When twilight came, she comes out of the garden. The bucket contains fertilizer, water sprinkler kettles, and gardening tools, she puts them in their usual places. She showers, anoints her skin with body lotions, sprays perfume, and then chooses a dress according to the color of her heart that day. Before the music starts, she makes sure all the doors were locked. “You are so late !” she says to the man already standing before her, who had just emerged from the tufts of the wind, having slipped through the keyhole. He quickly wraps his arms around the old woman’s waist. Embracing each other, they dance. “Once in a while, I want to dance with you in my garden,” implore the old woman. “Don’t get weird! My body can’t be seen.” Song ends. The man returns to being tufts of wind. The house is quiet, as usual. This is what happens every evening at home. People know she is alone. Her husband is not known. Children and grandchildren are unknown too.
Social media is in uproar. A video of an old woman dancing alone in the middle of the garden—but as if reclining on her partner’s chest—is viral. “Crazy grandma!” said Rimbaya, showing the phone screen to her grandpa. “If grandma was still alive, she would laugh out loud. Funny behavior funny is syonymous to my late grandma.” Grandpa pretended to laugh. It didn’t take him long to watch the viral short video. The old woman was his ex-wife. Rimbaya doesn’t know, if her grandma was still around, the viral short video wouldn’t make her laugh, but would be drowned in guilt, as a woman who had stolen someone else’s husband in the past.
The Pine Cone Review 