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    A new memory

One of the white strings of her new Nike shoes ended treaded on. Delia crushed the rebellion with two hard tugs and abandoned the asphalt diving into the wet earth. The grass had been cut a few weeks before and was tickling her naked ankles.
She walked on along the grass, leaving behind a fresh grassy trail. She quickly climbed uphill and reached the old cherry tree.

Her eyes looked at the leafy branches full of green cherries. They will change colour soon, she thought imagining the taste of the sweet red fruits she discovered to be greedy of.
The leaves trembled at the soft breeze, while the branches drew dancing shadows on the earth. Delia shivered, crossed her arms and shrugged her shoulders. She had forgotten her sweater in the car, but she could see a creamy sky through the branches of the cherry tree: the lot of the day hadn’t been decided yet. Foamy clouds – cut here and there by bright rays of light - chased the warm spring sun.

Uncaring of the wet grass, Delia sat under the old tree. From there above she could see the town. See without being seen. The wind played with her hair, as it were the leaves of the big cherry tree. She closed her eyes and listened to the silence enlivened by singing birds, buzzings and rustlings. She needed that silence to think.

She felt her back adhering to the old wrinkled trunk, adjusting to the familiar curvatures. A solitary ray of light warned her body. Her dark figure, sketched on the grass, played with the dancing leafy shadows. Suddenly the sky darkened. Delia looked up and watched the last rays of light dying behind the heavy clouds. They won, she thought while admiring the unexpected fight of the branches against the hard wind.

Delia felt the wind in her short red hair and with her had she caught it on her forehead. Her fingers grazed involuntary the scar on her right temple.
She got up and cleaned the earth on her trousers. She had her hair cut with a fringe to hide the disfigured forehead, but the memory of that first reflection, of that young woman with the head partially shaved and with a skinny body, never abandoned her. She couldn’t believe it was her. "Your name is Delia", they told her. "You had an accident."

The rumble of a thunder roused her, obliging her to leave the old cherry tree and go down the hill. She stopped after a few steps and turned back. Knowing that her name was Delia wasn’t sufficient. She needed new memories, memories that were only hers, even if she couldn’t remember her past anymore. She smiled. She wouldn’t let this go away.

She reached the asphalt again and hastily reached the car, where she found shelter just before the first drops of rain cut the air accompanied by the echo of a faraway thunder.

 

INFO AUTHOR

Written by Lara and translated from the Italian by Marta, 01st September 2009

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