Archive for the ‘Nadia Remembered’ Category

The Table

November 11, 2016

A long table, made of dark wood, possibly mahogany. Several people were seated around it. Everyone had cups of coffee in front of them, either cafe con leech or espresso. The women smiled and the men flirted with them. Someone came into the room. She was an elegantly dressed woman wearing a chic light brown business suit. On her head was a small black hat, the type that women used to choose when they are going to  a cocktail party. Her left wrist was adorned with a shiny 18 carat gold and diamond/ruby bracelet. When they saw her, they all got up to greet her. She extended her hand to each and every one. The woman’s eyes shone. I am so glad to be here with you, she said. Being with my co-workers at this time of day is a treat. A man pulled out a chair for her. Here, Nadia. Please sit. She turned to look up at him. Thank you. You are so nice. Only for you, the man answered. I will remember these times long after they’re gone. She wiped a tear from her eyes. Enough. Let’s enjoy this. Waiter, more cafe con leche for all, please.

Eyes

June 10, 2014

I remember your eyes. I cannot forget them. Your eyes haunt me after all these years–15 long years without you. You thought you were not important. To me you were a relative, a second aunt. I loved you. I loved being with you. The house you lived in was not perfect, but to both of us, it was home. Our home.

You

June 10, 2013

You don’t know. You never knew how important you were. To a passer by, your appearance must have made him look the other way. Down on her luck, they must have thought. She must have seen better days, but that was long ago. I talked with you and you told me the story of your life. You had been somebody once, a successful woman that people looked at to. Then everything around you crashed. You had a hard time adapting to the new circumstances. One day you woke up and you didn’t care anymore. It didn’t mater anymore that from glamour and beautiful hats you went to squalor.

 

That Full Day

June 9, 2012

That Full Day

That morning you came to my apt. for our usual tea and pastries. You felt comfortable there. You were at home and more relaxed than in your own place, which was twice as big as mine. I loved your apt. It had a great view and a great big balcony. But you were ill and did not feel like cleaning it. It was filthy. You, once an important lady, a big time executive, now lived in squalor with 3 hungry dogs. I did what I could to clean your apt. Maybe I didn’t do enough. When you came to my place, you did the dishes and cleaned the marble counter top.

I remember well your last full morning on planet Earth. After the tea, you helped me straighten out the curtains in the living room. You stood on a chair and I called a neighbor to help us so you wouldn’t fall. I can see your bare ankles, the baggy pants and the dirty beat up sneakers you wore that day. The curtains were safe again and the neighbor stayed for a little bit. Then she and you left. I saw you once more that night. You came at around 10 with your black dog, my other special friend. There was something that you wanted. I think it must have been comfort. I tried to give it to you. Again, maybe it wasn’t enough. The fire took your life and the lives of two of the dogs. You fought bravely, you yelled for help. It came too late.

 

 

 

 

The Day You Went

June 1, 2012

The Day You Went

It was an early June morning. They knocked on the door. I let 3 cops inside my apt. Did you know the old lady? Yes, she is my friend. We spend a lot of time together. She’s dead, the young cop told me. I sat down. I could not look at them. How did it happen? There was a fire. She lit a candle and went to sleep.

I imagined you, my friend, stretched out on the bed with the dogs next to you. You were so tired that night you came to my apt. How could I know it would be the last time I’d see you? I wanted to say something to comfort you—you were at the end of your rope—but I didn’t know what. I am sorry I let you go home alone. You had no phone. There was no way for you to call me, call anybody, when you woke up and smelled something funny. I miss your dark brown eyes and the shadows under them. I miss you. Wherever you are in Heaven, I will see you again.

Two of the dogs, both brothers, died with you. One of them was my special friend. The third dog went to the kitchen and stood by an open window. Then animal control took him. The cage, I was told later, was way too small for a German sheperd. He survived it and became the best dog any owner ever had.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Day You Went

It was an early June morning. They knocked on the door. I let 3 cops inside my apt. Did you know the old lady? Yes, she is my friend. We spend a lot of time together. She’s dead, the young cop told me. I sat down. I could not look at them. How did it happen? There was a fire. She lit a candle and went to sleep.

I imagined you, my friend, stretched out on the bed with the dogs next to you. You were so tired that night you came to my apt. How could I know it would be the last time I’d see you? I wanted to say something to comfort you—you were at the end of your rope—but I didn’t know what. I am sorry I let you go home alone. You had no phone. There was no way for you to call me, call anybody, when you woke up and smelled something funny. I miss your dark brown eyes and the shadows under them. I miss you. Wherever you are in Heaven, I will see you again.

Two of the dogs, both brothers, died with you. One of them was my special friend. The third dog went to the kitchen and stood by an open window. Then animal control took him. The cage, I was told later, was way too small for a German sheperd. He survived it and became the best dog any owner ever had.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Day You Went

It was an early June morning. They knocked on the door. I let 3 cops inside my apt. Did you know the old lady? Yes, she is my friend. We spend a lot of time together. She’s dead, the young cop told me. I sat down. I could not look at them. How did it happen? There was a fire. She lit a candle and went to sleep.

I imagined you, my friend, stretched out on the bed with the dogs next to you. You were so tired that night you came to my apt. How could I know it would be the last time I’d see you? I wanted to say something to comfort you—you were at the end of your rope—but I didn’t know what. I am sorry I let you go home alone. You had no phone. There was no way for you to call me, call anybody, when you woke up and smelled something funny. I miss your dark brown eyes and the shadows under them. I miss you. Wherever you are in Heaven, I will see you again.

Two of the dogs, both brothers, died with you. One of them was my special friend. The third dog went to the kitchen and stood by an open window. Then animal control took him. The cage, I was told later, was way too small for a German sheperd. He survived it and became the best dog any owner ever had.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Dark Eyes

March 30, 2012

The Dark Eyes

The eyes were what I noticed about her the day I met her. They were dark brown. They were sad, as if she had lived things she didn’t want to think about. Even when she smiled, her eyes didn’t or couldn’t.  The shadows under her eyes were almost—not quite—black. They gave her face a poignant look. If she hadn’t been a proud woman, she would have shouted: Take care of me! Better yet, care about me. Love me. Hug me. Love me now, the way I am. I can’t go back and be the successful woman of years ago. There is nothing I can do for anyone. I am not influential anymore. Love me now in my come down in the world state. I will thank you for it. My dogs will thank you.

Care

June 10, 2011

Care

She wanted someone to care about her. She wanted that desperately. Her family left her when she got sick. The house she lived in was dirty. It needed cleaning badly. Most of the rooms had good furniture and some antiques. These were from when she was in her prime, on top of the world. In her bedroom there were pictures of her as a young woman. In the pictures she, a stylishly dressed businesswoman, smiled for the camera. The hats she wore were elegant. They announced to one and all that she had arrived.

The 3 dogs were her new family. They lived together as best they could. She was able to walk 2 of them, the oldr dogs. The third dog didn’t know what it was to be out and about and smelled the fresh air and the green grass.

Years

June 9, 2011

Years

12 years ago today. It has been that long. You were not my blood relative but something linked us. Whatever the bond was, it was there. I felt it and I know you did too. You left this Earth suddenly and I have missed you ever since. When I think of you (and I think of you quite often) it is with gratitude. We met at a difficult time in both our lives. We weren’t together long. It doesn’t matter. You were the relative I needed and ours was more than a friendship. I will never forget you. Besides another person who was in my life years before you and I ran into each other, you are the one I have loved the most. It was you, Otranto, Niebla and el Grandote. I later renamed El Grandote Rubio. There never was a more loyal dog.

Nadia’s Sneakers

March 31, 2011

 I still remember her sneakers. The memory is as vivid today as if it was happening today. They had once been white and new. Now they were well worn and dirty, black, brown and other colors in spots. She would bend down to tie them. It took her a long time. Wait, wait, she’d tell the dogs. I can’t go out with the shoe laces untied. She would get impatient and shake her head. Sometimes the shoe laces became knotty and undoing them was not easy. After half an hour or so she would look up and sigh. Her face was happy but tired. I have done it! Now I can take you for a walk

The keys

October 15, 2010

The Keys
They had to break the door down. Her body was on the floor. She had been holding the keys in one hand and in the other her Rolex watch. “No more,”, one of the men said. Someone took the Rolex and put it in his pocket.
“There are 2 dogs here,” the third man said from the kitchen. “They’re dead, too.”
They heard a bark. The men looked at one another. “Let’s go see. I think it’s coming from the bedroom.” The bark got louder. They went to one of the bedrooms.
“This big one is a smart fellow,” one of them remarked. “He went to the one place with an open window.”