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my last memory

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It was spring, early morning, even before the time I used to get up for my school, my bed was surrounded by every other grown up I knew. I reassured myself it wasn’t a dream, smiling shyly at all of them and with a confused mind, I got down, making sure I was not missing any special date!
As soon as I emerged from my room, it felt half the town had taken shelter at my place. I was terrified, wanted to grasp my mother’s hand but where was she. I ran and ended up at a body so calm and relaxed lying on a white sheet. It was the same place where he used to watch his daily news on a volume score of 100. Why is aaba sleeping here was my next question. He is called by god my dear, came the reply. Touch his feet and go outside, I turned around and saw a line of people waiting for the same ritual. No time for thinking! Indeed there is something am messed up with, but what? I hugged his body, touched his feet without realizing it was the very last time I could see my majestic man, my grandpa, the one who was my best friend, the person I adored till the end, the one who was sometimes a story teller to me, a combination of mother and father both. My drug, my habit. It was the very last time I could smile to him, cry to him, express to him. Unknowingly I was sent to my neighbor’s place. They thought they would be able to detach my pain and sorrow, they were wrong. I could see him go away, very far. That was all. Just a bad and confused day for a seven year old girl. But at the age of 16 it is a day I can fear for ages. I want him back, at least the day back; I don’t want to miss him anymore. I want my last memory to be pristine, to be clear, and to be precious. Everything’s gone and so is he but my heart still beats for him. My tribute to him is to evolve like him. I am trying but the sorrow of not following him when his end was near will pinch me till my last memory!



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