To Root Somewhere Beautiful by Katalina Watt

Author:Katalina Watt
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Outland Entertainment
Published: 2024-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

HONEY AND ONIONS

SAM ELYSE

Something in the air didn’t smell right.

“Burnt onions?” I sniffed the air and crinkled my nose. “Buuu-bbeee!”

Bubbe Lola was making French onion soup… without my Zaydee’s help. To say this was unusual was an understatement. My grandparents were never really apart. They were always in the other room, listening in on what the other was doing. Zaydee would have certainly chimed in by now telling Bubbe how the onions had stuck to the bottom of the pot and were ruined.

“What’s that smell?” I called out again. “Zaydee? Bubbe?”

No answer.

As I swept through the foyer, I noticed all of the windows slightly cracked open. There was a buzzing wafting through the house. Like busy, bumbling bees trying to ward off an intruder. I could hear the scraping of metal against a pan, the shuffling of footsteps, the rustling of restless leaves trying to get through the front door which I had just left ajar.

“Henya? Is that my Henya?” cried Bubbe Lola. She rounded the corner and swept me up into one of her infamous bear hugs. I winced just a little.

“Yes, yes, Bubbe! It’s me,” I kissed her cheek to initiate my release. Even though I had just turned sixteen, transferred to two different high schools and took on a part-time job, I couldn’t dissuade Bubbe of her need to hold onto me tightly whenever I visited.

“Ah! Well come in if you’re going to come in!”

I closed the door behind me and made sure the lock clicked. Then I followed my grandmother into the kitchen and scooted up to the counter on a very old stool like I had done so many times before.

She poked her head out of the pantry as soon as I got comfortable. She muttered a few words to herself and moved about aimlessly. Usually she knew her kitchen quite well.

“Are you alright, Bubbe? Where’s Zaydee?” I wondered.

“Two tablespoons? Or was it one?” said Bubbe, questioning herself and ignoring me completely, as if I was an ornamental part of the kitchen. As she swayed over the soup pot, her broad shoulders rolled forward and her iconic apron clung to her body, elaborately cross-stitched with hexagonal lemons and thin silvery-purple knives.

“Is Zaydee out in the garden?” I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, tapping my foot against the stool leg. “Maybe he’s picking a few herbs for the soup and forgot to come back inside. I’ll go get him.”

Zaydee always got lost in the garden. But the moment my tennies hit the floorboard, a grayness swept throughout the room. I looked outside, the unexpected overcast turning everything cold.

“Henya…”

My name came out of my grandmother’s mouth, but it did not sound like her voice. There was a sharp hiss to how she beckoned me.

“Bubbe,” I scanned the back of her body, searching for some form of truth. A bit afraid, but also a bit foolish, I inched towards her and placed my hand on her bony shoulder. The moment we touched, she spun around and held onto my arm.

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