Once upon a time…

For one more time, I couldn’t resist its smell, its aroma I’d rather say. I was taking my few-minute break, and I smelled it again and again as though I had never smelled it before. Quite round, with two little pieces sticking out at the bottom and a bigger one to the left; it was the head. If it didn’t have the outline drawn in blue color, you wouldn’t be able to tell what it depicted, but it was a sheep, for sure. An eraser made so attractive to students of first grades, and so… delicious! No, I never went so far to eat it. Thank God, I was sane enough for my little age, but that rubber smelled… irresistibly good! I just bit on it a few times, but nothing more.

She was placing the one on top of the other, neatly arranged, as though they’d been her most precious treasure. They were colorful, made with thick and high quality wool, and pentagon-shaped, but they had no relation to the known building… no worries. Little crochet rugs to be placed on the floor around the house for warmth and decoration.

My grandmother used to sit on that big and comfortable wood folding chair with the green cushions that over time, sadly, looked like thinner than a piece of paper. Not that they were naturally worn out, but she was not the fittest person in the world… I was studying for my school classes, and she usually sat there, knitting, talking to me, and often… sleeping. The paradox? Every time I asked her to tell me any beautiful story from the past, she… “Oh, my kid, I don’t remember a thing…,” and in seconds she fell asleep. Every time I had so much to study and needed quiet and concentration, it was like she was just given a memory shot, and she would start telling me a thousand and one stories she remembered…! I have never understood how life works with all those elders. To me, it is still a great mystery.

The sun is blinding. I see it from the little window of the tiny basement in which I live. Not uncommon for someone to rent a basement in New York City. After all, how can you make it in this city if the only thing you have in your pocket when you come is a dream? Money was a luxury.

I’m staring out the window… it is so different. Now and then. I’m sitting at my little desk and see only the beautiful big tree outside and the clay-like roof tiles of the building across the street. Back then, I could admire the green fields and two-three houses at a distance. It was a medium-sized village, and I was in the same room I had my first memories as a kid, with my crib at the edge of the little room, below those beautiful icons that most chapels have on a Greek island…

Published: July 8th, 2019 | Last Edited: July 8th, 2019 | THE BOOK | The Book | Category’s Archive  | Category’s Page | Network’s Archive Ελληνικά |