Murder Recall

Spiral Staircase

Michi became part of me. My relationship with her was parallel to the relationship I had growing up believing Hilda was my mother. We began staying for longer and longer periods of time at the residence I inherited. I gave it a name - New Eden. I don't understand what became of the Merlin's island I called Eden or to those who were there when the waters swept with epic force over it and then continued to cover it with a seemingly endless expanse of water. Work on New Eden and caring for Michi gave me purpose in life. Gradually the interior became spotlessly clean. I didn't change anything. I particularly loved working in the garden. There was an overgrown vegetable garden near the kitchen doorway and I cleared a portion of it and planted seeds. As they sprouted and grew, I cleared more of the earth and planted more seeds. I revived the three green houses too. Grouse lived in what were once lawns, now overgrown with wild flowers. I tamed these by providing food and ate a small portion of their eggs such that the flock was able to increase in number. Michi was bundled into a sling that could alternatively be worn on my back or front. When I was bending over to tend plants, she would hug me snugly around the neck and laugh her baby-laugh as she was being jostled about. Sometimes it bothered me that I missed out on witnessing my own birth children grow up but these thoughts annoyed me less and less thanks to the joy Michi and life in our new home gave me.

One day it had been raining since dawn and we were in the green house built against the house with a door that led directly into the hallway between the entrance to the kitchen and the door to the pantry. The other two green houses were built separately from the house and were smaller. I loved being in that green house when it was raining. There were a couple worn wicker arm chairs and Michi and I would sit together in one, leaning our heads back against the chair so we could look up at the glass roof and watch water drops crash there and then drip down the exterior walls.

I was always discovering things in the house I had not seen before. I noticed a black object amongst old-fashioned books on a high shelf covered in grape vines inside the green house attached to the residence. I took it down and sat back on the wicker chair. It was an old-style computer. I opened it on my lap, Michi sitting beside me. Michi reached forward and touched the screen and the device turned on, obviously the battery had power. A request for a password appeared. I tried the names of everyone I knew who lived there and the password turned out to be my own name. A sign-in request appeared and I typed in 'Winnie'. The home screen resulted - a light blue, solid background covered in small icons.

While I was looking at the icons Michi touched one and the screen changed. There were more icons. One was entitled XX Fuel. Michi was restless. She was learning to walk and wanted to get down to the floor and move around. I would check this computer out later and turned it off in order to follow Michi. I let her get down. She stood straight and took tentative steps between the large planters, her little arms outstretched for balance.

At one point she placed her left hand on the brick wall. Then she stumbled over as that portion of the wall opened inwards and a secret door was revealed. I picked Michi up and dusted off the palms of her hands. We stepped through the doorway. I had to find out where it led.

I am so grateful for these memories. There came a day when I suddenly realized my body was older than I thought. I saw a camera recording of myself and was shocked at how old I looked. When I look at myself in the mirror, I never look that old. The body is always aging, simultaneously constructing itself and falling apart. Why do I look younger in the mirror than on camera? The camera doesn't lie and when I look in the mirror, I see what I believe I am. It was the realization that I was physically old that surprised me, making me think about how we are a process and not at all a static thing. I don't feel mentally old. I feel wiser because of what I have learned over the years. Spiritually, I don't feel of any age. Wisdom is part of my ego. The spirit transcends that. It's timeless, not ruled or affected by time. Likewise it is spaceless. One thing I read amongst Winnie's writings was 'I'm not writing for readers. Having readers would make me feel appreciated and substantiate self-worth as a writer, but I write for me. I say what I want." I'm like that too. It made so much sense to me and also that, like her, I've decided to write by that philosophy. A character trait inherited? How else am I like my biological mother or anyone else in my genetic history? I write what I think is interesting in a way that would interest me if I were the reader and not the author. Writing is exploring.