Mira in the Present Tense by Sita Brahmachari Read Free Book Online

through her spiky silvery hair, as if remembering how long and silky it once was.
    I love the way Nana talks about colors, like she thinks each one has a personality. Dusty brings down a few bottles for her to inspect. In the end she chooses Dark Gold.
    We are moving through Dusty Bird’s corridors of colors, passing through a rainbow…red (just the sight of it brings up that tin-metal taste in my mouth) and yellow and pink and…
    â€œThis is the one: Golden Green Lake.” Nana reads the label fondly, as if she’s just bumped into an old friend.
    Dusty Bird follows us around with his ladder, offering to help as Nana scans her memory for the names of the colors she’s used before. Purple and orange and…
    â€œWe’re painting the sea…ultramarine, I think, Dusty.”
    â€œUltramarine Blue Light?” he guesses.
    â€œThat’s it, Dusty.” Nana grins and claps her hands together.
    It’s a new game, where Dusty has to match the description to the paint.
    â€œTurquoise?” Nana asks, testing him.
    There are about ten different shades, but he picks out Deep Turquoise Blue.
    â€œThat’s your usual, Josie.”
    Nana nods and drops the bottle into the basketful of paints that Mum’s carrying for her while attempting to distract Laila from pulling every paint pot in her reach off the shelves.
    â€œJust the gray, I remember,” groans Nana, “Payne’s Gray. Well-named, that one, Dusty, because if pain has a color it’s definitely gray.”
    Dusty Bird peers at Nana with a question in his eyes, but he doesn’t ask her anything. When we finally get to the check out, Dusty offers Nana a seat.
    â€œWhat are you up to these days, Josie?”
    â€œI’m working on dying at the moment.” Nana smiles at Dusty as if she hasn’t said anything out of the ordinary. “It’s my swan song, this coffin. It’s all going up in smoke, Dusty, that’s why it can’t be oil based, you see,” Nana explains, smiling at him.
    Dusty Bird smiles back.
    â€œYou’re an original, Josie. Damien Hirst’s got nothing on you.”
    Laila starts gurgling and Dusty Bird crosses over to our side of the counter to coo at her.
    â€œThis your latest?”
    Nana nods. It sounds funny, as if Laila is Nana Josie’s baby. He doesn’t seem to notice my mum.
    â€œPretty little thing, isn’t she?” Then he looks from me to Laila. “Another beauty, just like her nana.” Dusty Bird winks at Nana again. She pushes him away, as if to say, “Stop talking such nonsense,” but she’s pleased with the compliment, all the same.
    Dusty takes Nana’s hand and walks her to the car. They’re like toddlers supporting each other…a delicate gray-haired girl and a tubby bald boy. By the time Nana finally gets into the car, all the color has drained from her skin. She can’t seem to catch her breath; it’s as if she’s been running. Dusty scurries back into the shop, returning with a glass of water. Nana takes tiny sips, but it’s a huge effort for her to swallow.
    â€œThis blasted pain,” Nana gasps.
    She carries on sipping, swallowing deep breaths of air, and eventually her breathing slows. Dusty Bird leans into the car. They look straight into each other’s eyes for what seems like ages, but it’s probably just seconds ticking slowly. Then he holds Nana’s face in his hands and kisses her right on the lips…the kind of kiss that means something.
    When someone is dying, everything you say and do means more than it normally does. When someone is dying, you notice things…everything really. The whole of life is in slow motion. Dusty Bird’s eyes fill up with tears. My nana holds his hand for a moment and then he quickly closes the car door and gives the roof a tap. His rooftop tapping says, “Go on, get out of here. I can’t bear to say