K.Esquivel-LWFC

She was sitting by the window of the doctor's
little laboratory in back
of the patio behind his house. The light that
filtered in through the
window struck her shoulders and provided a
faint sensation of warmth,
so slight it was almost imperceptible. A
chronic chill kept her from
feeling warm, in spite of being covered with
her heavy woolen
bedspread. One of her greatest interests
was still working on the
bedspread each night, with yarn John had
bought for her.
Of the whole house, this was the place they
both her. She could move
them however she pleased, yet she didn't
know what to do with them,
other than knitting.
She had never taken time to stop and think
about these things.
At her mother's, what she had to do with her
hands was strictly
determined, no questions asked. She had to
get up, get dressed, get
the fire going in the stove, fix breakfast, feed
the animals, wash the
dishes, make the beds, fix lunch, wash the
dishes, iron the clothes,
fix dinner, wash the dishes, day after day,
year after year.
Without pausing for a moment, without
wondering if this was what she
wanted. Now, seeing her hands no longer at
her mother's command, she
didn't know what to ask them to do, she had
never decided for herself
before. They could do anything or become
anything.
They could turn into birds and fly into the air!
She would like them
to carry her far away, as far as possible.
Going to the window facing the patio, she
raised her hands to heaven;
she wanted to escape from herself, didn't
want to think about making a
choice, didn't want to talk again. She didn't
want her words to shriek
her pain.
She yearned with all her soul to be borne off
by her hands.
She stood that way for a while, looking at the
deep blue of the sky
around her motionless hands. Tita thought
the miracle was actually
occurring when she saw her fingers turning
into a thin cloud rising to
the sky.
She prepared to ascend drawn by a superior
power, but nothing
happened.
Disappointed, she discovered that the smoke
wasn't hers.
It originated in a small room at the far end of
the patio.
Its chimney was emitting such a pleasant
and familiar aroma that she
opened the window to inhale it liked best.
Tita had discovered it the
week she arrived at Dr. Brown's. John,
ignoring Mama Elena's order,
had not put Tita in a madhouse but had
taken her to live with him.
Tita would never be able to thank him
enough. In a madhouse she might
have become truly insane. But here, with
John's warmth toward her in
word and manner, she felt better each day.
Her arrival there was like
a dream.