Maya scowled at the flames. Their heat scorched her face but she couldn't back into the night. Her grandmother was burning, and family honored the closest watch to the Change.
This idea frustrated Maya. She didn't see a need for change. Her grandmother's warm girth and wizened cheeks soothed her the way her mother didn't. Her arms welcomed, her mouth loved, her words protected. Why change a relationship so perfect?
Hours of heat without sleep made Maya's legs wobble and her eyes feel blind, and desperate not to dishonor her parents and sink to the ground, she bit her tongue as hard as she could. Blood filled her mouth, and she focused on the metallic flavor instead of on the idea that the flames had melted her eyeballs away.
The heat crackled in a bright haze but she didn't dare look aside. She had to make sure that the body emerging from the ashes carried the same soul.
Maya began to shake uncontrollably. She wrapped her arms around her middle, and then a warm pressure tickled her back. Peter, her distant cousin, stood behind her. His own grandfather had Changed just a month ago. Why was he looking at her and not the flames? Had he felt the same way? She resisted the temptation to glance behind her and straightened her spine.
And waited.
As the fire cooled and relinquished its color to the pink strands of dawn, Maya found herself leaning toward the bier. What would she really find in the ashes? Bones or soft skin? How could the story be true? How could such delicate skin as a baby's not be incinerated by the heat?
A gasp familiar as day came from beside her, and floating scarves filled her vision. Blinking, Maya watched as her mother dug her bare hands into the shimmering soot and pulled out a small, gray form. She detached a scarf from her neck and wrapped it swiftly around the ball. She held it a moment to her chest and then turned. Triumph lit her face as she thrust the baby into the air. It wailed.
"My mother has returned," she announced to the cheers.
Her icy eyes settled on Maya's, and in another burst of scarves, she shoved the baby toward her. Startled, Maya opened her arms and looked.
She didn't understand how death could transform into life, how fire could dissolve and create. But as the baby's warmth crept through Maya's stiff body, an urge filled her chest. An urge to welcome. An urge to love and to protect. Carefully, she rocked the bundle and stared into its dark eyes, where her grandmother's had been white.
"Grandmother," she whispered. "I guess it's my turn."
___
My own grandmother passed away last summer, and I think this story owes some of its poignance to her. I loved and still love her dearly, one thing in the turning new year that won't change. But there are all sorts of other changes I'm excited for, like new stories, yeah! Seriously, nothing makes me happier :). What are you looking forward to in 2014?
Happy New Year!
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