It was on cool breezy days like this, that
I sat on the wooden swinging seat at the Cape, in my grandparents backyard.
Myself and the grasses, the rock garden tucked WASPishly behind the weathered
Cape; the hills and hills of short Scrub Pine. Sand for earth.
My grandmother was a quiet stern
sort , tall,and slender , elegant with waved grey hair . Long fingers, long
legs, all her shoes soft slip-ons , that curled up , once removed.
Years later her malaise would transform into ALS, which at the time was
determined to be wholly psychosomatic in origin.
I'd now and then be invited to come
for a week , to Cape Cod, and be shepherded quietly about by my kind quiet
grandfather, who started the business my father later stole from him; then off
my father went, happily bullying people, making millions.
But this was before. Before stealing
businesses or ALS or even more little siblings to be born to my unhappy wild
parents , and when I went to the Cape to visit , there were no children , no
animals , no toys. A few times, my grandfather would take me to the beach,not
to swim, but instead , piercing through his worry and sadness, to stand with me
on the broad silent sands, and watch the deep green ocean.
One afternoon my grandmother came
outside to find me, taking my hand and leading me to where I'd stowed my nightgown
, after waking up wet and unsure what to do. It is the only interaction I
recall.
In the evening , they would both
come out back and sit beneath the pines, and we would all have cold Cranberry
juice, with much delight.
Meals were quiet , days and nights quiet , so I'd take myself on long walks out
into the woods, and down by a crass human -dug pond. I 'd sit and watch insects
and relish the fresh ocean air, spinning itself through all things .
Once , my grandfather brought me to
the store for groceries , and bought me a straw hat with miniature objects
attached all over it. Tiny fake sea creatures and sandals and umbrellas and
beach pails . He'd look over at me and smile, saying " Now don't you look
smart!". And I 'd smile back, pleased. I loved that gift. wearing it
constantly, though not in the house ; holding it in my lap as I sat on the
broad swing in the shade, pushing the ground to send myself swaying back and
forth in the lazy day. Making up songs as I imagined miniature worlds with
people who wore those sandals , and let the Star Fish stay alive in the ocean ,
instead of killed for tourists.
When I was a teenager , we did not see them, as disagreements had finally hit
the ground, but all seven of us kids , and parents , went to see my grandmother
for a last time.
My grandfather wrote me a few kind
letters , and subscribed to Writer's Digest for me, knowing what would take me
years to realize, that I loved words, writing.
The year after she died, he bought a
gun, and quietly took his own life, sitting alone in their home, unable to
continue on without her. At the moment of his death , something shot through
one of my brothers , which he later realized was connected.
On a day like this, with the bright
clear skies and the ardent breeze passing through, on its way to somewhere else
, I remember the feel of being there, with and without them. Odd, and yet a
relief, to be without however many siblings were born yet. Away in a small Cape
forest , by the forever sea.
No comments:
Post a Comment