Frozen
The soft tinkling of the windchimes has been my companion for as long as I can remember. Grandpa’s curio shop houses hundreds of them in different shapes and sizes. I watch them for hours, enchanted by their tintinnabulation. Their silvery babbling, and the echoes of the songs they hum last even after the wind stops blowing. Grandpa twirls me around to their music, calling me the prettiest girl ever.
“Ella, each windchime has a specific purpose. This metal one wards off the evil spirits. The one with shells grants positive energy for happiness, and the bamboo chime over there blesses the owner with peace of mind!” Grandpa explains as I watch him with awe-filled adoring eyes.
We live in a little house behind the curio shop. My room is decorated with colourful drawings and paper cranes. I don’t have many toys, but my steadfast companion is Rufus, a teddy bear with one eye. He stares with his one beady eye at the windchime by the window. The chime is Grandpa’s gift; I get a new one every year for my birthday.
Grandpa opens the shop at nine in the morning. People drop by to get his recommendation for a chime to solve their problems. For the woman with a drunken husband, he chooses six-rod chimes to create calming vibes in her home. For the man with an ailing daughter, he chooses a wooden one, to restore her health and vitality. That way, Grandpa knows everything, and there is nothing he can’t fix.
***
Mrs. Holden, our neighbour, drops by, greeting me with her warm smile. She is one of the kindest souls I know. I don’t like her sons much because they make fun of me. Mrs. Holden is quick to jump to my defence; if they call me stupid, she boxes their ears.
On some days, she brings us her special sticky toffee pudding. I dig into the warm, delectable sauce, sometimes getting it all over my dress. Instead of scolding me, she helps clean up the mess.
When Grandpa gets busy in the kitchen, he asks me to mind the shop. On one such day, I am at the counter, and two men drop by. I show them our collection of windchimes, the way Grandpa does. They don’t show much interest in buying. Instead, one of them asks me if I would like to accompany him to the park for a walk.
Even though the invitation is tempting, I refuse. I am allowed to go out only with my Grandpa, and we stopped a while ago, because his knees aren’t what they used to be.
A gust of wind blows, and the chimes start clanging, almost angrily. The ruckus alerts Mrs. Holden who stops by and loses her temper.
“Shame on you for troubling that poor lamb. Go away!” she raises her umbrella, and the men flee for their lives.
Mrs. Holden has an argument with my Grandpa later about how he needs to pay more attention and planning for the future. That night, Grandpa looks very worried. I wonder why.
***
We don’t have mirrors inside our home.
“Ella, a mirror only shows you what is. It doesn’t show you what can be. Don’t look at a mirror; look within,” Grandpa says.
What we do have at home, is a photo album full of pictures. There are faded photos of Grandpa, and some baby pictures of me. Then there are pictures of a woman; a woman I have never met before. She has brown hair, twinkling eyes, and a lopsided smile. She must be my Mamma, the one I have never seen, who is in heaven now.
Grandpa gets upset when I ask him about Mamma, and I don’t like him to be upset. He never talks about my Papa either. However, whenever Grandpa is busy, I sneak the album into my room.
Albums are better than mirrors. They not only show you what is; they show you what used to be. Like the windchimes, the photos too produce echoes, of memories and longing.
But can you miss the things you never had?
***
Today is my twelfth birthday. Mrs. Holden has baked a cake- vanilla buttercream; my favourite. We sing happy songs and cut the cake. I am surrounded by my family; Grandpa, Mrs Holden, Rufus, and the chimes.
Grandpa hands me my gift. I already know what it is. Like every year, it is a chime. This time it is a bunch of metallic cylinders with a green glass butterfly decoration. This chime is the prettiest of my collection. I can’t wait to put it up in my room.
“This one, Ella, is for inviting angels and good spirits, to guard you forever.”
“Grandpa, you are my guardian angel. Why do I need anyone else?” I hug him warmly.
He must have dust in his eye because I see him rubbing it.
We clean up after supper, and I kiss Grandpa goodnight. He tucks me in. I can’t sleep yet; I’m watching my pretty green butterfly flit around in the breeze. The gentle sounds are like the waves of an ocean and a lullaby to my tired ears.
***
The next morning, I wake up to see if breakfast is ready. Grandpa must be still asleep, so I head to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of orange juice and help myself to leftover cake.
When Mrs. Holden passes by, I tell her that Grandpa must be tired; the sun is out, but he is still not out of bed. She rushes inside and asks me to wait in the kitchen. When she returns, she is ashen-faced, and her eyes are red.
“Mrs. Holden, is Grandpa awake yet?” I demand.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. He isn’t going to wake up anymore. He died in his sleep.”
***
“Mrs. Holden, why do I have to leave home?”
“Ella, your grandfather wanted you to be provided for, even after his time. His will instructs me to sell the shop and put the money in a trust that will pay for your stay at a new home where you will be taken care of.”
I don’t understand most of what Mrs. Holden says.
“Why can’t I stay with you?” I demand, through my tears.
“Sweetheart, I don’t have space at home, not with four boys. I shall visit you every week and bring you cookies. Now let’s pack your things.”
She gives me a big trunk. I put in Rufus, my dresses, my toys, the photo album, and my most prized possessions; my birthday chimes. When I am done, Mrs. Holden combs my hair till it shines, and places a kiss on my forehead.
I stand in the curio shop one last time. A gust of wind blows, and the sound of the chimes echo through the walls of the shop, as though they know we are parting and wish to engulf me in their embrace, one last time.
“Ella, it’s time to say goodbye,” Mrs Holden mumbles sadly.
***
This room feels alien to me. Despite the fresh bedsheets, and the cream curtains, it looks empty and unwelcoming. I unpack my trunk, taking out Rufus first, and setting him on my new bed. The photo album is next, followed by my windchimes.
I am twelve years old; there should be twelve of them, one for each birthday. Why are there more? There must be at least thirty in here! Did I pack extra ones from the shop by mistake?
I select the green glass butterfly windchime; it reminds me of Grandpa. I pull over a chair and climb on it to put the chime up. Through the side-vent, I see two ladies dressed in white in the corridor outside my room. I wave to them, but they are too engrossed in their conversation to notice me. I can hear them quite clearly.
“Poor woman! She thinks she is twelve, despite being a fully-grown adult of thirty years. The human brain is such a mystery.”
“Heard that her mother died at childbirth and the father took off. The grandfather took care of her till his death. At least he was thoughtful enough to send her here to a nursing home. Else can you imagine a young woman like her out on the streets? I shudder!”
Who are they talking about?
As I alight, I notice for the first time that the room has a mirror. Approaching it warily, I peek into it. What I see, leaves me startled. There is a woman in the mirror. She is the same one as in the photo album; the one I assumed to be my Mamma. This woman doesn’t speak and only mimics me, but her presence is reassuring, as if a part of my home has come along with me.
Perhaps she isn’t my Mamma at all, but one of Grandpa’s angels. Perhaps she is frozen in the mirror, just like the other woman frozen in time. Perhaps, if you are content with being where you are, being frozen isn’t such a bad thing.
The windchime tinkles, and the room abounds with soft, silvery, comforting sounds. My room is no longer empty; it is filled with echoes. It’s like Grandpa is here, and he is twirling me around, and calling me the prettiest girl ever.
Just like that, I’m home, again.
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