Nameless

Chapter 7: The Cruelty Of Things.

I stared at the ceiling blankly. It had been two weeks since my grandmother came back from the hospital; three since I had spoken to her; and I felt like shit. Everytime I passed by her room, seeing her sitting in her chair, I nearly burst into tears. But not today. Today I would talk to her. She didn't have much time left- that was one thing her attack taught me- and I would try to make the most of it. I sucked in a deep breath and rose from my bed. I walked slowly and deliberately towards her room.

I tentatively stepped into the guest room of our house. It had a low double bed, closets to one side, a balcony and a bathroom, a new television, and a desk. Its cream-coloured walls gave it a mellow feel, but the withered old lady on the bed pushed a spear through my heart. Her face lit up with a toothless smile, causing even more wrinkles to form around her eyes, which in turn made me smile broadly. She was a plump old thing, thin white-grey hair tied in a short plait, with swollen legs and feet. Yet her mind was decievingly sharp... well, for the most part atleast. She had such strength in her, no one knew. She brought five childeren into this world. She raised five childeren, on a postmaster's salary. She was now a great-grandmother, and chirpy little darling. I loved her dearly, though I rarely spent time with her- well that was going to change.

She beckoned me to sit next to her, and so I did. She stroked my hair as she asked me why I hadn't visited her in so long. I told her that I was busy with tenth standard. She asked me about school, and I told her about my school. She asked me about my studies, and I complained to her about the amount of work I have. She asked me when I was going to get married, and I giggled and told her that I'm too young, to which she scoffed saying that she was sixteen when she was wed.

We were quiet for bit, somewhere in the conversation she had held onto my hand. I looked down on our intertwined fingers; young with old, smooth against wrinkles, fair against dark, smooth nails beside coarse ones. I was going to rise and tell her I would talk to her later, when she started again. She asked me about my school, and I patiently told her again. This went on for about a half hour, before I told her firmly that I had to study. She looked a little guilty as she reached for my cheek, and when I bent down so she could reach, she patted it and wished me luck for my studies, telling me to study well.

I walked out of the room, and just at the enterance, I heard her calling me again, "Usha! Usha!" she said, already having forgotten our conversation. I turned around and told her that I had to study, and she told me to go and do so; that she was sorry for disturbing me. I turned again, and walked quickly back to my room, tears spilling over as I entered. Why was life so cruel?