Memories In The Room

Stepping from her car, into the early morning, Ronnie took a deep breath as if she could inhale courage from the rising haze. How long has it been since she saw this house? Since she was in this gravel driveway that dispassionately delivered skinned knees on a regular basis? A memory came to her, something Mammah would say when she could tell Ronnie was waffling on a decision or task. There she was- standing in the kitchen at the counter between the stove and sink, somehow already knowing that Ronnie was there.

Without turning she'd say "What is it now?" not in an exasperated way, but as if she were talking through a smile. Then she'd turn, and she would be smiling- Mammah's face lit up when she would smile, in a way that made Ronnie feel like she could ask her anything. That smile would crack open and envelope her in the warm goodness that was Mammahs acceptance. Then she'd put her hands on her hips and say "Why are ya dancing 'round sugarfoot? Is the subject not sweet enough?"

With a wry smile Ronnie spoke to the morning "Not this time Mammah." Closing the car door, she walked up the short path to the front porch. The familiar creaking of the steps greeted her as always, but the decay had worsened; moss had claimed the tops of the railings and slats for itself. A wave of guilt crept upon her as she entered the shuttered home- the sheets covering the furniture, dust suspended in the air, the dust bunnies in every conceivable corner- Ronnie cried. She blamed the dust, and it didn't object.

The morning passed with cleaning the mess that time and neglect left behind, unearthing memories that stung like a sweet candy in a sour shell. In Mammah's room, on top her dresser amongst the relics of her jewelry, was a single feather. The settling of dust made the white appear gray, while the brown and black stared back unfaded. Ronnie picked up the feather, fresh tears rolled away as she held the gift a preteen Ronnie gave to her Grandmother.

It was the shrieking that caught her by surprise, as she laid on the piece of roof accessible through her bedroom window. She had been staring into the sky, counting the stars and pretending that she wasn't imagining who her Father was; what kind of person he had been, what he would have looked like. In the summer (actually every summer from 6-18) all she would have were the stories Mammah would tell, if she told any at all. Every night Ronnie would slide on to the roof with a photgraph she managed to sneak from an album, and stare at Big Ronnie smiling back at her with a face she had never touched. During these nights she became accustomed to all kinds of animals sounds, so when that shriek clawed through the night, she feared for the animal that screamed from being snared. The next morning she told Mammah what she had heard and boy did she laugh.

"That was a barn owl honey."

"That's not what owls sound like Mammah."

That made her laugh harder, "Do they teach you anything else in school besides 2 plus 2?"

11 year old Ronnie with her stick legs and sardonic wit that made her seem brusque when she spoke at times, stood to leave the table; uncertain and embarrassed.

"Hey now little girl, don't be upset. Just finish your breakfast, get cleaned up and we'll take a walk on the animal trails, see what we can see."

30 year old Ronnie twirled the feather in her fingers. She remembered how proud she was to have been the one to find a feather and how confident it made her feel. How she felt brimmed to the top with love when, after giving it to Mammah, she stuck it in her bun and wore it all day for Ronnie. This feather existing along side the things Grandma Jhonna treasured most.

The sun was setting; the shadows in the room were longer, less crisp- their edges fading into the coming dark. "That's enough ghosts for today" she said to the memories sitting in the room with her. She was still holding the feather, absentmidedly she tucked it into her ponytail before leaving the room. There were no outside lights and she had turned off the generator before she closed Mammah's home for another day. The moon and stars were illuminated in a way that was impossible in the city. When was the last time she could see the night sky so clearly? Her face felt all stuffed with cotton and her eyes prickled with the coming of tears. A shriek tore apart the moment; dashing it with sharp talons before waning back into silence. She gasped, her head snapping towards the treeline, yet unable to shake the feeling that it was close enough to scream into her brain. It sounded again, this time further than before- crying as it took her aching heart away with it.