Always Watching Out for Me

“Karetchka, you need a warmer coat.”

My dog stands to attention atop of the rock he majestically posed to the world on. Goosebumps crawl down the back of my neck and arms. I turn.

She is there. In her dark red sleeveless sweater vest. The sun hitting the snow, hitting her eyes. Her wrinkles sparkle in the brightness. And I think that her thin stocking material socks are not enough to keep her warm. And wonder, how she got to the other side of the world. To this land of ice and snow. I worry the breeze will catch her and she’ll catch a cold. That she might slip on smoothed-down snow. That she’ll have nowhere to sit down if the walk back to my house tires her out. Which it will. Heck, we’re at the edge of town. At least the walk is mostly downhill. Until it’s not. I wonder if I could carry her on my back. Or if someone would give us a ride. Maybe if we just make it till the airport. I wonder if she’s as entranced by the view as I am.

“Safta, look. Isn’t it amazing? All the openness, it’s endless.”

I look back at her. She is no longer there. My dog remains alert. I feel my heart bend.

I turn to my left, to my right. She is there. Her soft cool hand in mine. I don’t know where my seal skin mitts went but I don’t care. She holds me both tightly and barely at all. Wrinkles and all.

I see the wind playing through the wisps of her red-tinted dark brown hair. The feisty eyebrows still clinging on. Her lips crooked to the side a tad. With the thin gold bracelet that we might have bought twice, twinkling. She moves to hold my upper arm. Finds stability there.

I feel she is both wind and roots. Wrinkles through time. Connecting me to what was, and all the possibility in front of me.

And she stays there with me.

She stays there with me.

———

Huge shoutout to the fam from 4WORDS for an awesome Virtual Writing Retreat today. Always great to write with community.

This piece was written in response to the prompt:

The Memory Room: There is a specific, quiet place in your mind you go to when stressed—perhaps an imaginary beach or a cozy childhood attic. One day, while deep in this mental escape, you hear someone else’s voice calling your name.

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