The Spinning Ballerina

Photo on Flickr by Tilemahos Efthimiadis

The Spinning Ballerina

My aunt lived in a museum. The room was always plunged in darkness and it was full of artifacts from her past lives. Plastic tulips bloomed in shoe-shaped pots, rosy-cheeked children hugged lambs and chased rabbits on the walls and there was a large collection of family photos under the heavy glass of the coffee table. The shelves were full of gold-leaved cups and porcelain shepherdesses with dreamy eyes. I was fascinated by the spinning ballerina, but my aunt would never give it to me, even though I usually got whatever I asked for. It was a gift from her first husband, she said. She showed me family albums, which had some pictures of me I had never seen. She was also a keeper of documents and an ardent collector of chocolate foils, Italian dolls and Christmas ornaments. She showed me the only remaining picture of Julka, my great-grandmother, who had been an evil woman, according to family lore. Julka had also been a great beauty, though you wouldn’t know that just by looking at that old photo. My aunt was a keeper of memories too. She remembered everything and forgave nothing. She was good with Tarot, and could knit a sweater in a single afternoon. Her own future was not easy to read. It had been mislaid somewhere, between the presents of her past lovers and the pictures of other people’s children. She had been cursed as a young girl, she said, sentenced to this life which couldn’t possibly be her real life. She had moved many times and had made few friends. Still, the curse found her every time.





GloPoWriMo Day 28 - a room from our past