Day 3
I was shaken out of my reverie by the familiar creak of the door. A tall figure appeared, a shadow against the bright sunlight. Robbie.
He swaggered into the living room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him. Robbie had always been a charmer, and from my first glance at his dimpled smile that day, my spirits picked up.
“You’re home,” he exclaimed, and for the first time, I believed it. “What are you doing here, when did you arrive?”
“I missed home, and so I called Uncle Paul last week, hopped on a Grayhound, and here I am.”
“After all this time, you just felt like coming back for no reason,” Robbie asked, and I could tell that he knew there was more to the story.
“I wanted to see Nona, to see you. And look how different you are. You’ve gotta be at least 6’3’’. Tell me about school.” And so Robbie and I sat on the couch for a long time, and he described his college courses, his friends, and the girl he was seeing.
“And I’m not the only one seeing someone; even Uncle Paul has a lady friend these days.”
“What? I don’t believe it!” Uncle Paul had always been an attractive man, but despite his 40-some years, I had never known him to date. He was shy around people generally, and women always had the particular effect of making Uncle Paul turn beet-red. He never approached them.
“She asked him to escort her to church, he said yes, and they’ve been seeing eachother ever since. “ Paul turned suddenly serious.
“You know things are different around here now. We’ve all changed. Nona isn’t the same, not since Grandfather… not for awhile.”
“I know,” I replied. It was the only thing I could think of to say.
Robbie stood up, and I did too. “No, Gennie, you don’t know. You left. You took off with John and barely wrote or called. You didn’t even come back for the funeral. You haven’t had to watch Nona slipping away.”
I was silent, surprised by the emotion in Robbie’s voice. Despite its depth, his voice sounded like a child’s now, petulant and pleading. “That’s how things work around here, though, isn’t it—everyone leaving, I mean. Father left, Mother left, then Grandfather—and look what it’s done to Nona—“
“They died, Robbie, they didn’t leave…”
“It works pretty much the same, though, doesn’t it? They don’t have to watch Nona drift off into oblivion, and neither do you. Some of the time she’s still here, but more and more Nona’s in her own world. She hears things, sees things, the rest of us can’t see. And you can tell, they’re real to her.”
Robbie was crying now. He was a man, but all I could see is the little boy who would ask questions about the mother he couldn’t remember. Tears began to stream down my face, as I realized how much I ‘d hurt him. Robbie saw my tears and grabbed me in an enormous, enveloping hug. I felt my tears falling on his shirt, and he hugged me tighter. We stayed locked like that for a long time.
Finally, Robbie released me, still holding me by the shoulders. His face was apologetic,
“I’m sorry,” he said, “It’s not your fault. Sometimes I want to get as far away as possible, too. I used to come by all the time, but it’s gotten too hard now. There’s nothing left here besides ghosts.”
Robbie and I sat back down and talked some more. I felt anxious to keep the mood light, so I questioned him about his girlfriend. Her name was Rose, he told me. She was studying psychology and they had been lab partners together in his biology course. She planned on getting a Ph.D. after college, which, Robbie told me, would match up well with his plans for medical school.
“Sounds like you’re serious about her,” I teased, and almost instantly regretted having turned the subject to romance.
“Well, I’m not ready to run off and marry her like you did with John. We’re not that crazy in love.”
“How is John anyways? How did he feel about you coming out here? We’re a long way from California.”
“He understands. You know John.” I tried to say it in as casual a voice as possible, but Robbie knew I was hiding something. Something was going unsaid.
I’m babysitting Robbie. It’s not fair that I’m always stuck with the little runt. What can you do with a 6 year-old anyways? And at 12, what will my friends think if they see me with him? Probably that I’m playing with a baby.
He’s running around in the yard, as usual. Feather in the hair, no shirt. Same old game where he pretends to be an Indian. He loves that game. Last week, we visited Grandma and Grandpa, and Robbie asked if there were any Indians in the family. Grandma laughed, and said, “No, Robbie. Maybe a few cowboys, though.” Robbie moped for hours.
Today, he asked Nona the question while she was baking a pie. Nona stopped, looked down at him and said, “Children should not be asking questions. Didn’t you ever hear that curiosity killed the cat?” Then she sent him outside with me.
I wish Robbie had just kept his mouth shut. Asking questions just causes trouble.
He swaggered into the living room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him. Robbie had always been a charmer, and from my first glance at his dimpled smile that day, my spirits picked up.
“You’re home,” he exclaimed, and for the first time, I believed it. “What are you doing here, when did you arrive?”
“I missed home, and so I called Uncle Paul last week, hopped on a Grayhound, and here I am.”
“After all this time, you just felt like coming back for no reason,” Robbie asked, and I could tell that he knew there was more to the story.
“I wanted to see Nona, to see you. And look how different you are. You’ve gotta be at least 6’3’’. Tell me about school.” And so Robbie and I sat on the couch for a long time, and he described his college courses, his friends, and the girl he was seeing.
“And I’m not the only one seeing someone; even Uncle Paul has a lady friend these days.”
“What? I don’t believe it!” Uncle Paul had always been an attractive man, but despite his 40-some years, I had never known him to date. He was shy around people generally, and women always had the particular effect of making Uncle Paul turn beet-red. He never approached them.
“She asked him to escort her to church, he said yes, and they’ve been seeing eachother ever since. “ Paul turned suddenly serious.
“You know things are different around here now. We’ve all changed. Nona isn’t the same, not since Grandfather… not for awhile.”
“I know,” I replied. It was the only thing I could think of to say.
Robbie stood up, and I did too. “No, Gennie, you don’t know. You left. You took off with John and barely wrote or called. You didn’t even come back for the funeral. You haven’t had to watch Nona slipping away.”
I was silent, surprised by the emotion in Robbie’s voice. Despite its depth, his voice sounded like a child’s now, petulant and pleading. “That’s how things work around here, though, isn’t it—everyone leaving, I mean. Father left, Mother left, then Grandfather—and look what it’s done to Nona—“
“They died, Robbie, they didn’t leave…”
“It works pretty much the same, though, doesn’t it? They don’t have to watch Nona drift off into oblivion, and neither do you. Some of the time she’s still here, but more and more Nona’s in her own world. She hears things, sees things, the rest of us can’t see. And you can tell, they’re real to her.”
Robbie was crying now. He was a man, but all I could see is the little boy who would ask questions about the mother he couldn’t remember. Tears began to stream down my face, as I realized how much I ‘d hurt him. Robbie saw my tears and grabbed me in an enormous, enveloping hug. I felt my tears falling on his shirt, and he hugged me tighter. We stayed locked like that for a long time.
Finally, Robbie released me, still holding me by the shoulders. His face was apologetic,
“I’m sorry,” he said, “It’s not your fault. Sometimes I want to get as far away as possible, too. I used to come by all the time, but it’s gotten too hard now. There’s nothing left here besides ghosts.”
Robbie and I sat back down and talked some more. I felt anxious to keep the mood light, so I questioned him about his girlfriend. Her name was Rose, he told me. She was studying psychology and they had been lab partners together in his biology course. She planned on getting a Ph.D. after college, which, Robbie told me, would match up well with his plans for medical school.
“Sounds like you’re serious about her,” I teased, and almost instantly regretted having turned the subject to romance.
“Well, I’m not ready to run off and marry her like you did with John. We’re not that crazy in love.”
“How is John anyways? How did he feel about you coming out here? We’re a long way from California.”
“He understands. You know John.” I tried to say it in as casual a voice as possible, but Robbie knew I was hiding something. Something was going unsaid.
I’m babysitting Robbie. It’s not fair that I’m always stuck with the little runt. What can you do with a 6 year-old anyways? And at 12, what will my friends think if they see me with him? Probably that I’m playing with a baby.
He’s running around in the yard, as usual. Feather in the hair, no shirt. Same old game where he pretends to be an Indian. He loves that game. Last week, we visited Grandma and Grandpa, and Robbie asked if there were any Indians in the family. Grandma laughed, and said, “No, Robbie. Maybe a few cowboys, though.” Robbie moped for hours.
Today, he asked Nona the question while she was baking a pie. Nona stopped, looked down at him and said, “Children should not be asking questions. Didn’t you ever hear that curiosity killed the cat?” Then she sent him outside with me.
I wish Robbie had just kept his mouth shut. Asking questions just causes trouble.
posted by Kami | 10:44 AM
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