Reality is defined by experience, or so they say. For Ms. Mashu, it's a lot more serious and confusing than that.
Hi there, Hive!
Seems like ages since I last posted a piece of flash fiction. Better later than never! This is a story I wrote with the idea of perceived time-travel, but not objective travel. And, like my previous flash fiction story that bends reality subjectively, this character is not young.
Ms. Mashu finds herself out of time and place, in a city both familiar and yet strange. The story takes place in South Africa, in Johannesburg specifically, and references some native plants like gesiggies (faces, literally, known as pansies), protea (a large desert flower), and doringboom (a thorny tree).
Nothing the stewards said made sense. I wasn’t on a plane yesterday, I kept telling them, I was in my garden. They smiled and ushered me out of the plane.
I stood in the airport where clean air circulated and floating screens decorated every stall and room. None of it was familiar, like I’d been taken from home and put into some movie. Only the plants I recognised; gesiggies and proteas in countless pots lining the walls and between the rows of chairs.
I stared through the long glass windows that seemed to make up most of the walls, where a forest took up most of the view. Joburg was supposed to be a city and this place looked more like a jungle from a nature documentary.
Sharp light bounced from the sleek walls, aggravating a headache pulsing around my brain. I took a seat in the waiting lounge and stared out at the brilliant blue sky, serene and clear. An unending crowd of people weaved past. Their colourful garments, some tightly wrapped around the body like skin, others loose and flowing like the wind, ruined my view.
“Miss Mashu?” A woman, dressed in a sleek black suit from some pulp film, stood at the entrance.
“Yes?” I got up from the smart-foam chair. My temples throbbed.
She held out her hand and smiled. “My name is Kata and I'll be escorting you. Please follow me?”
“Where are we going?” I tailed her down the shimmering building, not out of obedience but because she looked like someone with answers.
“Your family asked me to assist you. They’re on their way to come fetch you.” Kata held open a door that led out to the street. She guided me to a wooden bench and helped me sit.
Potted plants and trees decorated the sidewalk around us, filling the air with their odour — evergreens and doringboom. I took a deep breath and filled my nose with their sweet scents.
An S.A.A plane glistened in the sun somewhat far in the distance opposite us. The shape, while slightly different from what I remembered, was at least familiar. In the horizon further away, spires of high-rise buildings made of glass peeked over the forests. Not a plastic bag in sight, no litter, in this whole area.
A car stopped in front of us, blocking the view of the park on the other side of the street.
“This is where we part ways, Miss Mashu.” Kata pressed her thin lips together into a smile.
The door of the slender car opened and a young woman climbed out. I knew her. Gloria, my baby.
She bent down and put her hand on my knee. “I’m so glad you’re alright, Ma. I was worried when the nurse called.” She looked to Kara, or was it Kata? “Thank you.”
“I’m fine.” I placed my hand over hers. She nodded then helped me into the car. The empty car. I looked at her. “Where’s the driver?”
Gloria let out a slight chuckle. “There is none, remember?” Her smile faltered. “It’s driven by a computer. Very safe.”
“I don’t think so,” I muttered while clutching the armrest of the door when the car started to move by itself.
“Ma, please.” Her voice sounded like a teenager’s when their parents were about to say or do something they thought would be embarrassing.
“It’s okay. There has never been an accident with them.”
“None?” My gaze shifted back and forth as each car passed by. I closed my eyes while fiddling with my fingers, until the chaos went away.
“Here, drink this.” Gloria placed a bottle of water, along with some blue pills, into my hands. The water cooled my head and the ache started to disappear.
The car came to a standstill and Gloria opened her door to get out. When I stood, glass-like buildings were before me with peach trees and hydrangea bushes surrounding them, filling the air with the sweet pungency of late harvest. I knew this place, somehow.
Threading her arm around mine, Gloria led me inside. “Welcome back home.” But this wasn’t the home I remembered.
She hugged me. “I’ll come around at eight tonight to visit, but first you must rest. I’m sure you’re very tired from all this?”
I nodded.
“Then sleep and I’ll see you after work.” She smiled, passing my hand to a woman I have fuzzy memories about, then left.
A knock on the door startled me. I shifted from the bed and the lights came on by themselves. The curved room was neat and filled with potted plants, a bonsai tree with moss covering the soil in a glass bowl stood in the middle of a table. At least the headache was gone. The door beeped then slid open.
Gloria stepped into the room with a smile. “Feel better, Ma?” She handed me a cup of something warm which I led to my lips without second thoughts.
“This is tea?” I took another sip. “It’s rich, and creamy.”
“It’s cockroach milk.” She let the words hang.
“Ugh please, I used to eat mopane worms when I was young.” I laughed, for the first time in ages it felt. “Roaches don’t frighten me.” My cheeks were stiff, heavy.
“Ma.” Her smile became a frown as she took my hand. “The neurologist says you can’t travel around like that any more. I know you don’t remember it but you’re safe here in the nursing home. Please don’t wander off again?”
When had my Gloria grown up? She was still a child just yesterday.
“My baby.” With a caress of her cheek, the cold of tears under my fingers, I sighed. “I’m home wherever you are.”
Now the few drops turned into streams. She held my hand against her cheek. “I know.”
I smiled and looked out the large window-wall of the room, nodding until the reason for doing so slipped away. “How’s my garden doing? Are the roses blooming yet?” The trees blocked the view to the lit paradise I knew was down there.
Gloria wiped her tears then led me down the escalator and out into the garden. “Just as you left it, Ma.”
She was right. The flowers and shrubs, all the way I liked them. A tension in my muscles released and my shoulders slouched. I patted her hand and smiled despite the growing headache. I would never want to leave. This was home, and Gloria was with me.
What a beautiful and bittersweet story, @anikekirsten. You take us into the life and mind of a woman who is becoming feeble, and perhaps losing her mental faculties as well. And we see her daughter's love and pain and complex emotions for her mother through the narrator's eyes. It made my heart ache!
Your story is its own microcosm. Every word rings true, and is a heartbreaking reminder of our fragility, and that — whether it is swift or slow — none of us leaves this world intact. Beautifully written.
I found this sad but sweet at the end. Great job with the plants, the way the character notices them through all the strange (to her) environments and the fact that she can name them. It helps create that feeling of being at home in the garden at the end. I also like the self-driving car ... hurry up TESLA, right? :)
Very neat story, had me intrigued to the end. Thanks for sharing.
I'm claiming this one for my book review @dreemport @dreemsteem 🙌 Can't wait to read it!
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