Childhood

Back in Belarus, we were fortunate to live in a tall apartment building that stood next to a lilac tree. The tree stood next to a ramshackle bench. The bench stood the weight of lonely matrons who liked to eat sunflower seeds, perk up their ears and polish their glasses to avoid missing any sign of life around them. Sometimes, the matrons needed to clean their houses, cook their dinners and set up their telescopes. At the end of the day, they would compare their notes (“Yes, it was definitely a different man from the one she brought home last week”), brush the stray sunflower husks off their laps, and give up the sweet spot under the tree.

Because lilac smells like childhood, I once bought a perfume that smells like lilac. Sadly, it made me smell like a matron, and I ended up giving the expensive bottle of Amariche to my grandmother. She promised not to wear it while eating sunflower seeds.

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