awakening the past

This is another excerpt from my novel

I just spoke to my aunt Mona for 45 minutes. This whole research into their lives, my mother, my grandmothers, it’s making me shake up all these memories for everyone. Stories they haven’t thought of in years. And it’s funny the things you remember about someone. She was my mother’s older sister, and they slept in the same room for over 20 years. When I told her I wanted to talk to her about some stories for my book, she made a list of all the stories she wanted to share with me. And she just spent 45 minutes telling me those stories and I just felt so much closer to my mother for a moment –l guess you do live on in the memories people have of you.

“Your mother was so messy,” she tells me, which makes me smile because I am too. “She’d keep all her clothes on the bed because she couldn’t be bothered to put them in the cupboard. She had so many clothes on the bed she had to come sleep in mine! She would just shove things in the closet and close the door so that they wouldn’t fall out.” I laugh. That kind of sounds like me. And my sister for that matter.

She also told me about this man, Rene, who used to live in New York at the same time as my grandparents, in the late 40s, early 50s. She says he still sends her a Christmas card every year, and that I should call him to see if he has any stories about them for me. I get very excited about the prospect of talking to someone who would’ve been my grandmother age, 90 years old. Mona pulls out her address book. “We don’t use these address books anymore,” she says. “I only open this once or twice a year now.” I love that she still has an address book. I think of the one my mother had, it’s still by the phone in our house in Beirut. Like that’s its eternal resting place.

Mona finds Rene’s number, in Jupiter Florida. She says his wife’s name is Karen and she’s really nice, I should just call them. So I do. I don’t really think about it too much, I just dial the number and call up this 90 year old man who was friends with my grandparents 65 years ago. My heart is beating fast and I’m feeling a little shy but I do it anyway. He’s 90 years old after all.

A woman answers the phone. I’m going to take a guess and say it’s his wife.

“Hello,” I say. “Is this Karen?”

“Yes it is!” She does sounds very sweet, so I just go for it.

“This is going to sound a little strange, but I am Husni and Farida Halabi’s granddaughter. Do you remember them?”

“Ah! Yes, I do remember them! My husband must remember for sure!”

“My aunt Mona gave me your telephone number.” I explain.

I can hear her telling her husband “it’s Husni and Farida’s granddaughter.”

I imagine how surprised he must be feeling.

She passes me onto her husband.

“Hello?” he doesn’t sound like he’s 90 years old. And he also sounds very sweet.

“Hello! My name is Yasmina, I am the daughter of Ryma, she was Husni and Farida’s daughter.”

“Ah yes of course. How do you spell your name?”

I want to laugh. “Y-A-S-M-I-N-A”

“What a beautiful name!”

“Thank you! My aunt Mona gave me your phone number. You see I’m writing a book and I’m using my grandparents’ stories when they lived in New York, and I was wondering if maybe you’d have some stories for me!”

“Ah, you know, I don’t think I have any stories that would be interesting for your book,” he says. “It was such a long time ago, I don’t even remember what happened yesterday. You know, I turned 90 in October.”

I’m a little disappointed –I was hoping he would tell me an incredible story nobody knew. I insist a little more, but he doesn’t say much.

“I loved them very very much,” is the most I get out of him.

“Well, in any case, it was really nice talking to you,” I say, and I mean it. And for whatever reason, I feel like I made a new, odd connection with my grandparents' past. 

He seems happy about my call too. And I can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, my grandparents are somewhere where they can see this happening, and it made them smile too.