ReadFin Literary Journal (Winter 2018)

‘No yoghurt?’ bleated Demetrius.
Kiki raised her eyebrows, but said nothing.
Listening to the Greek station on her transistor radio, Kiki busily
cleaned her kitchen: clearing all benches, putting out the waste,
and soaking the lima beans for tomorrow’s dinner. Four litre
bottles of frozen water were placed on thick tea towels to defrost
overnight in preparation for the pending heatwave. She swept
and mopped the vinyl floor with the dedication of an industrious
nun preparing the altar for worship the next day.
Tomorrow, Mother would expect to be picked up, taken to church
and then come over for lunch. Every day was locked in and accounted
for. While she worked she listened to a familiar tune on
the radio. It was Parios, the Greek singer who had named himself
after his island home Paros. His voice was full and rich, she sang
along mournfully—today is the day, the day a separation occurs,
a daughter is separated from her mother—with tears streaming
down her face she hit the high notes. Leaving her home had not
been hard, it had been her fantasy to create a loving home of her
own, different from the one she had grown up in. Hers was going
to be different.
At times Kiki fantasised about her mother dying. It would be a
relief. It would be an end to a relationship that she had endured.
She was tired of being the parent, the patient and understanding
one. In her effort to find love she tried to create a perfect home
for her family. But it was not enough, not today, not ever. Kiki
craved a love she would never receive and the pain seemed too
hard to bare.
It was dark by the time Kiki had completed the chores of the day.
Her husband slept on the sofa as she prepared herself for bed.
Good, she thought. More time alone. The small vanity mirror
fogged up quickly as Kiki cleansed and exfoliated her face with
steaming hot water. Before entering the shower she paused momentarily
to view her nakedness. She saw a figure that she could
hardly recognise, what happened to her soft smooth skin, her
tresses of curly brown hair? She turned away from her reflection
hastily.
Methodically, she washed and detangled her thinning hair. Her
mirror revealed grey hair that had formed a linear border of
white around her face, forming a frame around her skull; a before
and after marker. She moisturized her face and as she did so, Kiki
repeatedly ran her fingers over the deep lines that were establishing
around her brow and mouth. Her fingers traced over the
pathways that had etched themselves indelibly onto her mask. It
was the layer that could not be altered without artificial means.
The face she saw in the mirror grew to be more and more foreign
each day. It had become the face of her mother, the woman who
she had never wanted to become.
Now she could not exactly remember why she had brewed such
hatred. All she knew was that somehow she had woven into
her thoughts, memories and beliefs a desire for vindication so
dominant that it had choked and consumed her. Immediately, she
saw that her children too would follow the pattern of pathos and
judgment.
In her reflection Kiki saw a mature woman who had lost her
way. Unable to recognize the figure that stood in front of her, her
breath ceased momentarily. She saw eyes that were gripped with
fear and hurt, a face that was coated with melancholia, a body
that had become asymmetrical and stiff with intensity.
Eyes that only saw dirt and stains; ears that had tuned themselves
only to the cry of her children; she saw that she had
detached from Self; the girl that she once knew had eroded away
with time and rituals.
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ReadFin Literary Journal