Her fear is like a river that’s escaped its banks, far from under her control. She breathes with relief when the pungi yields the snake back into the basket’s weave.
In her mother’s eyes, she stands like a child in waiting. “There, there,” the memory seems to say but fades like a worn-out screw.
She drops to the ground with the force of a bag of potatoes, her hands grip tight as she rams her heel bones into the floor. What a shame, the old man thinks. The caged animal’s escape will mean its own life is taken.
As she caulks her head to listen, an eruption breaks the surface. The rocks and boulders build a fury that dissolves with a blink. Or she thinks.
Would she like to see her again? Without hesitation, yes. Yes, of course. She’d like nothing more than to stroll with her arm in arm and tell her what’s on her mind.
Going On 40 