Changing Color, by Usaravelli

The late February sky was gray and as usual I could not get a parking space close to the condo. There was a chill in the air and just a hint of snow to come. I shivered as I pulled my coat closer to me walking quickly toward the dimly lit stairwell. I had looked at the clock on the dashboard before getting out of the car and realized it was just after six. I step quickly, grateful to have made it on time after the long bus ride from downtown DC to the commuter parking lot at Walmart. That’s where each morning he left the station wagon he bought last summer for our new family. He would leave the baby with his mother since I left for the city far earlier than she desired to be disturbed. She was very specific about the timing of drop off and pick up and got extremely upset with me if I was 5 minutes late even though any sort of bus malfunction was out of my control. I dreaded the thought of again dealing with a dirty diaper likely the only one he had worn all day, and a little boy fresh from a 3 hour nap at the end of a long weekday. The woman had no sense, letting a child sleep for three hours each day, didn’t she know it kept us up at night, or perhaps she didn’t care. I climbed the steps to the third floor with a heavy heart the way I always felt when I had to confront these people on my own, not so harsh now that we shared a common fear one that would bind us together for just a little while longer. I always wondered if they knew what they had done to contribute to the predicament that I was now in and what it meant for the future of their precious first grandson.

 

I wait over 5 minutes afraid to knock or ring the bell too many times for fear that it will be perceived as aggressive, a blatant display of the impatience I feel for now I need them to be my allies. I hear muffled words, footsteps, and the click of a light finally. She answers the door just as I get ready to knock again and I swallow my irritation knowing they hold my baby from me on the other side of the locked door. She smiles wanly, “Hello Usara, Rahul is still sleeping.” She rubs her eyes, narrow, almost Oriental in her features, her hair still jet black. A once beautiful woman now a mere shadow of her former self, stuck in a life of dependency on her children. Her sons her greatest accomplishment, precious jewels to this pious woman who now takes her place as the tyrannical matriarch fully expecting them to fulfill their duty to their aged parents according to Hindu tradition, self-righteously terrorizing the only daughter in law. The venom in her eyes has lessened now that she knows my troubles, still blurry and face still puffy with sleep, she adjusts her ponytail, and lets me in. She stumbles toward the kitchen murmuring that she will make tea, a daily ritual after the long afternoon slumber. All I want is my little boy. To wrap him up pack him up and whisk him home, away from the demons which haunt me in the little dingy apartment yellow infused light glowing bright into the dark stairwell at this hour. She lets me enter, and I look around, for my Rahul taking in the drawn vertical blinds yellowing already, shelves and tables cluttered with dusty trinkets and photos of a family I was not meant to be a part of.

We sit down at the table covered with a sticky plastic cloth brightly decorated with flowers and I sip the watery brew, afraid to turn it down for fear of offending them when all I want to do is go home. We are silent, each one consumed with our own thoughts, munching the “Ritz” crackers, a poor substitute for Tiffin. Finally she breaks the spell and asks me how things are at home. “The same,” I reply, “he doesn’t speak to me, he doesn’t come home for meals, and I’m so worried what will happen to Rahul, do you know what he is planning? How can he do this?” The words tumble out of me. I look to the older woman for answers but she has none, both mother in law and father in law, “his” parents look into their cups, mouths tight, tense lines of worry clearly visible, all of us fearful for the future of a little boy.

 

I set down my empty cup and go into the darkened master bedroom room to retrieve my baby; he sleeps so softly and peacefully in their bed, just a mattress on the floor. I lift him gently and squeeze him tight, absorbing his warmth, my son, his silky hair soft against my cheek, his warm cheeks flush with sleep and his perfect little body nestled against my breast, I breathe in his scent and immediately I want to take him home and wash off their odor. I miss him so throughout each day aching each minute spent away and each second that he spends with them, instead of me, for he is all I live for right now. I smile and make small talk as I put on a cheerful front, swiftly changing his diaper wrapping him up in the bright red Osh Kosh coat bought last year, two sizes too big. He struggles like a wiggly little worm reluctant to go out into the cold evening air. I carefully collect his things as they watch and shower him with words of love, calling him their little Raja. I look to my mother in law and ask her again, “what will we do, how can we go on alone? What will happen to us?” She blinks and shakes her head from side to side finally offering me her thoughts, speaking my name, this time gently rolling her R the way that Indians do. “Usara, you must be brave, you must do your duty, whatever happens Rahul will be with you, it is very important for you to you remember that. As you raise him he will be your partner and he will always be with you. You must have courage for your son. And so it began.

Reviews

[Holly]

Very nicely written, not much I would change to be honest! Wish there was more, looks like you're off to a great start though :) Keep up the great work :)