The wilting flowers on her porch reminded Stella of her memory, which lately had begun to feel like withering silk, once soft and sleek, and now old and fading. But her mind could feel so sharp sometimes, she thought, like when she joked with the local artist on the harbor, or when she flirted shamelessly with the 80-something cafe owner next door. Yet when she came home, she knew. She knew as sure as the braids of garlic in her kitchen window stated their claim on the air, as sure as her gray roots slowly but surely threatened to spill the secret of her age to annoying neighbors, she knew. Stella knew that this was her time to age, thus to begin the slow, aching process of dying while living.
"Stella, anything special you would like me to do for you today?" Housekeeper Mimi asked the same question every week, as if she couldn't figure out the answer herself, Stella thought.
"Good morning Mimi. Nothing but the regular chores, if you see any laundry that needs to be done, washed, folded, if you could do that. Anything that needs to be done." Stella's answer was the same every week. Annoyed with Mimi but keeping a smile on her face, Stella excused herself and retreated to her bedroom, grumpy from her epiphany.
Rhyme. Where is the rhyme, she thought. She couldn't find it. She looked everywhere for it, but all she could see, most of the time, were words, events, questions and results, devoid of rhyme and reason. Yet time would soon show Stella rhyme had always been there, and would always continue to be.
* * *
"Grandma, why don't you have any tatoos?" Why her granddaughter Maya asked her this every time she came to visit was beyond Stella's willingness to understand.
"Because. A tatoo is a permanent branding to the lower class." She knew this was a lame answer but thought it was a responsible one.
"Oh. Well, what would be a permanent branding to the upper class??" Maya loved stumping her grandma with questions that were more like riddles.
"A permanent branding to the upper class would be..." Stella couldn't think of a thing to say...
"It would be....umm, to......." Maya waiting patiently, .........."it would be to write a story about a little girl as beautiful, as gifted and as intelligent as my little Maya."
"Why?!" Maya's delight and joy in this somewhat expected answer bubbled right up and out from her little lungs, to her eyes, smile and wide-mouthed laugh.
"Because of all the silly questions you ask me. Tatoos!" Maya's giggles grew into a stream that could warm Stella's heart for the rest of her days, she thought as she thanked God for this saving gift called Maya. The one good thing about aging, she said to herself as she held and rocked the little girl against her knees.
(to be continued....)
* * *
copyright 2008 Rose Loya
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