DWP - the time traveler: prompt

Hortense peered at the old woman’s face and said, “I know you; I’ve seen you before. But I can’t remember when. Or where.”

“Yes, we have met before, quite a few times, in fact,” the woman answered.

Hortense examined her face, the droopy eyelids and the little lines around her eyes, the unmistakably high cheek bones and the full lips that now curved downward. Then, as if spark occurred in her brain, she recalled that day when she was five, at the cemetery, her grandmaman’s burial.

It had just rained and the funeral procession started from the little chapel to the family musoleum situated a few meters towards the back of the cemetery. Somehow, little Hortense lost her grip on her mother’s hand and the rush of people walking towards the musoleum pushed her aside. She stood atop one of the old stone tombs, the one with the large metal cross that now gleamed in the light of the setting sun. She watched as the last person in the procession disappeared at the corner. She noticed a double rainbow in the sky, its colours so vivid it made her smile and made her sing.

“Nice song, good voice.” The voice startled her and she gave a little shriek as she put both her tiny hands over her mouth. She was surprised to see an older woman sitting on the little tomb next to her.

“They went over there for Grandmaman’s interment,” Hortense said, pointing to the corner where the procession had turned several minutes ago.

The woman just stood there, smiling at her. Hortense eyed her with curiosity little children always had with people they don’t know. She liked the way this woman smiled at her, like she found Hortense amusing. Hortense was used to being ignored. In her family, the attention is always on her sickly older brother, or her cute little baby sister.

“Look at the rainbow,” Hortense pointed at the rainbow. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Have you seen a rainbow like that before?” She jumps down the ground, her feet splashing on the little puddle of water between the two tombs. “Is it really true that there’s a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow?”

The woman smiled at her, but replied, “I don’t know, I’m not sure.”

“What is your name?” little Hortense asked.

“My name is Hortencia.”

“Oooh, we have the same name!” there is giddiness in Hortense’s voice.

“Hortense!” It was her mother.

“Maman!” and Hortense ran to her mother.

“Who is that?” asked her mother, eyeing the older lady suspiciously. “Didn’t I tell you not to talk to strangers?” She pulled Hortense as she walked away, looking back at the woman only once.

Hortencia waved at them. When Hortense looked back, Hortencia was gone.

A switch had been turned on in Hortense’s head. Hortense…Hortencia.

“It was I!” she exclaimed, touching her face and staring at herself in the mirror. “I visited myself when I was five!” Her reflection in the mirror smiled.