This is a guest post from Jason Lau as an imaginative story of this photo.
It’s a dry summer day – a dry wind, a dry sun. The heat in the air rests heavy on her brow, trickling in small beads like ants making their way down the side of her face. It’s difficult to breathe outside in such weather; much better to set up camp in front of the TV across from the steady rotation of the fan rather than venture outside, but the dread of chores yet undone, and the sudden shrill call of her mother, pushes her to cast open the screen door.
A rusty bike, a homemade swing, and a plastic ball make their dwelling out here amidst the weeds and dirt. She goes out to greet them. Upon their embrace the soft crackling of leaves sitting out in the garden brings forth images of buttery popcorn at the movie theater, followed by the image of cold air conditioning at the movie theater. She shivers at the thought, and smiles.
Here, within the confines of these low brick walls, together with the rusty bike, the homemade swing and the plastic ball, she is princess and ruler all rolled into one. “May all bow at my feet,” she chuckles, scattering her subjects across the field. Not one dares to complain. But the prince would have said something. Even the all-powerful princess needs her prince: the one who will lift her up to touch the sky, the one who tells her which piece to play during backgammon, the one who calls her “canım”.
She leans back against the soft plastic seat, step-step-step backwards, then release with legs outstretched. Apex – bend knees – fly back – apex – stretch legs; over and over, each repetition bringing her a bit higher, one centimeter closer to the sky.
What if I could set my hands free to feel the rush of air? What if I could stretch out my arms rather than my legs, wave them and fly? What if I too could join the sky?
There was the evening when the prince took her to watch the night filled with stars, and then patiently spoke their each and every name. There was the weekend the two of them scampered out to the field with a homemade contraption the prince called a “uçurtma” and tried to make it soar across the pale cloudless sky. There was the promise of boarding a real airplane together so she could see the entire world spread out like ants and anthills at her feet.
Apex – bend knees – fly back – apex – stretch legs. The dry wind rushes past her cheeks, ruffling her curly hair tied up in a bun, back and forth. “If only I could reach the sky”, she murmurs.
But that was a long time ago. The prince hasn’t been around for a while now. Loud voices, pitched screaming, slamming doors, and a note of finality befitting of silence accompanied by soft whimpers from the kitchen was the last sounds the prince left with the princess, once upon a blue moon eve. In the darkness of her bedroom, playing her role as a sleeping sheep, she could only grasp at the sounds of his departure, nothing more. He went off into the sky, never ever to return, her mother always reminds her.
One moment the sky seems so close, within the reach, just a bit further. The next she is swept back the other directions, staring at dirt and struck by the reality of gravity. That is until the next moment.
But airplanes always land, homemade kites flutter back down to rest, and even stars sometimes fall from the sky back to earth. If she cannot reach the sky, perhaps the sky will come to meet her, perhaps the prince will wander back down from above once again.
The gate creaks open. She looks.
Tags: uçurtma
On behalf of all the fish in the universe: Yes, we have memory!
