I peel a mandarin. The skin tears away in one easy movement. My mind flashes to our first, real little home together, a granny flat with no heating, tile floors, and the ever silent yet pesky intruder, mould. We had the best sunsets in this home and I remember sitting at the table, happy, with a bowl full of mandarins, peeling one little orange globe after the other, the perfect combination of tang and sweet, everything turning and tasting orange.
I knew she'd understand the simple perfection of this moment, so I called to tell her. She told me how they always remind her of winter, home, and her brothers, but to her they are not mandarins but naartjies (pronounced nar-chee).
I don't think she ever knew how her few words made me feel less alone. I was a little less of that lonely, unknown girl sitting at her kitchen table, trying to make a home away from home.
Naartjie is such a friendly word.
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