Re: Memory: Kit
She does not understand it. She believes it is more than language. It is more than strange words and accents which sound foreign to her ears as she watches the scene before her. She thinks it is more, because she does not comprehend these people. It is not that the words are not right, and it is not that she does not grasp there is some relation between them. The woman in the photograph, the man she knows is Kit, and the woman in the room. She understands this is a familial dynamic, but this is all she understands. This is not like her experience.
Her experience is comfort in the knowledge that she was loved. She was hard work, and she was different, but she was loved. She knew this without any doubt within her heart, and her parents loved, too. She remembered young days of them giggling in the kitchen, and Papi's hand on Mami's hip as he dipped her in a silent dance and led her to their room, where the door would remain locked for longer than absolutely required for intimacy. These are old memories, but they are family. This memory, this is not like her family. But this is family, too.
She watches, as if this was a movie without subtitles. It was like this when she was young and came to this country, and movies without subtitles were things made sense of in faces and expressions and gestures. Mami had said it was like the silent films, and the silent films had left home not long ago.
The woman in the photograph does not capture her attention much, but the woman in the room is unhappy, unyielding. She takes up space. She looms, and Mari does not like her. She does not understand this interaction, but she does not think she needs to. Kit is uncomfortable here, and he postures. She knows something of posturing.
The memory fades as Kit glowers at this frame, and she hopes he was not required to remain in this place for long.