Some Things Taste Like Home IV
"In the beginning, we were dead notes on a composer’s collection of songs."
Sometimes, when the crushing feeling of loneliness sits upon my soul, I think of my siblings and smile. Mostly, I smile for the realization that there are still living souls who really understand me; who really know when to let me be and when to be all over me; who really know how to make fun of me and still be in my good books. On the days when everyone physically present isn't as interesting as my siblings, I think of home and I smile.
Because, each breath, each step, each drum roll, each lecture, is an inch closer to home.
I think of my baby sister and her magnificent cheeks that stand when she smiles that half smile she always has on her cheeks. I try to think of the conversations we must have had in heaven long before God handpicked us to be soul siblings, centuries ago. When night hurries near, I think of her round face beside the lamp that always sits on the middle table in our sitting room after power has gone out, and I soak in the memory of the glow and shadows that form on the edges of her face. Angel. Angels.
Because each thought reminds the heart to never forget what home smells like and how home tastes like and why the heart is always at home.
Last night, I was home. The dream was so real, I felt I was dreaming when I woke up again in Dakingari. Last night, I held my mother's hands and soaked in the smell of her sweat as I listened to her narrate the events that have occurred since I departed in her cracked voice. Cracked voice, still, sounds like heaven opened an orchestra. I shut my eyes and bob my head to the requiem. Angels.
Tomorrow, when the beagle sounds, I will join the throng to the parade ground, again. And exist through the day, lonely, and thinking of my siblings.