337. I Will See My Mother Again

Em sat straight as a pupil on the front row before her favorite teacher, her perfectly brushed rosewood hair adorned with a slight sheen in the dim light, which gave her mane a deepness, a richness, the kind of illusion that begged the hand to reach and teased the eye to look twice. Kyra marveled at the hue which, depending on how Em held her head, changed from shades of red to gradations of dark brown. Holding her head steady and dignified, as if to compensate for her blindness, Em looked regal, stately, and with glass of eye, as dignified as a princess bearing the fate of suitors unworthy.

Kyra looked twice, folder in hand. Em was a tomboy, a father’s daughter. She was attractive, but not pretty. When one saw Em, one saw the sea and the wind, the sweat of honest labor and the common sense of those who sailed at the mercy of nature. Em may, at times, have appeared naïve, but never weak; she may have carried herself, at times, with clumsiness of presence, but always limpid in eye and thought. Yet tonight, Kyra thought, she looked almost delicate in her black and white kimono tied to the left side with hands small. Irony aside, she looked better than she had ever looked before.

“Thanks for having me Em,” said Kyra as she pulled up a chair across from Em.

“If you’ve come to offer me sympathy, save it for someone who cares. I will regain my sight. You know why?”

Kyra didn’t know what to say and before she could respond Em stood up and pulled a chain from her neck. “You see this?”

Kyra looked upon the pulsating brooch. “Yes.”

“And so will I. I will see my mother again.” Silence. Tears flowed from Em’s eyes. “Do you hear me Kyra? I will see what you see. I will see my mother again.”