My State Of Mined

English Essay, Oldest person i know:

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.