I found her sited on the bench, the mist had just dissolved, and she had become more apparent. Her clothes were of darker color, simple but looked crisp. Her hair had become undone and was hovering out of her hat, a bit most, touched by the ocean’s morning sea breeze. I started walking towards her. I took comfortable steps forward. They reflected my serene mood at this very moment, regardless of the infinite wobble that accompanied me on the boat for 18 days. She held what seemed like a wool scarf and intensely moved the crochet hook up and down. I came close but did not say anything. My shadow had greyed her space. She stopped and looked up, and squinting from the pierce of the sunshine, her grey eyes became one of the sweetest kinds. They were inviting and had a deepness that offered familiarity and warmth. She looked at me with wonder and tilted her head to the side, questioning perhaps why I had stopped as the corners of her lips lifted. There was a moment of silence, but not the uncomfortable type. I said:

“Flet shqip?”

“Po”- she said, “how did you know.”

“I heard you speak yesterday in the dining room.”

She smiled larger, took her hat off, and scooted rapidly to invite me to sit.

“How come we have not run into each other for all these days that we have been here! Where are you from?”. – she asked.

“I am from a town near Himara, I have been mostly in the cabin, attending to my husband. He has not been well for about one year. He is always tired and too weak to work. His uncle, who lives in Pennsylvania, sent for us. My husband could no longer work the land, and there were dues to pay, which we could not meet. We have a son. He is 5. He is in the cabin sleeping right now! What is your name?”

“My name is Oli”, she said, “short for Olimbia. What is yours”

“My name is Katerina. What about you Oli? Where are you from?

She sighed,

“Oh, I am from a very small town. If you know Korca, my home is about 3 hours away if you walk around Mount Gur i Cajpit, and then you come to Bravdica, and to Verlen, and then to Grapsh”, she went on for a while, and I remember hearing “the church is to the left and the broken fountain to the right,” her cheeks looked redder against the rest of her fair skin, which smelled of spring and youth and good health.

“And that is where I am from!”

I smiled and exhaled. I certainly had no idea where those towns were located, but Oli I thought, had walked around them in her mind, over and over and over for all the days that she had been here.

“Are those your parents”-I pointed at the couple in the distance who was leaning on the taffrail.

“No, they are not,”- she said

“My father knows them. He learned that they were leaving soon and asked them to accompany me… I have people waiting for me when we arrive”, – she blushed again, this time not from the sun, “See, I am getting married.”

“Oh’- I said, “How wonderful!”

“You see, I have known him all my life. We even played together when we were young. He was older than me. He is my brother’s best friend. I had a secret crush on him”.

She stopped and then looked up at the sky. Followed a bird perhaps, and took the needed short break. I figured I was the first person she confided her feelings about him. I knew because it was not a custom to talk openly about these things, but she had nothing to lose by telling me this. I was a drifter that she would never see again. She continued,

“He was tall and had a piercing glance, making my heart sink every time.

When he and my brother decided to move to America, I was crushed; I thought I would never see them again. I remember the day they left. My sister and mother were at the door of the house, and I was sitting on the porch stair.

My mother was crying, and my brother Spiro hugged her longer than anyone.

Arthur was on the horse already and rode it next to me. I stood up but with some weakness in my knees. The sun was hiding behind him, making it possible to see through his eyes. He said nothing for a few seconds, and my knees got a bit weaker. The horse started moving as to sense the sparks in the air. I will marry you one day- he said. I nodded, I don’t know why, but something told me he would keep his promise. Then he rode away”
Oli put her head down and gave the scarf three quick strokes with her crochet hook. Moved her fingers rapidly to create a nod, and broke the thread from the yarn. She cleared her voice and continued.

“Years passed, and my brother wrote to my mother almost every month. He kept talking about when I would join them…. But my mother told him only when she turns 18. My brother said, Arthur is waiting for her, and there is no other girl for him but Oli. For a long time, it was just me, my mother, and my father at home. I helped them with everything, they had a long list of chores at home and no other man to deal with the heavy stuff. But when I turned 18, my father said, it is time. So, they got me a ticket and spoke to their friends, so I would not be alone on the boat. I remember the very moment I said goodbye to my mother. She was at the same place where my brother had kissed her goodbye years ago; however a bit older and with more weathered skin. I have never seen my mother’s face with more clarity than the day that I left. I thought every wrinkle on her face represented the pain that she had gone through. My mother has had ten children, and I saw many of my brothers and sisters die in front of my eyes. And only three of us live. My sister had gotten married and away in a different town, my brother was in America, and I was also about to depart from her life. She kissed my face, she kissed my face over and over, and sad, I will wait for you, I hope to see this face again, I will wait for you until I take my last breath”.

Oli had become emotional. Her world had been confined within the walls of her village, and that was all the world that she knew until she stepped foot on this boat. She did not know what was ahead of her, but the world that she left behind, although contained in a small territory, was bigger than the sky. Her mother’s and father’s love was there. The kind of love that’s unreplaceable with any other kind.

As I was about to place my hand on her shoulder, she rose, she looked in the distance with curious eyes, pointed her finger straight, then said with excitement.

“Look there; it’s her, it’s the woman holding a torch. My brother told me in the letter when you see her, you have arrived. He said that it’s called the Statue of Liberty”.

She wrapped the scarf around her and started running towards the front of the boat. She ran like a child, enthused with the unknown that is set to be discovered. Her size and the Statue of Liberty were the same from a distance.

Oli turned and raised her arm to wave. Her hand was in a fist, still holding the crochet hook. The boat shifted a bit, and she suddenly dissolved with the statue. For a moment, it reminded me of when the moon occupied the sun last, and I felt a deep owe within me. With her hand up she looked like she was holding the torch, and I wanted to remember that vision in my mind forever. Later I understood that what this statue meant was unique to everyone; at that moment, it meant “strength and courage,” the same as what Oli had shown so far, as she stood there sturdy while struck by the wind in all directions. Later I would say to my children, “we had taken a big step to discover our new selves, open the door to adventure, assimilate the opportunities, and pave the path for you to lead the way one day.”

Olli ran back towards me. She unwrapped the scarf from her shoulder and threw it around me, “keep it,” she said and hugged me. As she split, I looked deep into her eyes; I saw love, I saw pain, I saw a daughter, a sister. I saw a wife; I saw a mother; I saw a grandmother.

I saw my own silhouette reflected in her eyes, I was her, and she was me. I moved my eyes to her long hair that was blowing from the wind. The hair looked like it had fallen over the ocean. I envisioned her long light brown locks elongating over the Atlantic and then elongating a bit more until they had found her home, where her mother and father slept.

Edlira Athanas Joseph
March 4, 2023 Boston, MA
(The story of my grandmother)