with a creak. I began to softly inhale to calm my nerves, when I was assaulted by dad?s unending cologne. ?Isn?t two puffs enough dad?? He pointedly stared at me for a millisecond, before promptly rushing out to finish off his orders and directions to the staff that would accompany grandmamma. I never understood why she could not accompany us. Maybe I did?I just did not want to accept it.

***

My mom and my grandmother always pointlessly argued. Ding! Round one goes to the smug looking lady at the left! I was always proud of their capacity to argue until one tripped or fell, in their argument of course. Sometimes they would let me be the referee. But that wasn?t fair, since grandmamma would always bribe me in the beginning. She was always capacitated to bribe the referee; she loved to gamble, and surprisingly won most of the time. Mom had no stance in using that as her secret weapon, because my grandmother would also have one of her own, mom?s smoking. They had agreed since the rise of time never to use that against each other.

***

Nahime, my grandmamma was a ruthless example of what all grandmothers should be. Rising every day of the week on time at five in the morning, she would fill out the cracks mom never could on her own. She prepared lunch, checked the house was running alright, and most importantly, lent me money. In short, she was all I could ever ask of her. She always defied her age, especially the doctors. As a little girl, she would always be afraid of confronting her dad, for whatever reason. She would always run away just in the nick of time, before he could actually request to see her. Her legs were her safety weapon. That dependence chipped away a part of her soul when she lost one leg in one of her rushed escapades. But that never let her down, she was always strong and perfect under my gaze, and she knew it.

***

Zipping up my sweater, I left my room. I was startled by the creepiness of the absence of noise in the house. Shrugging it off, I purposefully strode to the kitchen, while my sneakers made up for the lack of sound. So consumed in the proud feeling of the squishy-squeaky noise, I failed to notice her presence at the door. She attempted a small smile. I smiled back, even though I felt empty inside.

***

I was always very sensitive to things people couldn?t see or simply refused to see. That day, I saw and felt something out of the ordinary. Most people could never see and feel what I did because of their infatuation with the ?black dots? my grandmamma talked about when referring to life as a white wall. I did not want to see them at the time, all I saw was my grandmother in all her glory waiting for me at the front door to say goodbye. But the thing was, it did not feel like an ?I?ll see you in 2 weeks,? goodbye; and it frightened me.

***

Her billowy skirt flowed in the gush of air that slipped unknowing by the two figures at the door. Daddy?s urgent hollering of ?Hurry up?I?m leaving!? smoothly faded out of earshot. The brotherly quarrel between my sister and brother that consisted of ?No?that?s mine, give it back!? became dull in comparison to her melodic voice. I concentrated only on her and her flowery perfume to match the print on her dress. Even though it was almost completely faded, it also matched the state of my jeans. I felt weightless for a second as I took a shaky breath, and lifted my arms for her to hug and hold on too.

***

Life is never cheap. But it is certainly short. It comes unexpectedly and leaves in the same way, short after. All we are left with is time to enjoy it. The existence we were gifted with would be wasted, if appreciation for it came up short.

***

I snapped out of my trance-like state by the obtrusive clamor of the cars horn. She released me of her hold on me, and gently whispered, ?Have a nice trip.? Biting my lower lip, I felt out of place, uncomfortable, with a growing sense of apprehension clinging to my brain. Her facial features spoke of understanding. The creases that marred her brow, the bags under her eyes, and the rosy quality of her cheeks alluded to her knowledge of my situation. As her expression saddened a bit out of worry, she told me it was okay and that she looked forward to seeing us again after we returned from the trip. My parting words for her were ?take care of yourself,? it seemed natural to say, but they were filled with meaning and a sense of foreboding I couldn?t shake off for the rest of the week.

***

Weeks later, I found myself in a desolate room that had heard and tasted its share of crying and tears. The words ?why?? and ?Guerra...? were among the crowd?s favorite. My mom used to call her Guerra because of the surreal nature of grandma?s golden hair. I felt out of place. I wasn?t crying. Near me, women gossiped about my sister and me, particularly on my inability to cry. ?Look at her, isn?t she a sad sight? She can?t cry?? That day those people saw the blackest dot on gram?s wall, but I only had eyes for the extra whiteness of it; she was finally at peace.

***

The morning after a week of our departure started uneventfully. We were woken up by my moms wailing and constant screaming. I looked at my sister in shared confusion and alarm, moments before my dad barged into our small hotel room with a weary tired look that spoke more than the words he issued to us, before quickly leaving in the same manner he had entered.

***

The call was meaningful in itself for the family in that room, but certainly not unforeseen by the only calm individual standing up in only her pajamas watching the marvelous site of a sunset in the early mornings after a rain fall. The dew was light but the rays were strong and warm in the middle of the early coldness of the day. They reminded me so much like what my grandmother used to be. So strong and warm in the middle of the frostiness that once surrounded her. I wrapped the makeshift comforter tighter around my shoulders, fearing for my composure.

***

They had found her collapsed on her bed.
The staff had immediately called an ambulance.
The doctor told us there was not pain.
I was the only one that heard that.

***

The coffin was pristine; her face was just as beautiful as I had remembered. As I squinted for a better look, a rough hold was placed on my arm as one of my aunts dragged me away from her beautiful, peaceful form. ?Young children, such as yourself should not see things like that.? I did not understand what she meant; I thought she looked handsome in her white pressed dress and light makeup.

***

Before I knew it, the coffin was already being lowered to the ground.
Amidst all the white and pink flowers I grimaced in disdain, there was a single red rose that pricked my fingers with its thorns in my hands, it was her favorite.

***

The smell of wet soil enticed me; it smelled of cleanliness and of rebirth. The clouds were quite puffy that day, while the wind blew lightly across my face. I never felt like she had left us, in some way, she never did. Every time I walked through the hall that used to lead to her room, I can feel her watching me, it serves as a strange comfort in the middle of chaos. I sleep in what used to be her room now. I share her bathroom, the closet she used to use. I haven?t taken over; I still hold small trinkets she used to display around the room. Her teachings remain fresh in my mind, and I share them whenever possible, just as she did.

***

Nahime is happy now. She walks through the gardens of heaven hand in hand with her husband. She does not limp, she has no scars, and her stride is stronger and full of love. She looks down on me all the time, watching, congratulating, and comforting when needed. I am never alone.[/color]



Hope y'all liked.
reviews are all welcome, this is still my first draft.

[Leia Avenrose]

That was beautiful. It had a poetic feel towards the end, and I quite enjoyed it. In a way, it reminded me of myself; a few lines, how you described things before Nahime was left on her own.. the wall and the spots. Reminds me of the supernatural. And thank you so much for the dedication. *glomp*