Memories by Maria Ponomarova

The phone slipped between the blanket

and the pillow like a paper boat that had been let down a stream and fell to the floor. She lay soundlessly on the bed, haltingly gulping air as she tried to focus her mind on one particular thing. As her heartbeat slowed, her sense of hearing tried to listen to the sounds around. Through the variety of vibrations, she could hear the distant singing of a jay coming from somewhere under the leafy blanket.

She is 8 years old and waiting for her grandmother, dressed in a rubber swimming ring, over pareo. Her face was sparkling with anticipation of the summer satisfaction she and her grandmother would soon share.

They went out into the yard, closed the always creaky fence and started walking. It was a June evening, when the sun shone with daytime intensity, but cast a warm orange hue that was characteristic of this time of year. At that time, walking among the quiet country houses, one could still look deep into the courtyards and not be separated by fences from the meditative life of the co-operative's residents. You could watch them busy working in the garden or enjoying their afternoon coffee breaks. At the same time, she enjoyed the knowledge that there was a mysterious piece of land that would forever remain out of her reach. 

As they turned the corner, her attention was drawn to the unripe plums hanging over the road. She knew that it was too early to eat them, but the variety of shades of light purple on these small fruits kept her mind attentive. The grandmother caught her granddaughter's eager look and playfully hinted at her not to even think about it.

They walked through the grass for a while, and the grandmother warned the girl not to step into a dog’s “bombs”.  She always looked closely at her grandmother's feet, deformed by old age. They reminded her of the limbs of some animal or alien, but she was not afraid of them, but rather wondered when such metamorphoses would happen to her body.

Now they are here. As they walked closer to the water in search of the perfect place to lay out their blanket, the warm sand gradually penetrated their shoes, soaking the newly arrived beachgoers.

It was a bay, its waters stretching for tens of kilometres in length. The girl took off her pareo and walked quickly to the shore. Even later, at a more mature age, it was difficult for her to immediately dive into the water and start swimming. Instead, every trip to the river began with a leisurely meditation. Standing waist-deep in the river, she listened to the soundscape of the riverside area: she could hear the quiet discussions of summer residents about the fertility of the coming summer, the rustling of willow and waves whispering in a duet, and the humming of a fishing boat's engine in the distance.

Taking a few steps forward, she plunged headlong into the water.

She washed her face of tears, and the anxiety receded back into the dark corners of her mind. She finally managed to find herself in the midst of the information flow of mud that had snatched her out of the flow of life. She exhaled.