Relative

A new skincare center opened near my house. I could use a facial. I look at least 5 years older than I actually am. It has been a few rough months; I haven't had enough sleep or good food to eat., I’m taking this week off.

I called in and booked an appointment and went in on a Tuesday morning. IKEA furniture and colorful walls. Paper flowers decorating every corner and smiling staff in white uniforms. There was something authentic about the place nevertheless, it was fresh but also real. Not Plastic. I sat in the sunny waiting room and was called in a few minutes later into a small room with a massage bed

and lots of equipment. A tall older lady walked into the room. She had blue eyes and thin blonde hair. She greeted me and asked me lay down as she started prepping the steam machine. She stroke up a conversation with a heavy accent as she washed my face; where do you work, are you married, do you have kids, what do you do on weekends. I told her how I have been feeling really tired lately, there is nothing actually wrong with me, but I’m genuinely exhausted for no apparent reason, and it all started a few months earlier after my 28^th birthday.

She told me how her family came here from Ukraine and started a farming business. But she was always interested in beauty, she wanted to paint and design dresses and jewelry. She started doing hair and makeup in the saloon of a small town and worked her way through becoming a skincare specialist. The way she spoke. As if she knew already knew the answers to her questions, as if she

was waiting for the right moment to tell me a deep dark secret. I was looking into her sharp eyes as she was finishing the facial massage, and something happened. She stopped suddenly and said, you know, I don't think you are sick physically, I think you’re under a curse. I laughed nervously and dropped the subject, is this woman for real? I don’t even read my horoscope! Yet, her words

hit a spot for some reason. I think it was her confidence, her sureness of what she just said. We both remained silent for the rest of the session, but as I was getting ready to leave, I turned to her and asked her why she had said that.

She said that her grandmother had a gift for these things, she could feel people’s energy, that’s where she got it from. She said that from the moment I walked through her door, she felt something wasn’t right, my energy was disrupted due to an outside presence – Well, that is not very helpful, now is it?

She went on “You should ask your mother or grandmother, your family had seriously wronged a women and she never forgave them, and her sorrow shadows every woman in your family and will continue to do so until you do something about it”.

Something like what? “Find out who that woman is and what happened to her and fix it”

Are you serious? Am I being pranked? What is going on her?! “I wouldn’t joke about something like this”.

I decided to walk home after. I needed time to process all of this. Why did this woman get to me? What is all of this crazy talk about curses? Should I have said something to the management?

Then twenty minutes in, I realized I was heading to my grandma’s place, I wasn’t walking in the direction of my own house. I kept going and grandma was glad to have me over for dinner. I do tend to overthink sometimes. This is nothing, I shouldn’t let it get to me. I will just go out to water the plants on the balcony.

As grandma and I were having dinner, the conversation came kept coming back to my head and I just had to ask, so I did, I asked my grandma if there has ever been a woman in our family who had trouble, like someone who was cast away or hurt and never got her rights back. My grandma’s face paled. She said no, why would you ask something like that. I said that I feel like we maybe cursed because of something of the sort, she fell silent for a moment and then said no, there is no such thing and that was the end of that. I don’t think my grandma has ever lied to me before.

I know how to get to the bottom of this. The ancient photo album. I snuck it out of grandam’s and took it home. I stayed up all night and there it was. There’s a little girl that appears in the photos with my grandpa as an adolescent, but she disappears after he turns twenty. I searched the back of the photos as well, and I think I figured out her name. Jamila.

I went back to my grandma’s the next morning and showed her the photo with the name on the back. At first grandma denied knowing her. She might be a neighbor; grandad’s family had moved out of their original town when he joined the army. I wasn’t taking this. If she was a neighbor how come she’s in family photos? She may have been close to your grandpa.

I want the truth and you’re not telling me the truth Nana. Who is this little girl?

After a couple of hours of this back and forth, grandma gave up and said she’d tell me, but I have to promise to never tell anyone. I promised.

My grandfather had a sister. They had a special bond. Girls weren’t that outspoken back in the day, but she was, she wanted to be a lawyer and grandpa supported her. People in their town thought they’re one crazy family, they didn’t want their daughters around her, they told her mother she’ll never find a husband, but she didn’t care, she was always herself, confident, wild and strong. Then, after their parents died in the sudden car accident, and while grandpa was away in the army, their uncle married her off against her well to a wealthy old man and he took their home and farm. She was sixteen. She tried running away but her new husband moved her away and locked her in. By the time grandpa returned home, she had two boys and was but a shell of her old self. He went to visit her, and she begged him to help her get a divorce and return home, but respectful girls back then didn’t get divorces, that just wasn’t okay. He couldn’t help her, he already had bigger debts to settle with his uncle and could barely provide himself and his new wife and baby. Her husband died before her 28^th birthday and no one ever heard of her or her two children after that. Grandpa looked for her for a while, but then came the war and he had to leave with grandma and their four children. Once they established their new life here they tried looking for her, some people said she died in the war, some said her children died and she joined the rebels and some said she took her own life and her children went into foster homes. I felt my heart break listening to her story. They took her spirit away. Of course we’re cursed.

A few days went by. I tried to take my mind of things. I went on long walks with my husband. Had a girls’ night out and danced. But deep down inside of me I knew I needed to do something about this.

My husband is a lawyer and he has access to many public records, this may not be the best use of that, but, well, I’m desperate.

We entered her name through the system and got found out she died in the 70’s, her children came to the same city as us after her death and stayed with a distant relative of their father. One of them was still alive, he was a lawyer whom my husband actually knew.

After more arguments than I care to remember, we went through and invited him for a cup of coffee at our house. I felt nervous all day waiting for him to come. We had small talk at first, I asked a few too many questions and he must have thought I’m creepy!

Later on, I mustered some courage and brought the old photos. I slowly explained that I think our two families are related. I showed him the photo with the name on the back and he teared up. Then I told the whole story as I know it.

Apparently, his dad was abusive to them and to her. She was broken, but still managed to shed light into their lives. She baked orange cake and it was the best thing he ever had. His older brother was shot in the war and he and his mum managed to come here in the mid-sixties. She contracted pneumonia seven years later and died. He had to move with a distant cousin of his father, and he moved out once he was eighteen. His father left him a lot of money which he used to buy a house and pay for law school. He remembers grandpa vaguely and said his mother kept calling his name on her deathbed. She wasn’t a bitter woman, in spite of everything that happened to her. The world just wasn’t ready for her. He has a daughter now, Jamila, and he tells her about the great woman she was named after.

I invited him to meet the rest of the family, it wasn’t much but it was all I had to offer, a second chance at family. We got together that next Friday. A breezy June night. We had barbecue and music. Everyone looked happy and at ease with each other. As I was handing out the drinks I thought, you know I don’t feel so tired anymore.