WHO AM I BY FIONA CUMMINGS

Just read something a friend wrote on a social group I am in. He wrote about a clock in his town chiming nine o clock in the morning. Kind of a reflection of life I thought. I often wonder when I hear things like clocks about the history of them. I have written before about my friend DD, from Mexico who has a Grandmother clock that belonged to his great aunt and now he is 84, you can imagine how old the clock is? He remembers being a small boy visiting his aunt seeing the clock. How much does the face of a clock see and what historical events have come and gone, leaving the clock still ticking away?

 

I do wish sometime that I could remove the cars busses well, all the traffic and take away the crowds of busy people caring for only themselves and rushing, pushing  running with their rough faces to get what they want when.

To remove the loud voices shouting from the market places to earn some money that day. Doors opening closing pushchairs wheels from suitcases and builders banging clashing dropping things to the ground, until it vibrates with earache.

 

Remove the dirt, dust and the debris.

Just leave me standing there please. Let me go back in time to a chime or a church, when the only pollution will be the smoke from nearby chimneys

 

It’s so quiet. My hearing has improved. I almost can hear the ghosts from yesteryear.

My shoulders are relaxed. I can’t move. I try to look down to see what I am wearing. Where are my shopping bags? My white cane has gone. I can see. No. This is crazy. There is nothing but green grass and hungry trees around me, with gaps of open spaces. The smells. Oh my word? What is that smell? Grass? So pure and fresh, almost like the fragrance after a heavy downpour of rain. The air is calm. The sounds of birds are sneaking in my hearing ability. Different birds. Not the greedy greasy starlings, which frequented my area before. The green shades grow to meet with the azure sky. Clouds so innocently passing by. Never I have seen clouds before but I know they are them for they fly above me in the sky so clean.

 

There are no crafts in the sky, no roads, just me?

Scary? But I can see. How?

My fingers touch my eyes, I’m almost too afraid to make contact with my tips to lashes.

What if I do something wrong? What if I move and I’m again with the same sight?

 

Was this really happening? How had I been given sight?

 

Would I really no longer wake up each morning of my life and see the same view out of my window? How bored I am of that. I wake up feeling fine, then I open my eyes.

What for? Why bother? To see what?

Same old same old.

But here I can see all around me. I’m too numb to be afraid. I’m in complete disbelief.

It’s the sounds too though; I can hear the air, though it’s so silent.

Looking down again, I need to move one foot in front of the other, nice and gently. But where will I go?

My shoes? No way I would pick them?

My feet look small.

Oh look at my long skirt? It’s hideous. I go to touch it; it feels so heavy and rough. It’s blacker than any other black I have ever seen before. My hands touch my head as I’m starting to be more aware of my body and breathing. My heart pounding, in a kind of pleasant way. With purpose, passion and in perfect timing with each breath I take.

 

After realising I was wearing a head scarf, I begin to remove it, untying the straps under my chin.

My fingers tremble, trying to untie the tight knot.

Bony fingers. I never had them before. My hands are not mine. But hands of an older lady. Patterns of past poverty and hard work.

 

My hair is in a bun. I untie that too, allowing it to flow gently in the beautiful breaze. It’s still fair in colour, not as blond as it was before but still golden.

 

Trees by now, whisper secrets to me, shyly, but friendly.

 

It’s early, but I belong here.

Then the chimes start to play their rhythmic round of time telling, calling. For what? Or whom? As no one is hear.

Until in the corner of my eye, I notice men coming up the hill wearing tall hats, I think kind of top hats. They are wearing very slim kind of ties and long coats. Ladies follow in dark browns and blacks. All have their hair covered.

 

Small children boys in three quarter trousers and long socks, girls in bonnets with frills. So politely they walk, no running, not attached to modern maps, mobiles and games.

But carrying baskets of fruit and posies of flowers.

 

Are they from the past? Who are these people? Who am I?