Monga had this way of jangling her keys that told everyone "I am not at ease around you", even when everyone was someone she loved and had begged to spend just a cup of coffee with her at one time or another. And if wasn't her keys, it was her rings-- the 3 or 4 she wore on each finger (and thumb) of both hands. She stood (never sat) and clinked the gold that hugged her fingers...Did it remind her she was here, or did it take us out?
She never removed her coat. Indoors for several hours and there she stood, in the corner of the room-- keys jangling in one hand, rings clinking on the other (all those pure gold diamond rings that had become, in a way, her best friend), and her coat on-- zipped up even. Was she keeping herself held in tightly (like the rings enveloping her perfectly manicured hands)? Or was she keeping us out?
It always felt like we were being held at bay, but held on command for on-call purposes, should some sort of breakdown occur. We were not expecting any kind of meltdown, because, for us, seeing you in the corner that way at every social gathering was the fracture.
No comments:
Post a Comment