on weekends when we could hardly think of anything cockamamie to do, my friends and i used to eavesdrop on this crazy old woman who lived in a ramshackle shack in the northern end of our village, right where the cemetery crosses start sprouting.
for a good year or so, this diminutive lady never left the far end corner of her hut. she just stood there rigid while the rest of her family, oblivious to this mottled and sallow statue, went on with the dreariness of their day to day lives.
but when we were about to graduate from elementary, some boy we were too grossed out to admit to our circle because of his overly sweaty hands knocked our socks off when he matter of factly told us that the catatonic woman was now up and about as if she just woke up from a bad dream.
sure, we were incredulous at first with his news. but then he dared us to go stalk with him the now animated woman.
and we did. and on such a perfect day. the sun was out but not too out. school was almost over and i was with friends bursting with the eagerness to know things we never dreamed of learning at school. of revocable deaths and people, cast offs, discarded ones, coming back to life.
we were dumbfounded as we witnessed this woman, modest only with a drenched housedress, bathing by a well under a palm tree groaning with green nuts. she took all the time in the world scrubbing herself as if stripping off everything the world has hung on her, has painted on her, has masked her throughout all the days, the years she was dead to everything and everyone else.
today, despite the heavy pollen count and the diminishing efficacy of my anti-allergy medications, it was again an achingly perfect day.
for the longest time coming, i had a taste again of munggo beans braised in the creamiest of virgin coconut milk brought as a gift, a gracious visitor's gift by this friend i haven't seen in a long while. someone who i thought i was permanently estranged with.
the sun was out and so we decided to go for a walk in the nearby new york botanical gardens. and when we were about beat, we decided to treat ourselves to the nearest cast iron bench.
we hardly spoke to each other. we just sat there and, since both of us are big time allergy sufferers, listened to our labored nasal breathing. and at times when either one of us sneezed without holding back, it felt like a piece of old sadness, of old regret we shared was stripped away.