The Question I Never Got to Ask
Before she died, there was already so much silence between us that death felt almost redundant.
I envied people who felt ecstatic each time the idea of going over to their nana’s was mentioned. I almost grew up thinking I had none, until one day, we all woke up and Mama had packed all our bags. We were moving. She woke us abruptly; the day was still young and I could still hear the cicadas. I frowned, leaning on the window frame, wondering why we were going anywhere. It was just the weekend, but school was still in full swing during the weekdays. Most puzzling of all, it was second term, most schools never gave admissions during this time.
“Where are we going?” I slurred, stretching, as she tried to help me into the bathroom. She looked down at my feet, but when she looked up, her eyes were wet.
“To Grandma’s,” she said, forcing a smile.
I needed time to read into her eyes, but she gently pushed me into the bathroom, into the suds-filled hands of my elder sister. Before I could think clearly, she was shaking the thoughts off my head, turning me angrily and rubbing soap all over my face. Elder sisters suck. Sometimes.
I liked how I still smelled like soap even after my skin had dried and Mama greased it with oil. She wiped my dusty shoes without saying a word; the only time she spoke was when she barked orders at my older ones. Then the thoughts returned. Was she sad about going? Why? If she was sad, then I had to be too.
A bus arrived later that morning and our things were packed into it. She said a quick but emotional goodbye to one of the neighbours, the only one she was fond of. Should I say goodbye to the house, or were we coming back? A bittersweet feeling settled in my chest. For the first time in twelve years, I would be meeting my grandmother.
The ride was hectic. I kept glancing at my wristwatch, a pink one Dad had bought me the previous Christmas after noticing I didn’t want to give my friend’s back during the school’s end-of-year party. It was my favourite possession and I wore it everywhere, considering that “everywhere” was important.
It took roughly six hours to get to our destination. The road changed, red and muddy, no longer tarred. I saw houses built with mud instead of bricks, roofed with leaves from palm trees. Artistic, I thought, smiling as I rolled down the window to inhale the air. My siblings, especially the older ones, were deadpan, so I pretended to be too. But I liked the scenery. There wasn’t much bustling or honking of cars. I saw towering trees left to grow without pruning. Maybe grandma’s wouldn’t be that bad after all, I sighed, reclining in my seat and letting the new air hit my greased face.
The driver soon turned into a perfectly swept compound. A pear tree stood at its centre, its leaves scattered on the ground. The sun was scorching; my throat felt dry. The engine soon went off and the driver pushed the door open. We jumped down, all five of us. The last was still very much a baby, swaddled in Mama’s arms.
My gaze travelled until it met the eyes of a woman. Her silvery hair glistened as sunlight grazed it; her skin was twisted with age, her eyes weary, her hands scarred by time. She must be Grandma, I thought, just before my elder sister dashed into her arms. Grandma smiled, a wide grin, as she put down the knife she was holding and pulled her into a warm embrace.
Wanting to belong, I ran forward too, but all I received was a side hug and an identity question. My smile didn’t disappear completely as I answered. My other siblings joined in and were welcomed the same way I was. Only the eldest of us received the full warmth, tight hugs and small talk.
Mama arrived last, rocking the baby, who was now wailing and demanding attention. I watched the exchange of looks between them. Neither of them looked happy, but smiles were forced.
As time passed, it became clear we were not going back. Mama and Nana constantly bickered. Nana complained about everything, she cursed, swore, and one day, when her bitterness seemed to choke her, she finally said it out loud, the words I dreaded but badly wanted her to say to feed my curious. I was standing in the corridor when it happened, and her words stung. Mama’s eyes welled with tears. She said nothing as she slid to the ground, while Nana stomped away in rage.
It then made sense why Nana never visited when we were babies. Mama once told us, perhaps mistakenly, that it was normal for grandmothers to bathe their grandchildren, even just once. Ours never did. But I also heard she bathed the eldest of us.
Soon enough, it became clear we were never returning to the bustling city we grew up in. Mama rented an apartment and we moved there. We rarely saw Nana after that.
Years passed. I grew into an adult, and then the news came, Nana was terribly ill and bedridden. Mama frequented the hospital and helped foot the bills. I accompanied her once, and that once was three days before the call that changed everything. Nana pulled Mama close and said she wanted a word. Her hands trembled as she tugged at Mama’s blouse. I turned my gaze away so they wouldn’t think I was disrespectful, but I listened.
“Never ever give me that final look in the face before I’m buried,” she whispered. Then she let go.
Mama’s expression changed. My lips twitched. For a brief, unkind moment, empathy slipped and the question burned in my throat: Why do you hate my mother so much? I told myself I would ask her someday, when she got better, even if the feud shifted entirely to me. After all, she never really cared for the rest of us. The bond between grandmother and grandchildren was thin. I feared her.
But three days later, after swearing she would get better and that I would finally ask my question, the dreaded call came. The eldest of us wailed and kicked at the floor. The rest of us, including Mama, sat in shock, our pot of tears suddenly dry.
There are things death doesn’t steal; it waits for you to realise you never took them.
A certain prompt evoked this feeling in me, and I had to put it down, even though I didn’t get the chance to submit my entry before it expired. Still, these are words I never got to say before time ran out. In another life, if there is one, and I stumble upon her, it will be the first thing to escape my lips.