A Drink Of Water: A Short Story
By C. S. Dorsey
Published by C.S. Dorsey at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 C. S. Dorsey
I think about her all the time. I could still her voice in my sleep. It was like music. Like the sound of angels playing harps in heaven. I remember how she use to comb my hair with her soft caramel colored hands, and nails well kept. Her hands were flawless with no age spots.
I remember sitting between her legs on the floor as she took the comb and parted my hair four ways. Then she would grease my hair section by section. You wouldn’t have known this but I didn’t have much hair back then.
“Your scalp needs to be grease,” she would say.
“Yes ma’am,” I would reply. I was only five back then. She would take her soft hands that were never attacked by the arthritis monster, and message my scalp simulating the hair follicles. The circular motion of her hands would make the red blood cells rush to my brain causing a deep sleep to come over me. I couldn’t help but to relax my neck as I was drawn deeper and deeper into the motion of her hands.
It was like acupuncture to me pin pointing the nerves in my head. She always had a way of making her grandchildren fall asleep in her lap. Maybe it was because of the calmness of her soul that would radiate and make everything around her feel safe.
When she was done with her therapeutic session of greasing my scalp, she would then re-part my hair and make four braids.
“There now. You need to keep your hair greased.”
“Yes ma’am,” I would respond. She took the top of the grease jar and close the container shut.
“Here, put this up.” I turned to grab the contents in her hands which was the container of grease and the comb. “There now, when you put those up get me a drink of water.” She reached over to the small wooden coffee table and grabbed a glass that was empty from the liquid before.
I took the cup from her hands along with the other items I had acquired. “Just get the water from the faucet.”
“Yes ma’am,” I was all I said. She didn’t mind the simple things in life because she came from poorest part of country. She was woman who was rich only in love and spirit. The smallest things would intrigue her, while the bigger things overwhelmed her.
I put up the grease and the comb I walked to the kitchen to get her water. Once it was full I would carry it with gentleness, and hand it to her like she was a queen.
“Here you go Grandma,”
“Thank you baby.”
As she took the cup from me, I watch as her lips touch the glass making an imprint on it. Her right hand held the glass with such thanks. It was then I knew that water is the key to life. It was the water that made her skin ageless and her hair silk like honey. The chocolate moles on her face complimented her mahogany complexion with grace.
I stood there in awe of how a woman of her age could look so peaceful. She sat on the periwinkle colored couch drinking the water like it came from the fountain of youth. I watch the movement of her throat as each gulp of clear liquid passed her neck and into her belly.
She closed her eyes enjoying the water like it was a potion slowly rejuvenating the organs in her body. I could still see the images of her sitting on the couch. It was like the memories of her flashed in my head as if it was a motion picture.
“Acesha, I have bad news…your grandmother has passed.” Nothing could have prepared me for the worst.
I was speechless.
I dropped the phone when my mother told me. This cannot be happing, I though. But what could I do? I fell to my knees crying my eyes out. It was fall of 2002 my first year in college. How could I go on knowing that the woman who showed me how to sew, cook, and clean is gone.
I laid on the cold kitchen floor of my apartment crying my eyes out. When there were no more tears lift, I looked at the small puddle on the floor from my rain of pain. Water, I though, remembering my grandmother use to drink water. It was the water that kept her strong, and peaceful. To her it was to quench the thirst, but to me it was life.
I got up off the yellow color tile, and wiped the residue from the dried up tears. I walked to towards the sink, grabbed a cup from the dish rack, and turned on the water from the faucet.
I let the water run and tested it to make sure it was cold enough to lubricate the dryness in my mouth. The water filled the glass to the top. I turned off the faucet and pressed the glass up to my lips, tilted it, and let the cool liquid fill my mouth.
As the liquid hit the bottom of my stomach it was like I could feel the water running in my veins. I felt renewed and alive.
“Acesha, give me a drink of water,” I heard her voice coming from a far. I turned toward the living room. A youthful image of her stood in the doorway of the kitchen. I smiled as the memories of her flashed in my mind.
“Yes ma’am.”
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
C. S. Dorsey currently lives in Northern California. She graduated from the University of Phoenix with an Associate’s Degree in Financial Services, and is currently working for a financial institution. She never thought about writing until one day this girl started talking to her in her head and never stop.
For more information on C. S. Dorsey go to http://csdorsey.blogspot.com
Other books by C. S. Dorsey
The Unsacred Gift
Available Now!
The Anitdote
Available Now!
Blood of a Wolf
Coming Soon!