Fishing Rod : Short story collection

Searching for a Second Summer

Something about this year's autumn didn't sit right. But then again, autumn should be dropping golden, amber, and scarlet leaves. Not black and white.

I remember growing up and hating this time of the year. Well, mostly it was the school conducting mid-terms but also, the lack of what the world celebrated in my little home. Amma* made the worst dinners of the year in these months. Nothing special grew around this time and the markets were full of the same old dying greens. We didn't have Halloween, in fact, we didn't have anything near this long boring month. And fall fashion didn't exist because the whole idea of layering was made impossible by the October heat. Yeah, heat.

You get that when you live on a plateau, get baked like a piece of clay. And absurd rains fell whenever you decided to trust the weatherman. It was a month worth forgetting.

Amma tried to defend it though. She covered with loads of sugar, the absence of richness in the world around, and filled heavy spice to dal**. She also had her weird comparisons for the season. Summer was a child, Winter was adulthood, and Autumn was supposed to be adolescence. "It happens differently to everyone, some get prettier and some get worse." Maybe she implied the ugly side of puberty to be our city, so I could accept it for what it was. Like you should accept with children.

It rained when I first thought of a divorce.

I needed it badly, to grow and to move on and Amma was devastated. The term didn't exist in her dictionary, in fact, her generation of women really thought marriage was eternal. Everything was fixed for good and all worries about the future disappeared. And here's the thing about life; it doesn't stop changing, it doesn't stop when you need it. If love took a pause at its initial blooming spark, there would be spring forever. That's not how things work.

"You're crazy." It started subtle. "This is wrong. This is all wrong. You can't live that life, you will not live my life, I won't let you. You can't give up on this and you can't let this change."

I made her cry so much. How dare I give up on what she begged to have so badly?

"I'll talk to him. He'll listen to me so you don't worry about a thing. You don't have to do anything darling, let me talk to him okay? I'll fix everything."

The rudeneja had already started.

In the rush of court and law and tears and worry, I forgot to think about the woman who thought about me the most. Everything changed for good or for worse and bonds stretched apart. The little girl had a class to run, had tests to be graded, but no time for her Amma.

"You were wrong." No, I was right. "You'll regret this forever. You'll always curse yourself, that if only you had tried a little harder- you wouldn't be alone."

"I'm not alone." I have you. You're the one thing I'll always have, I have you.

"For how long?"

After that, we talked only on the phone, occasionally. It rained a lot and drowned out the heart of the residents. Years passed like days and Autumn came with wind and gold. The seemingly never-ending pause of nature notoriously stopped time but nothing special happened.

"He's a good man. He's so much better than what a divorcee could ask for, just talk to him once?" Why?

"He has a son." Excuses.

"You'll be a good mother, especially if the father will be around." Better than you?

"I've other things to be taken care of." I'm still your little girl.

"You'll grow out of it one day."

I don't need any more marriages. I don't want another change, I'm tired Amma.

"Think of the future. You're fine now, you're happy now but who will take care of you when you're old? You'll be left all alone my dear. Please think about it."

"Your voice has gotten rough, the weather isn't good, try staying warmer...

I'll think about it."

Spring felt forced the second time. He wasn't as nice as the description. Wouldn't really blame him there; his son is the only reason he's trying this. One meeting and I knew this man lost the love of his life. But what would I tell the woman who's expecting to hear good news from me? She thinks of me all the time, I know and she prays that I get married.

"He won't love me," I informed as I should, "I'll just be a stepmother, not a wife."

"You'll be happy. You won't notice how the days go by, you won't be alone with your thoughts."

Second marriages are a bigger gamble. If it fails again, it's all on you. You're the problem, 'the first guy must've been nice too', you are the problem. I remember the first time around, the message reached relatives with blessings and congratulations. This time it's more of a gossip. It's scary knowing you've already lost it once, how will this turn out?

When will Amma understand, what I want is another summer?

"I'm so happy for you." Of course she is.

Her health severed from there. She got me busy running after a new family, the boy who really thinks I'm his mother and the man who thinks I'm more than he could ask for. I rarely got time to think about her, what a scheming woman she is.

"I'm coming there." I say on the phone, "I don't care about anything you'll say. You won't come live with me, and I have to hear from others about your health now?"

"It really isn't a big deal."

She was like that all the time. 'I'm fine.' Don't believe her, she knows well how to lie.

"Did I make you upset?" Her voice almost sounds like a smile.

"Yes. I am upset that you didn't tell me you were so sick."

It happened like that often then. She would worry that I'd leave my home and sit by her side. Of course I'd do that, she's my family. Each falling leaf is a reminder, she is slowly fading away. She was now as old as she looked, her face ashen and pale. This time everything felt especially hopeless.

Something about this year's autumn didn't sit right. But then again, autumn should be dropping golden, amber, and scarlet leaves. Not black and white.

It's that month again, my boy has his mid-terms soon and Amma isn't by my side.

*Amma means mother in some Indian languages

**dal is a dish made of lentils