Gypsy Soul

A short story based in real life. Today being the last day of passover, I wanted to write something for my family.

I stand in the kitchen with my hands pressed on the counter- how could I have gotten it so wrong? I got the rice, the shrimp, the oregano... for f**k's sake, I even got the cinnamon! I did everything by the recipe; so how does my paella still taste like crap? I promised my dad I could do this- he had been so sad and homesick lately; just like he always got when the anniversary of her death rolled around.
Anouska- my grandmother.
I spent very little time around her; but I always loved her deeply. Her cooking was stellar, and she always told the most fascinating stories- stories in which moths were a symbol of death and owls were witches in disguise. The smell of cinnamon followed her wherever she went, as if it was part of her. I had actually spent years in vain trying to capture and recreate the smell, warmth, and homeliness of that small wood-fired kitchen in Spain.
I remember most vividly, how she always wore long sleeves- even when it was scorching hot. The way she eventually got too sick to care about the sleeves any longer; and her arms couldn't be concealed- revealing the serial number that had branded and dehumanized her when she was still a child- the ultimate mark of pain. One series of numbers was all that it took to transform a Gypsy queen and performance artist into docile victim.
She had always said in jest that my grandfather's love had managed to tame her... It took me years to realize that it hadn't been my grandfather who had done the taming; but rather the war. Still, she had kept so much from her people- the way she danced in the living room, the strange tongues in which she sang lullabies- I loved all of it.
"You too have a gypsy soul," she once told me, before we left Spain; "I can see it in in your step and hear it in your laugh. Don't lose that."
I wanted to grow up to be like her- to travel and dance where I could, feeding myself only with the magic, love, and experiences that I found along the way.
I was seventeen when she finally passed away, after years of battling cancer and endometriosis. I hadn't been to Spain since I was 10; but that house still felt like home. I remember my father's soft sadness- the  way he held an entire world on his shoulders without sobbing or saying a word.They had put her in a beautiful black sequined gown, ankle length and they left her barefoot- just like she would have liked. I pictured her dancing away; moving beyond this world and into another.
My vibrating cell phone brought me back to reality so abruptly that I could hardly speak.
"Hey dad," I say in an almost whisper when the disappointment of my ruined paella washes over me.
"There's my girl! How's the food coming?" - the excitement in his voice brings tears to my eyes...
"Listen, dad, can we go out to dinner instead? I'm so sorry, I know I promised but..." he interrupts me before I can finish the sentence.
"But you can't cook, and I know that. Thank you for trying anyway, it meant the world to me. What did you have in mind for dinner?"
"How does something with cinnamon sound?" I ask, finally smiling.
"Perfect" he responds,with a hint of a chuckle in his voice,"just perfect."

Reviews

[Everett DeValle]

A really awesome story told here, Amayrani...reminded me when I use to cook with my Grandma...I like his you told it too...a real voice...very modern yet told a tale of the old world. Nicely done.

[I Shred This Cabbage]

ah the smell of cinammon! there's a beautiful symmetry to this story. i see your memory is tinged with a blue light, it is a nostalgia for something that almost was. lovely :)

[Amayrani Franco]

Thank you!

[Clockwork]

I really like the way you describe your grandmother, especially with the sense of smell. That was just awesome! This is one of my favorite lines: ". I had actually spent years in vain trying to capture and recreate the smell, warmth, and homeliness of that small wood-fired kitchen in Spain." I also thought the image about the sleeves was very powerful and haunting. Once you revealed the number, the image and meaning of the sleeves unveiled so many things about her story without you even having to describe those things. I really like it when a writer is able to take a reader to those places through the strength of their description.

This is a very heartfelt tribute to your grandmother, and I'm very glad that I found it tonight.

[Amayrani Franco]

Thank you so much! It was a very personal story and at first it was hard for me to get some of it on paper- but she was such a beautiful and magic woman; she deserves all the recognition I can muster.

[Clockwork]

You're welcome! You did a really nice job of describing her. She sounds like she was a truly amazing woman.

[Amayrani Franco]

She was! Even though she was only in my life for a short time, she's been one of my biggest influences/ inspirations.

[Clockwork]

I can see how that could be. My great-grandmother was the same way for me.

[Amaya Sullivan]

Very nicely written, and full of nostalgia!