Mima pt.2

"Let's all go back!! Let's all take a rickety row boat out to sea and go back! If we drown, I don't care! at least we all drown together!"

My Mima's lips had the stiffness of a stale sweet roll. If I could, I would climb her jagged nose and slurp from her deep-well dark eyes.

Different kinds of steam were rising from the stoves and from the oven, each carrying their own scents of musks. The afternoon sun revealed the steam's attempt to escape. Some through the hood vent, some through the open windows, wire netting, a cracked sliding door. Out to the blue spring sky. out to join others to become raindrops.

Some steam, though, got stuck. Condensing in the ceiling.

"That poor baby. Drowned in his own mother's womb. Lil' bastard tried to drag Nanis along with with him, too. Uh, uh. Thank yesus, yesus, yesus, yesus, it wasn't too late."

My thighs were perched on a high stool while my ashy fingers were peeling off shells off hard-boiled eggs. My Mima's legs were erect and her left arm was stirring the pot full of gizzards and livers, simmering in coconut milk along with onions, garlic, lemon grass, ginger, galangal, cumin, corriander and her own saliva as she was obsessively slurping the sauce of the ladel to taste.

"She almost bled to death this time around. The first time was simple. That baby came out and left. No fuss. This time, she got up all the way to the 3rd trimester. She was all excited. But then the bleeding started. First a trickle then a gush. It wouldn't stop. Almost all of her blood drained out... And now the doctor said that she's carrying cancer."

"Gary, Terry, Miss Jimmie, Dinner time!"

It was time for the afternoon supper for the assisted living residents where she worked as a caregiver.

"Brandon, Tanya, Dinner time!!"

As a life-long caregiver of the dying, her wrinkles had been baked hard by the god damn sun. The same god-damn sun that shone as harshly in Jakarta as it does here.

"Miss Jimmie, come on honey! Miss Jimmie!!"

The same god damn sun that evaporated her memories of childhood play, snacks and good sex.

"Kara, Gary, come on it's dinner time!"

No, no, no, no,no. The residents weren't having HER food. Her food was HERS. The smell of spicy musk and the taste of sweet savoriness were HERS. That one drop of sweat that skated from her thinning hair, down the length of her arm and into the pot was the mark of ownership. her food was HERS.

"Miss Jimmie, come on honey! Miss Jimmie!!"

On the other hand, the residents were having 90% lean tyson's chicken breasts, marinated in kraft's italian dressing then broiled with a sprinkling of seasoned salt. My Mima poked a breast... As long as the juices ran clear.

"These damn white people would starve if chickens decided to just up and fly. he, he, he, he... Just imagine, old Mcdonald walks into an empty coup... he,he."

My Mima scooped the chicken onto the plates of mushy green beans and mushier chicken flavored stuffing. She wiped the grease and the crumbs off the counter. She delivered the plates to the dinner table two at the time, eight total. opened the medication cart and delivered two sets of meds to two residents. picked up the pots and pans off the stoves and cleaned around liver/gizzard curry pot to create an immaculate halo. Hoisted the them over to the sink to soak them lest they get crusty. She turned on the faucet. ...............................................................................She then... froze. As if her spirit escaped the body.

She began to rotate her neck.... slowly.... up and down. Her shoulders are rising and falling to the rhythm of the wind. It was as if a cool breeze blew through the kitchen, when in fact there was none. With her middle and ring fingers she began to massage the root of her neck.

I was still sitting down, peeling eggs, gazing.

In awe of her deeply worn back, breasts, hips, thighs, legs, feet, toes.

My mima seemed as though she was ready to turn into LIQUID.

The sink water continues to run for no reason.

"I wanted to go back this year, but money is worth less and less and less... Now your cousin has cancer, Anna's business failing, no jobs, that fucking al-qaeda setting up shop in front of my house... I just can't."

"As long as I don't die here. In this country. This country's no place to die."

:"But I still look good, don't I? Not like your other grandma... god, she's turning into a troll!"

"You know why still look good? Mayut told me once... I have a soul of a fish..."

"She actually got that from an old dangdut song:

I have a soul of a fish
Oh when this boat's a sinking
I ain't gonna drown"