Second Hand Reminiscence

The song “Ein Li Eretz Acheret” comes on the radio, and it reminds you of her, and on the movie screen of your mind, you see her sitting alone on the corner of her mother’s bed, listening, like you are, to Gali Atari, and moved, like you are, because it reminds her of her childhood in Israel.

Fade to flashback she’s lanky and nine, sun tanned, pigtailed, sandaled and shorted, and her brother, Tzion, is there; carelessly they’re devouring enormous yellow and red summer peaches that drip down their chins and stain their shirts. Though you're not there, she looks at you and smiles a drippy smile, the peach’s stone apparent beneath her cheek.

As the song ends, she’s there once again, sitting at the foot of her mother’s bed: neck bent, head down, face obscured by that mess of curls, waiting for something to begin.