In loving memory….

Okay so I’m out of things to talk about or love to give. So I’ll tell you a little story of how I came on to the blogosphere. On a lonely summer(2005), I had nothing better to do then bug Sara with suicidal emails for weeks. She one day gave me a link to her blog, so I started reading and was actually fascinated with her words and dancing thoughts. She used to even post her drawings on almost every post she had. I wanted to follow her lead so I started blogging ever since. She used to glow down here on blogspot, but then one day, for some crazy reason, and without consulting with me, she decided to delete her blog! Blogger did seem empty for a very long while, but the good news I was out of my suicidal brain by then!

So here’s a post from Sara’s dead blog,”the devil squeaks”. One of brilliant posts I still have saved somewhere on my hard disk. Read it and enjoy every word as you go thru her brilliant thoughts!

Remember:

Sara's work is licensed under the CCL. Please direct any questions or concerns to her email "Silvershake@yahoo.com". Thank you.

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Turkish Coffee and a Secret

It was cold outside but I didn’t feel it. The moon was full but one dog bark was enough to remind me where I was. I pulled my black scarf over my head, walked up to her house and knocked on the door.

I went by my self...

***

Small but cozy, the room was dark and smelled like rosemary, dust and fresh Turkish coffee. Pictures of the Madonna hung on her wallpapered walls. The air was still and all was very quiet, inside and out. She - like the other stereotypes of her kind - owned a black cat; a black cat with green eyes. And as I sat by a small round table in the middle of the room, she went about lighting scented candles; the sort you’d buy from Wal-Mart.

Old but modern, her eyes were rimmed with thick, black kohl, which only enhanced the grey of her irises; warm and gentle but at the same time distant. Her grey eyes shook hands with my blue ones a long time ago; we had an unspoken understanding. She told me once I was her most difficult customer and at the time, I laughed. The only thing that’s changed since then is that this customer was now a friend.

We’d become friends and yet she still knew nothing of my life. I never spoke more than a couple of words together, inquiring after her health, her cat and the weather. She didn’t know if I was the only child or if I had siblings, she didn’t know if my parents were still together or not, she didn’t know whether or not I was still in school, if I had a man, what I did on the weekends, where I worked if I worked at all…

What she knew; however, was whatever she could make out of the stories my coffee cups would tell her.

***

“Trying to blend in with the night?” She said with a hint of an accent, nodding at the colour of my clothes as she placed a cup of Turkish coffee in front of me. She always said this to me. Her way of saying: hello little girl, it’s been a while.

She chuckled and sat in the chair opposite mine. Two seconds later she had lit and inhaled fifty percent of her cigarette. Her cat purred as it wound itself around her leg.

I nodded slowly, looking at the coffee cup, “I didn’t think I was going to come.” I said quietly. My way of saying: nice to see you again.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her inhale what was left of her cigarette. And as I sipped my coffee, she spoke of parts of her life she wanted to talk about, parts she wanted me to know. But she always spoke in riddles. One thing always meant something else with her; double meanings, underlying meanings, meanings of meanings. It takes a lot of brainpower for one to try and decipher her sentences. But I was used to this. I knew her language. I knew what she was trying to really tell me. And I liked it.

Finishing my coffee, I turned the cup upside down placing it on its saucer – its handle facing me… Only then did I really look into her face. I saw wrinkles that mapped her life out for the world to see and the few who knew how to read it. Then, I smiled.

“It’s been a while little girl.” She smiled back showing off crooked teeth.

***

One hour later there was a cigarette between my lips, a tall glass of ice-cold water in front of me and her black cat on my lap purring away as though God has just made him king of the world.

With utmost concentration, the old woman sat, decoding whatever symbols and pictures she could make out on the inside walls of my coffee cup. She told me everything she saw: the bad, the good, and the generally, otherwise, unmentionable. Then, she stopped and sat back in her chair watching me closely for a minute longer than she normally did.

I said nothing. My face, a mask blocking everything in… but she knew this already. I shrugged.

“You’re always going to be difficult aren’t you, little girl?” She asked very quietly as she picked up my coffee cup and peered into it again.

I said nothing but put out my cigarette. The ashtray, a graveyard of nine dead cigarettes, accepted the tenth one.

“There’s a celebration,” she said.

“It’s not mine.” I told her grinning.

“No, it isn’t.” She said chuckling, “But yours is coming,” Her eyes sparkling.

“Granted,” I said, “but not for a while. A long while”

“You might be surprised. Don’t be cocky about it. Things happen when you least expect it to.” She said, never taking her eyes off the cup.

“Then perhaps I should keep expecting it to happen.” I said watching her cat who was now sprawled out shamelessly on my lap, purring like he’s just discovered how to do it.

“Hmm,” she said.

I leaned forward resting my elbow on the table and my chin on my hand, “Hmm?” I asked.

“There is… an…older man…” She said haltingly as though she couldn’t quite make out what it was she was looking at.

This is what I came here for, I thought. She looked up into my face. The simple gesture of raising a perfectly arched eyebrow was enough for her to carry on. She knew this is what I was here for. She told me everything she saw about this older man.

***

“Be good, little girl. And don’t worry,” was the last thing she said before shutting the door behind me. I’d thanked her for the coffee, her company and wished her well until the next time we’d meet.

It was now two hours and a half since I had arrived and I was now back in my car parked just outside her house. The scarf I wore going in was now sitting in a heap with my bag in the passenger seat…. I’m not superstitious and I’m not one who believes in tarot cards, palms readings, coffee cups, tealeaves and whatnot. But every now and then I enjoy thinking What if?.

I sat for a while just thinking about the old man in my cup. I felt a bit more relaxed. I didn't believe her; like I said, I don't believe in such things. But I liked what I heard so much that I desperately wanted to believe her...

My phone rang, scaring the living shit out of me. Time to go home.

Pulling out of her driveway, I turned on the radio only to hear Tito Nieves shout out what I was thinking, ”Yeah baby! I like it like that… I like it like that...“

And with a smile, I floored the gas leaving nothing but dust behind me.

posted by Sar at Sunday, June 26, 2005

Licensed under the CCL. Please direct any questions or concerns to the email provided. Thank you.

Psst, there's a roomer that she's coming back!!