“Anna, I have this memory of a girl sailing down the coast. A small boat with a rugged look; she must have had no money to spare on fixing that old tub. I remember it was late winter, just like now. Very cold, but it was almost as if by setting sail she urged spring to arrive sooner.”

I hummed while adjusting her pillow, aware of what would come next. The many wrinkles around her eyes deepened.

“We were both at a loss about what to do with our lives. I saw a friend in her, such a gentle, but impatient spirit. It reflected something in myself; so much time left to spend, yet so anxious about which road to take in life. Now I wish I had sailed away on those adventures with her.”

She paused, fiddling with the covers. “I think it’s a memory.”

Unsure whether or not she started to fully remember, or if it was simply confusion holding her back, I kept myself from filling in the blanks.

“I think she spoke of plum blossoms, which is kind of an odd thing to mention, isn’t it? Like the ones that grew near my childhood home.” 

What happened to her? I asked, carefully treading the familiar path.

“We only met for a short while, talking the hours away. Then we parted ways and I never saw her again. But I like knowing that someone would remember her, even after I’m gone.” She fell silent and gazed at the ceiling, the way she did when a reply was not expected. As if contemplating what had just been shared. Then, a few breaths.

“Ah, Anna, I did it again. You must think I’m an old fool repeating myself”, she exhaled all of a sudden. Shaking my head, I took her hand. No, never.

“She was me, wasn’t she? Sailing down the coast in that dangerous wreck of a boat.”

I nodded, slightly smiling. Yes, that was you, nana.

She looked saddened at first. And then, a barely audible chuckle. “Quite the reunion; she does seem quite hard to forget.”

Learn more about the author:

 Rebecka Pettersson