Elementary: A glimpse

You don’t need to cough if the room is clean. There are no flowers around, at least not any with pollen.

You can see the garden from the window, which they had insisted should be the size of a door. You had your chance to talk but kept your piece of mind.

There, there is the tree you planted. It’s a mango tree, they said, but from what you see it’s a lime tree your size and two feet higher – you think? You will check on it later.

Take a step closer.

Slide your tips down the sidewall. Dab it on the ledge. There should be some dust. You’ll rub it though, against your thumb, it’s slight and your ruddy finger is still visible. Now you recall the feeling. Whenever your fingers move across your desk, they have been triggering memoirs of this place. A moment, you stare at the screen, another your soul has vamoosed consequently beginning the loop that always comes after the phone call.

Take a step closer.

Lean to the wall. Same old smell: tangy citrus, refreshing, slightly tingly… don’t let a tear fall, yet. The tree they tricked you to planting brightened your play. Every month you went to check on your new creation. Every day you went to check on your new creation. Every hour the plant remained the same, a seedling.

You picked the leaves selectively when they crowded, told them how pruning works for grapes and should work for mangoes too but, you didn’t throw the leaves. No, no you did not. Their essence if you rubbed them well on the wall, could do wonders. Becky would wonder but she never came. Simon, oh, Simon just had to wonder but they chose John’s house for the sleepovers. The whole fiasco left only you in wonder.

Now you know why the wall remained green without even a hint of juiciness.

Take a step back.

Yes. The ceiling is just a hop away. One, two… no one’s looking.

Jump!

Knew it wasn’t that high. Why now you can’t reach it while some schools ago you drew a flower right at the center of the room just round the Phillips. Pure crayon on 10×14 gypsum. Lucky YouTube was nowhere around homes, otherwise, you would not be here today; you would have been a star, a political force of Let Us Be Who We Are, with a hashtag and…

Trace the center.

A few steps back when the pillowcase made jumping sacks, when pillows made boundaries for Cold Wars and Sibling POVs. One step back now books form backgrounds for videos, now books make pieces of Wars and –

There’s one more thing, a lot one more thing-s.

This room had never seemed to have corners. Look around. The walls curve if not straight but is that so? The window is on a straight wall, the door is on a straight wall; the door is directly opposite the window maybe the door is slightly to the left. The walls converge like Gibson.

There is something odd.

You have been looking at the convergences, one from the door to the right, the bathroom borders. You always tapped the wall trying to call your brother whenever Lego gave you a rainbow wall, but he had to answer a longer call. You never cared really. Just wanted to frustrate his call from one of the Gibson tips. Hardball.

But when you were the one answering the call the wall you rapped from this side was covered flat with tiles half way up.

That’s odd.

You move suspiciously to the wall you slapped. It is flat even now. Your hand moves to the curves on either sides. Nothing. No slight bump, the walls blend smoothly to your once percussive SOS.

You part the spot, turn to the other end with the same shape.

Midway, you stop. Once you hid a letter.

Simon wrote on cardboard. It became a zillion dollar letter. You hid it from your brother who if he had found it would have any a, b, d, e, g, o, p, q shaded. He did that with all the storybooks, and you passionately joined him up until his cheeks glowed red under mummy’s fingers.

Simon wished you more birthdays, till your head grows white, he wrote. It was modest cliché with gold speckles and the hand of a... well, of Simon. And you hid the letter somewhere in this room.

There was nothing more enticing than watching Amazing Race as a family. People ran to specific points, collected tips, moved ahead to be first on the finish line. You all gathered before the episodes began. You were the first in the race, speculating who would win.

You are similarly obsessed to win. You against your younger version. Who will find the yellow post first?

Soon you will discover how clever you were. You knew all the nooks and crannies, where dad kept your crayons when you refused to clean the wall, where mum placed her Wrigley after coming with shopping bags, where bro kept his unique collection of stamps, pins, cents, comic strips.

You look outside before crossing the window. Your mango tree is calling you to taste its sour fruits. Here in this warm-filled room, Simon beckons to the younger you.

You take a deep breathe.

Cool air tickles your nose. Forgotten pinafores sprayed with eau de toilet, lavender air fresheners all seem buried somewhere, faint yet consciously close.

The more you think, the more the smells flood, the more recollections bombard, the more you draw close to home.

A tear drops.

You miss your brother. He never liked coriander but he got over it. He also made everyone aware that he disliked eggs, and it stuck, but somehow he devoured cakes and pancakes. You can remember how he wore your shirts to occasions, you shared the same wardrobe and that is where your eyes have just rested.

But there’s nothing here except you.

Take a step closer.