Brigitta Hodgetts

ALW101 Writing Craft Assessment Two Memory as Seed Gitta Hodgetts 216203643 “OUR LITTLE FLOWER” Poppy pushed the cup of tea across the table towards her grandmother. She was a small girl, only about ten, with straight blonde hair hanging down past her hips. “It's at two o'clock Grandma.” “My two o'clock or your two o'clock?” “Your two o'clock,” Poppy said, her blues watching her grandmother’s hands slide back and forth across the tabletop. Her grandmother’s frail hand knocked against the ceramic cup and she jerked it back. “Fresh pot?” Poppy nodded pointlessly. She had never been able to break that habit because her grandmother never gave the impression that she was blind. She always knew when Poppy entered the room. She could tell when someone opened the pantry, even who had opened the pantry. Poppy's mother had a new boyfriend who thought he could manipulate Grandma and take things without her grandmother noticing. Poppy smiled, Grandma was smarter than that. I'm blind but I'm not stupid, she'd say. Poppy turned her eyes back to her grandmother’s face. Lillian Bud was her name and it was a name that demanded respect. Poppy had heard tales of her grandmother’s history of strength. Lillian had lost her sight in the war but Poppy was never sure how. Poppy's mother had so many versions of the story, some involving gas attacks, others relying on chemical spillage at the hospital or just plain bad luck. Never let the truth get in the way of a good story, that's what Poppy's mother always said. It made Poppy wonder if anything her mother said was true. It was strange to think that the woman in front of Poppy, with her wrinkled lips curled back to blow on her tea, had tended the bedsides of wounded soldiers while losing her sight. It was strange to think that anyone had, while sitting here in her grandmothers sunny, untouched dining room. “Grandma?” Her grandmother gulped loudly, more of a frog croak than a swallow and put down her cup. “Yes little one?” “How do I make my nightmares go away?” “That depends sweet, what do you dream of?” Poppy paused. “Little one?” “Mum. I dream of Mum. She yells at me and she doesn’t stop. Not in my dreams.” Lillian stared across the table towards where she supposed her granddaughter sat. Her granddaughter was having nightmares about her mum. Lillian sighed and ran her fingers up and down the side of her cup. “Why does that scare you? It's only noise? Noise fades. Even the loudest of noises.” Poppy didn't want to gulp or sniff. Right now her grandmother was clueless to the tears running down Poppy's face and she wanted it to stay that way. It was no use though; her voice gave her away as soon as she spoke. “When...when she speaks...it's, it's like I-I-I-” Lillian's hand reached out and brushed the top of her granddaughter’s clenched fist, silencing Poppy's stutters. The blurry build up in Poppy's eyes spilled over and Poppy took a deep breath. “You can't what little one?” Poppy took another deep breath. And another. “Breathe. The more she yells...the less I can breathe.” Lillian nodded, “I understand.” Poppy abandoned her chair and crawled into her grandmother’s lap. Her tartan skirt was itchy and she smelled of dust and those funny drops she put in her eyes. Poppy had always associated such smells with greatness though. Old history books filled with the tales of Caesars and revolutionaries, the itchy old uniforms men from the army had to wear and that medicine smell that doctors always seemed to have. These were the smells of greatness. This was what it felt like to be touching a hero. They were the smells and the feel of Poppy's grandmother. “Would you like to know what I do when I get scared?” Poppy sniffed and looked up, “You get scared?” Lillian chuckled and wrapped her arm around her granddaughter’s shoulder, “Of course.” “But you're you Grandma.” “And you're you little one.” Poppy didn't know what to say to that. She sure didn't think it proved any sort of point. “What do you do?” “I pray.” “You pray?” “I pray.” “To who?” “Whoever is listening.” *** Poppy's grandmother was laughing. Even the blurry depths of her unseeing eyes were twinkling as she lapped her tongue around the edge of her chocolate icecream. “Where does it end?” Lillian laughed, chopping her hand higher and higher through the air as though looking for the end of her dessert. Poppy let out a giggle, her grin stretching around the side of her face, all thoughts of nightmares gone. Lillian waggled her tongue out again, holding the ice cream away from her as though it were so big the distance was required. The front door banged shut. A laugh got caught in Poppy's throat. Lillian froze. “Muuum” came the voice of Poppy's mother, “Are you ready for your shower?” Lillian didn't reply and she didn't move. Poppy kept her eyes on her grandma as Bianca’s footsteps came down the hall. Clack. Clack. Clack. Poppy found that her heartbeat had begun to beat in time with her mother's footsteps. Ba-boom-clack. Clack-ba-boom. Ba-boom-clack. Clack-ba-boom. Bianca appeared in the doorway. She was a big woman with short tufts of hair like straw and small squinting eyes. “What's all this?” Neither Poppy nor her grandmother spoke for a second. Poppy's heart had begun to set its own chest-hammering pace the moment her mother had stopped walking. “We were just having some ice-cream,” Lillian whispered. Poppy had never seen her mother's face so red and she sank back in her seat when her mother's eyes, like burning coal, turned towards her. “Oh? We were, were we?” “Yes love, I -” “Don't love me. Where is Poppy's ice cream then?” “I finished it Mu-” “Shoosh Poppy, adults are talking now.” Poppy looked over at her grandmother. The tall fearless woman from the war was gone. In her place was a hunch-backed, frail old lady who seemed to be hiding behind her chocolate ice cream. “I said you were to be ready by nine thirty. It's. Twenty. To. Ten.” Neither Poppy nor her grandmother replied. There wasn't much point. After all this time, both of them knew when to admit defeat. Bianca flew across the room like a harpoon shot from the bow of a ship. Her hand flew forward and caught Lillian's wrist like a cobra snatching up its prey then recoiled, pulling Lillian out of her chair. Poppy's heart seemed to jump up into her throat when her grandmother let out a startled cry. The ice cream cone fell to the floor as Lillian’s arm was jerked forward in Bianca’s grip. “Mum what are you-” “Shoosh Poppy and clean up the ice-cream while I shower your grandmother.” “Bianca I need my cane. Bianca!” Lillian pleaded. “What do you need a cane for? I'm holding you up for God’s sake,” Bianca said, pulling her mother across the room. Poppy watched wide-eyed from her chair as her mother dragged her Grandma from the room. She was numb all over. How could such joy turn to such fear so fast and then all turn into nothing? Poppy rose, feeling like her limbs were being manoeuvred by a puppet master rather than by her own free will. She could hear her mother yelling at her grandmother in the bathroom. “TAKE THEM OFF AND GET IN THE SHOWER. NOW.” Poppy pulled the carpet cleaner and a sponge from the top shelf in the kitchen. “Bianca I can't find the zip, where is it?” Poppy moved back to the lounge room in a zombie like state. “RIGHT WHERE YOU DAMN WELL LEFT IT MOTHER.” Poppy knelt down beside the chocolaty mess on the ground. “Bianca I need you to help me, I can’t find the -” Poppy sprayed at the ice-cream. “ALWAYS NEED ME TO HELP YOU.” Spray, spray, spray. “I'm sorry Bianca I -” Poppy scrubbed at the stains. “DO YOU THINK I LIKE SHOWERING YOU?” Scrub, scrub, scrub. “Bianca that water’s too hot.” Spray, spray, spray. “GET IN THERE, I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS.” Scrub, scrub, scrub. “Ow Bianca, it's too hot.” Poppy wiped the tears on her face away. “STOP BLUBBERING MOTHER.” *** Poppy lingered in the doorway of her grandmother’s room. She was tucked away under the layer upon layers of quilts and blankets on her bed. Only her little head poked out, her skin noticeably reddened when contrasted next to her white hair. “Little one, is that you?” “Sorry Grandma, I didn't want to wake you.” “No, no that's okay. Come here,” she whispered. Her voice was very faint, scratchy from all the crying. Poppy crept up to her bedside and reached up to brush a curl of hair back behind her ear. “Hop up here with me,” Grandma whispered. Poppy felt her heart lighten slightly and she pulled herself up on the bed, ducking under the covers. Grandma reached out her arm to cuddle Poppy closer to her body. “I'm sorry Grandma” Poppy whispered, one tear making its way on to her cheek. “What for sweet?” “I didn't say anything. I didn't help you find the zip or, or...” “Shh little one. I wouldn't have had it any other way.” Poppy nodded into the pillow and pulled the covers higher. “You see that painting above my bed?” Poppy didn't have to look up to know which one she was talking about. “The one of that lady with the cross?” “That's Saint Therese. I want you to have her when I die. She'll look after you when I'm gone. She'll help you dream good dreams. She's our little flower you know.” “What about before you die Grandma?” Lillian tightened her grip on her granddaughter and whispered, “I'll be your little flower till then.” Poppy smiled and closed her eyes, letting the warmth of darkness wrap its arms around her mind. That night Poppy slept without a shadow.