{"id":2543,"date":"2021-11-29T15:45:48","date_gmt":"2021-11-29T15:45:48","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/sites.rutgers.edu\/writers-house-review\/?page_id=2543"},"modified":"2021-11-29T16:04:29","modified_gmt":"2021-11-29T16:04:29","slug":"edna","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/sites.rutgers.edu\/writers-house-review\/volume-2-fall-2021\/edna\/","title":{"rendered":"Edna"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n

Sheethal Ayalasomayajula<\/em><\/h4>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was a lot of work waiting around for someone to die. Time moved like sludge, and everyone was waiting for that moment, that big kick of the bucket, to skim the scum gently and let things flow onwards. People were already preparing for the eventual dam-burst, hushed whispers arguing over the phone with loose-lipped lawyers. But they never could keep their volume down enough, so we all heard, and we all pulled our phones out to make our own inquiries because if they\u2019re doing it, I might as well.<\/em><\/p>\n

Uncle had pulled me aside one day, towards the beginning of the wait, his grip a little too tight. You get her jewels, <\/em>he\u2019d promised, all her jewels. <\/em><\/p>\n

And though I didn\u2019t particularly like jewelry and the scratchy weight of gold, I\u2019d grinned big and asked how long was left. Not long. Not long. <\/em><\/p>\n

My great-grandmother was holding on to her thread of life with every last bit of spite left in her body. And it was commendable, to see such a gnarled, wrinkled husk of a soul snap so quickly as relatives waited on her, arm and leg. She knew, like we all knew, that the gathering was more a hunt<\/em>, like when lions in a pride gathered to watch the sickest stray from the herd. In this case, though, she had been the head lioness, and the pride had turned on her, waiting for the slightest breath to steal from her body, ready to pounce. Less of a hunt<\/em>, and more of a scavenge. <\/em>We were a family of coward-vultures.<\/p>\n

Great-grandma took faith in knowing the family\u2019s desperation, and her demands piled frivolous burdens on the heads of the most ambitious. Her bath temperature had to be run to a certain degree, her food prepared a certain way, and if not, a torrent of the most hideous insults would come hurling down at whoever had dared mess up.<\/p>\n

I\u2019d seen many good cousins fall to her knife-like tongue, and I\u2019d laughed as each and every one scurried out of the room with about as much courage as a mouse. To me, her behavior seemed perfectly reasonable. She was, after all, a great-grandmother<\/em>, toeing the line of senile and sage-like with morbid agility and a geriatric two-step. Her words usually slipped off me and dripped to the floor while other relatives looked on with thinly-veiled trepidation.<\/p>\n

\u201cCan\u2019t even cook? Which man would ever want to marry you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI dunno,\u201d I mused. \u201cMaybe I\u2019ll marry a man who can cook. Maybe I\u2019ll marry a woman.\u201d<\/p>\n

And I served her an egg, sunny-side up, the edges burnt to a delightful char that stained her teeth black as she chewed thoughtfully. I bowed on the way out of the room, hair wet with the unburnt food she\u2019d thrown at me. She was surprisingly strong for someone so close to death. I let the shower run and watched the last of the hot water swirl down the drain.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re a horrible child.\u201d<\/p>\n

The other relatives found the ability from deep within to tolerate that cursed tongue that could hurl words like spears. I\u2019d had a lifetime to build my face, and I just nodded apologetically, watching my great-grandma shiver violently from her wheelchair, the frames creaking as more blankets were piled on.<\/p>\n

\u201cI really am sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n

And the crowd dispersed, pleased, and eyeing the way the bones jumped around under great-grandma\u2019s skin. She\u2019d been strong, but a cold at her age was nothing short of a death sentence. That day, as I made her breakfast, the church bell from the closest town rode the wind and echoed through the floors, slow and solemn.<\/p>\n

____<\/p>\n

The family estate was big, and the house overlooked the sea. It had been built some centuries ago to cater to a particularly sickly child in our lineage, and I swore that the upholstery bubbled with tuberculosis so I never sat down. Great-grandma hated the ocean, as did I, but for her sake, to escape the leering vultures, I kidnapped her and rolled her down the grass to watch the waves hit the cliff we were so nicely perched on. It was scenic, dismally so, with a slate-gray sky and an angry, frail thing shaking like a leaf beside me atop this big rock throne. She looked small, minuscule, and I knew I could crush her like a bug if I wanted.<\/p>\n

\u201cUncle said I\u2019d get all your jewelry if I stayed out of his way.\u201d<\/p>\n

Great-grandma barked, \u201cDid he? And what does he get?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe house,\u201d I motioned with a shrug. \u201cThe money. Maybe a family, since he\u2019ll have a house and money.\u201d<\/p>\n

She sniffed, indignant, and I mirrored it, the seat of my pants getting wet from the ground. I\u2019d put my foot in front of her wheels, purely precautionary, to avoid a tragic accident, and it was very slowly going numb.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe thinks he\u2019ll get the house?\u201d<\/p>\n

And she cackled like a witch, voice lost in the breeze. I watched her like I had when I was little, wondering how someone could stay a hundred forever. Not forever. <\/em>She was going to die one day.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell,\u201d Great-grandma nodded, knotting her fingers together in a firm pretzel, \u201cYou\u2019ll <\/em>need an awful lot more than jewels <\/em>if you\u2019re going to marry a man who can cook.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOr a woman,\u201d I added.<\/p>\n

\u201cEspecially that.\u201d She grimaced, and I smiled.<\/p>\n

\u201cEdna!\u201d<\/p>\n

We both turned with matching scowls.<\/p>\n

\u201cMe?\u201d Great-grandma asked, her lips flattened in a thin line. \u201cI hate that name.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, no.\u201d Uncle pointed at me. \u201cLittle Edna.\u201d<\/p>\n

I stood, nearly six feet tall, and made sure the brakes on great-grandma\u2019s wheelchair were on because I hated that name too.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t go anywhere,\u201d I pointed at her with a stern finger, and Great-grandma sighed waving me off.<\/p>\n

She settled back into her wheelchair looking out over the horizon and waited for the sun to set.<\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

Sheethal Ayalasomayajula<\/strong> is a sophomore at Rutgers New Brunswick’s School of Arts and Sciences. She is a cellular biology and neuroscience major who has always had a passion for writing and storytelling.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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