Aban's Accension

Chapter 12: The Seed Sower

Chapter 12: THE SEED SOWER

by Shireen Jeejeebhoy

The room lightens as the sun rises in the east, awakening her. She’s getting used to the semi-darkness that the artificial light outside creates in her bedroom even in the deepest hours of the night. She hasn’t pulled the blind down since that first night. She wants to see the sun when it rises, like at home.

Aban’s muscles are sore in unexpected places from yesterday’s long walk in that...in that...what did he call it? She mentally shrugs. A deep, leafy pit. Oh yeah, he called it the backbone of Toronto, whatever that means. Not her woods anyway. The memory of her place brings with it the memory of her parents’ yoga sessions. She sits up abruptly without the aid of her hands, swings her legs over the sheets twisted on the edge of the bed, stands, and pads to the window. She lets her eyes drift to the sky, but the ground pulls her gaze inexorably down.

El is there, his back to her, sitting on the ground, meditating, like her parents. Her mouth distorts, and then she sweeps her mind free. Her mouth straightens back to neutral, and Aban simply looks at El.

And she sees that El is not in the lotus position.

He’s sitting on his knees, arms upraised, head up. He doesn’t move; he doesn’t sway. He is still. She watches for awhile, crosses her arms, scratches one leg with the other foot, until the call of the bathroom is too much for her to ignore.

Dressed in a grey T-shirt proclaiming “I Have the Power” and a fresh pair of khaki pants, she goes back to the window. El’s arms are down and out of her line of sight; his head is bowed. Shrugging, she makes her way down the dark stairs to the second floor. Opening the stairway door, she blinks at the sun streaming in through the uncovered living room windows across the large room at the front of the house and right into the hall. Attracted by the light, she walks into the room and crosses to one of the windows. She looks down at the cars passing by. She hears the labour of a big engine as it accelerates to her right, out of her sight. Her stomach rumbles. She looks around the empty room. Well, not totally empty. In the far corner, next to the other front window is a single green-fabric covered chair with a semi-circular back and four stick metal legs splayed out underneath. Beside it sits a tiny round silver-metal table with a flaring pedestal leg. A large round what-looks-like-a-paper-ball hangs over the table from a thin metal arm sticking out from a tall pole. That’s it? She turns slowly around three hundred and sixty degress to see if she missed anything. She didn't. She walks over to the ball and touches it. It swings gently, and she notices the lamp cord that snakes out from its bottom to a plug behind it.

Mom would have a lot to say about this.

Aban is glad she isn’t here.

She stares at the chair, and that lawyer’s words return to her – or was it El who said them, about how Grandma said she wanted Aban to get her own furniture. But...she’s never bought furniture. Aban hoofs it out of the room and down the hall to the kitchen, her sneakered feet squeaking on the wooden floor.

She stops in her kitchen doorway, heart pumping.

How will she make breakfast?

She always has toast. But where’s the bread? How does she get it? Back home, Mom makes out the list; Mom drops her off at Bernie’s Grocers while she goes off to do whatever she does; Bernie helps her get everything on the list; and then Mom picks her up. Sometimes she gets Eddie the cabbie to drive her.

She looks at the tiny empty table against the narrow window with a black phone its only occupant.

She has no bread. What will she do?