28 Apr 2020, 17:17
The Worn Dam
Her forehead was creased in frustration and worry. As Clay shakily made her way up the stairs, holding the tray carrying her grandmother's breakfast, she tried to calm her nerves but the seemed to be on overload. She wasn't feeling herself at all.
And it didn't start today. This was something that began after getting her supplies from Diagon Alley, this strange place hidden from most muggles behind a barrier wall. Finding it, exchanging regulars pounds for knutts and sickles and galleons, and scouring the shops for her necessary supplies had been fun
Meeting wizards and learning about her heritage had been fun. Coming back home to imagine what her life would be like as a wizard had been fun.
But thinking of leaving her sickly grandmother was far from entertaining. Clay had never expected to leave her grandmother this soon. Who would've, in her position? She had thought she was just some girl with a genetic anomaly, that's how well her magic cousin Keylon had concealed the magic world from her. And Clay would've bet he'd have carried out the secrecy longer if it hadn't been for the visit.
Clay sighed heavily. She stood in front of her grandmother's closed door. She heard the woman breathing heartily, despite the pain she was obviously going through. She woman, forever forgetful and optimistic, had always been the day is sunshine in the darkest of Clay's storms. She had always reminded Clay how to be grateful, how look for the good in others, how to spread love when none was given. The young girl had thought that was pish-posh; everyone had to look out for themselves, according to the cousin she had always used to look up to. Until she realized how much he didn't care about her.
But Clay was good at faking things, like her feelings, especially if she wanted to make herself look strong, like nothing ever bothered her. She was good at putting on a smile, or shrugging her shoulders and never looking back. Pretending like the words never weighed her down, as if they only made her stronger. But it was all fake, like the light in her eyes that she only put on her for one woman in the world, the only one she truly trusted when she couldn't trust herself.
"Hey, Yaya," she cried as she pushed open the door. Her smile was wide but not too wide. Her grandmother was not a fool, she could see through the most obvious falsities. Clay managed to look like she had just finished talking with her best friends.
"Breakfast, is it? That's wonderful! Bring that over her, may you." Clay did as she was told, placing it on her bedstand. She watched her grandmother's frail arm reach for the orange juice. Clay felt her face began to break and made to move, but her grandmother stopped her. "What time is it, conejita—almost midnight? Clay—"
"It's barely noon," Clay sighed, picking up the woman's alarm clock. She pointed to the digits, which read 12:04. Her grandmother loved setting things the 'Yankee' way. Clay had fixed it back the 24 hour time but her grandmother never ceased to insist that it was always midnight when it hit 12. And Clay had long given up correct her time format.
She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the ground in silence as she listened to her grandmother eat. The sickness wasn't too bad, according to her uncle, who handled all their grandmother's medical affairs, but seeing the woman who'd raised her go from up and running to bedridden was so disheartening.
"Well," she said, getting up. "I have to finish the platos and clean up—"
"Tell your mamá to get her gachas de avena from under the sink—I know it was her. She might not like it but it's going to make her grande y fuerte like..." The woman's voice trailed off as she stared off at something Clay couldn't see in the distance.
But Clay knew it was nothing, unlike what she was feeling deep inside. Mother? Clay hardly remembered the woman, she had gone so long ago. The weight of the lost was like holding the entire world on her shoulders, like Atlas. She tried to forget the pain but it was like remembering something so good, so exciting, so great, that was just at your fingers in the darkness. She often tried to suppress her feelings but it hard, especially when her grandmother talked about her out of nowhere. As if her mother had never left the world.
While her grandmother was in a daze, Clay left quickly, closing the door quietly behind her. She crept past her cousin's door, where he was playing video games with his friends. She rushed down the stairs, holding her breath. She was trying hold back everything, her feelings and her emotions. But as soon as she turned on the faucet, her heart followed along, releasing everything. And it was all she could do to keep quiet about as she cried.
And it didn't start today. This was something that began after getting her supplies from Diagon Alley, this strange place hidden from most muggles behind a barrier wall. Finding it, exchanging regulars pounds for knutts and sickles and galleons, and scouring the shops for her necessary supplies had been fun
Meeting wizards and learning about her heritage had been fun. Coming back home to imagine what her life would be like as a wizard had been fun.
But thinking of leaving her sickly grandmother was far from entertaining. Clay had never expected to leave her grandmother this soon. Who would've, in her position? She had thought she was just some girl with a genetic anomaly, that's how well her magic cousin Keylon had concealed the magic world from her. And Clay would've bet he'd have carried out the secrecy longer if it hadn't been for the visit.
Clay sighed heavily. She stood in front of her grandmother's closed door. She heard the woman breathing heartily, despite the pain she was obviously going through. She woman, forever forgetful and optimistic, had always been the day is sunshine in the darkest of Clay's storms. She had always reminded Clay how to be grateful, how look for the good in others, how to spread love when none was given. The young girl had thought that was pish-posh; everyone had to look out for themselves, according to the cousin she had always used to look up to. Until she realized how much he didn't care about her.
But Clay was good at faking things, like her feelings, especially if she wanted to make herself look strong, like nothing ever bothered her. She was good at putting on a smile, or shrugging her shoulders and never looking back. Pretending like the words never weighed her down, as if they only made her stronger. But it was all fake, like the light in her eyes that she only put on her for one woman in the world, the only one she truly trusted when she couldn't trust herself.
"Hey, Yaya," she cried as she pushed open the door. Her smile was wide but not too wide. Her grandmother was not a fool, she could see through the most obvious falsities. Clay managed to look like she had just finished talking with her best friends.
"Breakfast, is it? That's wonderful! Bring that over her, may you." Clay did as she was told, placing it on her bedstand. She watched her grandmother's frail arm reach for the orange juice. Clay felt her face began to break and made to move, but her grandmother stopped her. "What time is it, conejita—almost midnight? Clay—"
"It's barely noon," Clay sighed, picking up the woman's alarm clock. She pointed to the digits, which read 12:04. Her grandmother loved setting things the 'Yankee' way. Clay had fixed it back the 24 hour time but her grandmother never ceased to insist that it was always midnight when it hit 12. And Clay had long given up correct her time format.
She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the ground in silence as she listened to her grandmother eat. The sickness wasn't too bad, according to her uncle, who handled all their grandmother's medical affairs, but seeing the woman who'd raised her go from up and running to bedridden was so disheartening.
"Well," she said, getting up. "I have to finish the platos and clean up—"
"Tell your mamá to get her gachas de avena from under the sink—I know it was her. She might not like it but it's going to make her grande y fuerte like..." The woman's voice trailed off as she stared off at something Clay couldn't see in the distance.
But Clay knew it was nothing, unlike what she was feeling deep inside. Mother? Clay hardly remembered the woman, she had gone so long ago. The weight of the lost was like holding the entire world on her shoulders, like Atlas. She tried to forget the pain but it was like remembering something so good, so exciting, so great, that was just at your fingers in the darkness. She often tried to suppress her feelings but it hard, especially when her grandmother talked about her out of nowhere. As if her mother had never left the world.
While her grandmother was in a daze, Clay left quickly, closing the door quietly behind her. She crept past her cousin's door, where he was playing video games with his friends. She rushed down the stairs, holding her breath. She was trying hold back everything, her feelings and her emotions. But as soon as she turned on the faucet, her heart followed along, releasing everything. And it was all she could do to keep quiet about as she cried.
conejita: girl (basically)
gachas de avena: porridge
platos: dishes
grande y fuerte: big and strong
"And this mortality hit me like a hammer and left me reeling."