English Essay, Oldest person i know:
Tuberose
Tuberose
Her big bright brown eyes are constantly looking towards the
ricked wooden door of her old house. Her hands seem even wrinklier then the
last time I saw her. Her boney, wrinkly hands shake on the handle of her dark
brown rocking chair. She has wrinkles all over her white face; her face looks
like it is being pulled down by heavy weights. Her pink lips open to a smile as
I walk in the room. Her smile somehow seems to get lost among all that saggy
skin. The smile she has seems both sad and happy; as if not being able to
decide if she is happy about my presence or not. I know that smile, I have had
seen that smile since five years ago when we moves into this house. She always
expects to see her granddaughter walk through that door, maybe even her son one
day, but they never come. The house smells like a mix of spicy and sweet food.
The room is warm but somehow I shiver as I walk through the door. How can her
son be so cold and without emotions to not visit his old mom or even call once?
It seems like the only thing that can make those brown eyes happy again is him.
She opens her arms as I walk up to her and hug her. I’m not
her granddaughter, I’m just her neighbor and I love this 75 year old that lives
downstairs from us like my own grandma. As I hug her I put my head on her
shoulder and feel the soft fur of her jacket against my cheek. She smells like
brownies which can only mean one thing; she made brownies for me. I pull away
as she lets go and I look at her face. Her pretty, old, light brown eyes are
shining. Not because she is happy though but because tears had filled them. She
blinks only causing her tears to role down her cheek as if they were shinning
marbles. Seeing her cry like that just makes me want to put my head on her lap
and cry along with her.
“He said he will come.” She said with her soft voice, her
voice also had this small scratch to it; like the sound of Autumn leaves
against the pavement as the wind blows them. She looks up at me. She seems so hopeless,
so little, so weak. She seems so fragile, so breakable.
“He will come don’t worry.” I said holding her soft cold
hand.
“Do you know how long I haven’t seen him? Do you know how
long I haven’t seen my granddaughter? I miss them so much. I don’t even know
how she looks like anymore.” She puts her other hand on mine, as if pretending I’m
her granddaughter. I take a deep breath taking the scent of her house in. It smells
like this flower she always buys, tuberose. Her house always smells like it. Her
granddaughters name is Maryam which is a translation of tuberose in Persian. I love
the smell of tuberose it smells sweet, it smells like security.
“I don’t think he will ever come. He doesn’t care anymore. He
has forgotten me.” She says between her short breaths.
“Well their lost, they lost a wonderful mom and grandma. Now
you are all mine.” I say smiling to make her feel good.
“How can my own son forget me so easily? He hasn’t even
called me once. He is not even concerned if I’m dead or not. I’m not important
in his world anymore.”
“No he hasn’t forgotten you nana, he is probably too busy.”
“Even for a call? He is busy for that too?”
“I don’t know nana, maybe.”
“Promise me you won’t forget me, promise me.”
“I will never forget you nana, never, even when I am a
hundred years old.”
She hugs me tight, tighter then she has ever hugged me. As
she hugs me, more of her tear drops fall on my sweater making wet spots on it. I
was only eight years old and I could completely understand how unfair and sad
this situation was.
“Arianna come up stairs dinner is ready.” My mom yells from
the balcony upstairs; from our house.
“Ok then get going, hurry up.” She says giving me a little
push. I start to walk towards the door but then I stop, turn around, and look
at the house. The light of the lamp is hitting a bit of nanas face causing the
tear drops to sparkle. I can smell the spicy scent mixed with sweet in the air.
The air smells mostly like tuberose though, it smells like loneliness now. I turn
around towards the door again, but then I turn to face her again once more. I see
her one more time setting on her dark brown rocking chair, with a blanket on
her knees. Her hands seem like they are shaking even though they are on the handle
of the rocking chair. Her white hair with gray highlights is tied back. She always
looks so nice and neat. She seems so small again in that big house, so alone. I
feel bad for her.
“Ok, so I’m going to go downstairs, get my lunch, and come
eat it with you, ok?” I look at her, my eyes filled with the excitement of my
new brilliant idea. She smiles and shakes her head. I walk out the door leaving
the smell of loneliness behind me. The smell of the tuberoses on her table.
