Solaris

My grandmother’s eyes widened. Her fine, carefully plucked brows furrowed, and her painted lips, ever so slightly, parted, all too impressed by the mention of Sol Delgado’s name. She feigned a cough, a vain attempt to dismiss her surprise, but I had already noticed such unusual expression so prominently displayed on her unchanging face. She smiled sheepishly when I pointed it out, embarrassed, still I caught a hint of displeasure gleaming in her eyes. She’d always disliked having her expression read.

She straightened herself on the rickety chair that supported her weight and, like a child caught in a lie, fidgeted her hands, playing distractedly with the watch on her left wrist. “It’s just been awhile since I’ve last heard that name.” She paused, letting the irritating clicking noise of the metallic watch, shifting from side to side, too big for her thin wrist, take over the room. “It’s been awhile since I’ve heard about Sol.” She let her words trail off, as her eyes went out of focus, drifting off to nowhere in particular, as she, unconsciously, leaned into her right side, away from my uncomfortable questions. “About twenty years maybe.” Her brows furrowed once more, as she talked to the void, trying to make sense of the memories that had so suddenly rushed her conscious mind. “What a strange thing to have that name so suddenly come up.” She grew quiet, completely sucked in by the mysterious void that so captivatingly had caught her attention. She continued to fiddle with her watch, the only sign that she was still present in this world, all the while being in that comatose state, consumed by memories. I, having been left with no other option, simply observed her, waiting for the moment she’d be freed.

It was not often that my grandmother let her mind wander like this, not her, who’d always been careful, mincing her words and calculating each step, especially in these later years, in which she had come to grow exceptionally cautious of her image. After a particularly frightening health scare, my grandmother decided she had to preserve and protect the memory we had of her with great care… and some vanity. She never lost focus, always keeping her mask up, however, now, it had been carefully set down. She was taking longer to answer than ever before, completely lost in thought. Her eyes, wandering often, had completely lost their glimmer, revealing her inattentiveness to the world. She was, for some reason, solely focused on Sol Delgado.

“Grandma.” I called her to attention. “How do you know Miss Delgado?”

She turned her eyes towards me, finally, and sighed. “Oh, please, sweetheart, don’t call Sol by her last name. It’s just too strange to hear.”

I smiled, though a bit patronisingly, and and repeated my question, this time with the correction in place. My grandmother tapped her index finger on the table a couple of times, trying to formulate her answer, then sighed. She, instead of continuing our conversation, surprising me, lifted herself from the table and made her way to the kitchen, leaving me alone in the living room. I followed suit, although admittedly a bit confused, deciding to help her with whatever it was that she was doing. Unfortunately, instead of welcoming the helping hand, the septuagenerian scolded me, declaring that she was more than able to make tea and bring it back, with some biscuits, for us to enjoy, and that I shouldn’t dare to treat her like a child, not her who had seen me in diapers. Banished from the kitchen, I sat myself back again at the table and simply waited for the refreshments to be presented.

“So, Jules, darling why do you want to know about Sol?” She asked, after having served us both some tea and a couple of biscuits.

“Weren’t you curious about your teachers when you started uni?” I asked, biting on one of the stale treats.

“No.” She answered bluntly, narrowing her eyes trying to assert my seriousness. I laughed bashfully. “Oh, come on. You know that this is your fault. If you haven’t been so shocked when I mentioned her name, I wouldn’t be so curious.” She smiled, but said nothing, sipping her tea instead. I insisted. “Please, humour me. How do you know Miss Del…” She immediately frowned. “Sol?” I corrected.

“My sweetheart, why do you care? Do you even know who she is?”

“My teacher.” She stared at me in silence, waiting on my sincere answer, not knowing that I had, in fact, given it. “An artist.” I reluctantly muttered.

“An artist, she says. That’s it? Just some artist? Just a teacher?” Her tone gave hints of exasperation and sincere annoyance at my simple and unthinking words. “No, darling. Sol isn’t just an artist.” And, with these words, she dismissed me until I had learned more about Sol.

Sol Delgado, or as she was known in the art world, Solaris, was not a very well-known artist. She had been mostly known earlier in her career, during which she produced exquisite works that, although laudably appreciated, had long been sold to private collectors, concealed from the public’s eyes. Now, as an artist, she had completely faded into obscurity in terms of notoriety. She still produced works, still as beautiful as ever, however something lacked in them. So obvious it was to the public, that even her most technically challenging works didn’t impress, keeping her away from regaining the limelight and forcing her to adopt the role of a teacher. Although labelled as a failed artist by some, it appeared that she was very well-liked as a teacher and was often invited to lecture at several notable universities.

With this information committed to memory, I returned to my grandmother’s house, ready to confront her with the reality that her friend was, in fact, just an artist and a teacher.

“Oh, you don’t think she was notable?”

“Not really. I mean, she has beautiful works, but they’re all empty.”

“Empty?”

“Emotionless.”

“Oh.” She paused, staring down at her tea cup with a pitiful look, reaching for her watch giving an inkling the void was, once again, calling for her attention. “What a shame.” Although now mute, I could tell that she had let, once more, her mind be governed by thoughts of Sol. This time, however, instead of wondering nostalgia, only lines of sadness marked her kind face. “She was once amazing, you know?” She added, softening her stare into the void. I stayed quiet, sensing it wasn’t the right time to speak. Eventually, her dark eyes met mine. “You just don’t know who Sol is, my darling.”

I smiled defiantly. “All there is to do is to tell me, right, Grandma?”

She immediately glared at me, then, ultimately, sighed, and, with a laugh, agreed. “You’re getting bolder, sweetheart.”