You had to be careful where you stepped with the tight alley going uphill; the asphalt broke at the edges where green sprouted - despite the rough surface - and cats dozed off. There was a muddy sense of eyes following you through dirty windows, shadows where there were no figures, and exceedingly silent homes. This walk to her house took about ten minutes. A protruding orange lamp hung on the side of the remaining metal door signaled your arrival. You dusted off your pants from the dirt accumulated on your climb. At the door the familiar musty - carpet like - smell evaded your senses, ushering you to go up the tiny stairway as fast as you could manage. They had a doorbell, which you gladly ring, ignoring the mess of oversized, overworn shoes that concealed a rather endearing old doormat.

The sound of keys tingled in your heart, and you straightened your back, already forming a smile on your face from anticipation. The door opens and widens, revealing a woman in her early forties, hair half dyed, half tied up. She’s in her pale blue blouse today, wrinkled but respectable, with gold glinting in her ears, down her neck and on two of her fingers. Most importantly, you are welcomed with her usual satirical dark smile and critical full brows.

“Well? What are you doing standing there?” she would usher you in with an incredulous shake of her head, as though you’d made her wait the whole day in the minute you’d stood in her crowded doorway.

She would offer you the whole house, the whole family. Sit wherever you like, talk with whomever you want. Her pleasantries - “how’s school?” or “how’s mom?” - would be thrown at you as she made her way back to the center of the living room, where you watched the mess of books and her pupil at its center, who happens to be the brother you came to pick up.

You’d nod, too shy to fill the house with your voice. There were boys, and her husband was on his usual lie-in couch, sifting through the loud Television. You wondered if he had a job. He smoked too many cigarettes, but then again, so did she. With the room dark and smoke swirling about his gray head, his amber eyes stood out. From time to time, he’d let out a comment about something on the news or discovery channel. His comments usually went unresponded, which made you think he didn’t mind talking to himself out loud. But sometimes, you were surprised when his wife shot back a remark, wondering how she could focus on teaching -with that awful volume, first off - and still consider her husband’s philosophies.

For a few minutes, you’ll feel invisible, questioning your own existence in that room. At that moment, she would lift her head up from your brother’s demonic handwriting and shout out to one of the girls to get you something to drink.

As twilight gathers, she'll pack up his bag, pet his back and send you off with lunch and sweets, but, sweeter words.

In all the years to come, she'll symbolize a true form of womanhood. Her welcoming warmth, sarcastic smile, and glinting eyes. The softness in her afternoons, the sweet dip of a cookie into tea, the sofa’s hug. In turn, her strength and intelligence will unleash sparrows from your heart. Time has taken her and the magical touch of childhood faraway, into the untouchable realm of the past. Yet, as you walk that street and count those stairs, Mnemosyne conjures her up again.