Blood OrangeHow would it be to live every day as if it was your last? How would it be to think about this in a joyous way - in a way full of possibilities, not endings or limitations. Bee. The joy of saying her name. The incantation of it. A mantra of a kind. The most important one for me. Be. To Be. How would it be to live every day as if it was your last? Beatrice and I walk, fingers entwined, down the track to Prevelly. We chatter aimlessly about this, and that. About the butterflies we see along the way. About the smell of the bush and the way it crackles a little, and sings a little as we walk through it. So, just saying that tomorrow is the last day of my life. Just saying I am okay with this knowledge, accepting of it. That I can control the hysteria of saying goodbye and really live this last day. .................... I awake at dawn to the sound of her breathing between us. My head goes straight to the fluffy spot at the base of her neck, and I breathe in the sweet air 'til it fills my toes. Gray's eyes open. He smiles. He is perhaps thinking of what this day will hold. I have asked him not to plan. Today. We. Can. Just. Be. Beatle awakes. She smiles. And smiles. And smiles! I see her teeth. Little pegs on a line, just coming through. Baby teeth. Must make sure Gray has enough treasures to exchange for these in the fairy economy of the years to come. Best not to think about the future too much though. That will take care of itself. Today, we will just take care of Today. And each other. Blood Orange. We sit at breakfast and slice into the deep red, ripe fruit - plucked just now from the tree outside. Bee started squealing with laughter as it came away from the branch and let loose it's zesty smell in an arch of glistening fine spray across the air, like the milk from my breast when it hits Her Cheek. Oh, those droplets, beads. Not wasted, absorbed into her skin as I wipe them away with just one finger, pressing down gently. Melding us together. She came from me. I go back into Her. We are as one, yet must be two. One day she will dress up in my clothes and wear her Grandma's pearls. One day as a child. Later, as a woman. To a concert perhaps, there will be memory. The bread is ready. "Let's cut it nooow Daddy." The impatience for life's next installment, so fresh. He holds his hand over Her's as she masters the art of feeding herself. The bread was rolled in both their hands. Italy. Siena. On a balcony, looking over the olive grove. It sings in an exotic, dusty way. Not like our bush back home. "I can feed myself now Daddy." She can live without my body now I know. She can make bread and cut it and get some butter on it. She can stir jam and pick Blood Oranges and soon she will have tomatoes. I could go peacefully away at the end of this day, knowing they will eat Blood Oranges and tomatoes together and tell stories about me. Until then - we can live every day like it is our last. I hope we will. How would it be to live every day as if it was your last? .................... Are these tears of joy, fear or sadness. A little of each perhaps. Joy that I am here. Right here. And that soon I will smell her again. Fear that something so precious - this Life with her in it - could end in just one moment. Sadness, for all that is in me. For the children that were lost. For the child I have lost. The one inside me. So this day. The hours I have left. How will they be? Can I just Be? So blessed to have Bee - Beatle - Beatrice Primrose Davy-Sutherland. One day I will be a Grandmother. I hope. Perhaps then I will look back on this moment, this very Moment right here in this chair, and remember how I was able to breathe in that day until it filled my toes. And slowly, ever so slowly, moved out through the pores of my skin.
………………….. Libby Davy 11 April, 2001 Bauhina Literary Awards 2002 as "Be/e", Commended. First published in the Augusta Margaret River Mail 2001.
© Libby Davy 2001
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