Stifling muggy summer night was no problem, it was the task she was expected to accomplish that was draining her. Summer was Amaya’s season; it was the chill of the dead winters that bothered her existence.
Amaya grew up listening to the stories from her mother about the childhood home she grew up in. The one with the tall walls and black iron gate. The gate needed to be repaired every monsoon season. Strangely, the iron gate was not fond of monsoons, unlike her mom. Amaya now entered through the same but old decaying gate and broken walls. With pieces scattered on the path that was once a driveway. At least that is what she guessed it was. She nervously rubbed the silver pendant in her neck with two fingers shocked at the dilapidated house. She had heard many stories about the long driveway where her mom played hopscotch and badminton on bright sunny days. It was now covered in overgrown thorny bushes. She walked slowly trying to follow the light from the torch. The lonely crescent moon trying its best to shine bright for her.
Walking on the rocks her eyes welled up with anger. Why hadn’t no one cared to save this house? Why was it left alone to withstand the storms? Her anger was swept away with sudden fear. Fear of snakes. Her mom’s childhood home had snakes roaming around like it was their vacation spot. You could always find one of them lounging on the green grass like they were doing a favor to the world with their presence. She now stepped slowly and carefully trying her best not to trip and fall flat on her face. As she walked past an old well a sudden touch of cool breeze made her smile. And just for a moment, Amaya wished her mom were here with her right now. In-person and not in an urn.
She finally found the spot she had been looking for. It was at the end of the plot where the house once stood sturdy and proud. The pink and white flower bush. Tall and spread out with thin stems. It had tiny flowers with just five petals. Exactly the way her mom had described it.
Amaya touched the flowers gently not to accidentally break any petals. It was a surprise that they had stayed alive all these years unscathed. Her great grandfather had planted this one when he first bought this house. The 2-acre plot that now belonged to Amaya. Her breathing finally slowed down and she sat down on a big slab of broken cement. Most likely, a piece of fallen roof. It was time to do what she had come here for. The urn was a beautiful black one with gold trim. Twisting it open she felt a pain in her chest like she was trying to control not to let it out. This was her mother’s last wish. 10 years after her death, Amaya was ready to let go of her mother. Back to where she came from. The cool breeze stopped and now clouds covered the crescent moon. Amaya felt the first drops of cool monsoon rain on her head as she scattered her mother’s ashes next to the pink and white flower bush. Her mom was finally home.
Black Coffee and Grey Stories 