Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Grandma Jesus
I sat down to write this story at Chuck's place on his computer. A beautiful place it is. Then I heard a commontion in the kitchen.
I stood up, walked around the wood stove, walked around through the ceremonies of cleansing the house, and into the kitchen to discover standing there...my grandma.
"GRANDMA!" I scream, and she turns from the stove where she is cooking me pancakes, eggs, and thick slices of bacon. She is still less that five feet tall, hair black with many lightning streaks of gray. I cry at the sight of her and weep and weep and weep. I give her a big hug, as big as her fragile old woman body can handle. I don't want to let go. She is still wearing those old drab dresses and those flat soled shoes. Her left arm is still deformed before her body, above her slightly swollen belly.
I cry, stand back, hold her working hand with both of mine to make sure she can't escape. Inside with her is Jesus. I can see them both inside her old body, but she is the most prevalent. I see Jesus wink at me through grandma. I almost learn to Love him. And then I do Love him. How can I not? He brought my grandma to visit. I will never Love him like a Christian. The fucking bastard knows how to get to me.
"Are you hungry?" grandma asks in her warm soft voice. Her false teeth smile sends me into years of weeping.
"I Love you Grandma," I cry, "and yes I'm hungry."
She goes back to her task.
After I don't know how long of staring at her as she cooked, I finally spoke. "I'm sorry Grandma?"
"For what?" she asks, pushing her glasses back onto her nose with her deformed hand. She squints at me, crinkles her nose to keep her glasses in place.
"For not taking you out of that fucking hospital and letting you die outside with all of your family where you should have." I weep and weep and weep.
"Don't worry about it," Grandma said with her false teeth smile. "Things happened they way they were supposed to. If I were pissed, I'd a beat your ass long ago. I Love you grandson. Always have. Always will."
I weep and weep and weep and weep.
"If you keep crying like that, grandson, you aren't going to be able to eat."
I wipe the tears, hug her again, not wanting to let go, but knowing I'd have to let go.
"I know, Grandson. I Love you too. Now sit down and stop crying long enough to eat your breakfast."
It's 7:15 at night, why would I argue with my grandma, she passed away almost 15 years ago. And Jesus brought her so I could have a visit. I hate that fucker, whose name is called in war, a man of peace, yet, he brought my grandma for a visit. I would never Love him like a Christian would. I Love him like a friend. A fellow human being, who just did something very special for me. The fucking bastard.
I sit down to eat at Chuck's table in front of the West facing window and look into the darkness. Grandma places before me a plate with pancakes, eggs, and bacon. She places salt and pepper and butter on the table. Instead of placing syrup and peanut butter like in the old days, she places strawberry jam in a plastic margarine container before me.
I had just heard the story of first man and first woman and the creation of the strawberry, but will not tell it here because I must learn to tell it correctly. The strawberry is about Love.
"Eat up," grandma instructs. I smother the pancakes with butter and strawberry jam. I salt and pepper my eggs. I start to eat. Everything is so delicious. The strawberry jam is the best I have ever tasted. Life is good.
"Grandma," I ask between bites, "how's dad?"
"He's fine," she said.
"What's he up to?"
"You wouldn't understand."
I look at her. "You're probably right."
"But you will," she says.
I nod with a smile starting to cross my face. "Probably."
"So how long do you get to stay?" I ask.
I turn my head toward her, and she is gone. She is no longer sitting there. I start to cry. I look at the table, the food is gone. Nothing. I cry and cry and cry and cry. But wait...sitting on the table before me, almost hidden behind a bowl...a...single...tiny...strawberry.
I pick it up. It's real. It feels good in my hand. I put it to my nose, and it is the most beautiful scent I have ever smelled. "Thank you, Grandma," I say with a tear. Reluctantly I say, "and thank you too, Jesus." GODDAMN, I hate sounding anything close to christian.
I put the berry in my mouth...ambrosia...
I came back to the computer and finished the story.
I stood up, walked around the wood stove, walked around through the ceremonies of cleansing the house, and into the kitchen to discover standing there...my grandma.
"GRANDMA!" I scream, and she turns from the stove where she is cooking me pancakes, eggs, and thick slices of bacon. She is still less that five feet tall, hair black with many lightning streaks of gray. I cry at the sight of her and weep and weep and weep. I give her a big hug, as big as her fragile old woman body can handle. I don't want to let go. She is still wearing those old drab dresses and those flat soled shoes. Her left arm is still deformed before her body, above her slightly swollen belly.
I cry, stand back, hold her working hand with both of mine to make sure she can't escape. Inside with her is Jesus. I can see them both inside her old body, but she is the most prevalent. I see Jesus wink at me through grandma. I almost learn to Love him. And then I do Love him. How can I not? He brought my grandma to visit. I will never Love him like a Christian. The fucking bastard knows how to get to me.
"Are you hungry?" grandma asks in her warm soft voice. Her false teeth smile sends me into years of weeping.
"I Love you Grandma," I cry, "and yes I'm hungry."
She goes back to her task.
After I don't know how long of staring at her as she cooked, I finally spoke. "I'm sorry Grandma?"
"For what?" she asks, pushing her glasses back onto her nose with her deformed hand. She squints at me, crinkles her nose to keep her glasses in place.
"For not taking you out of that fucking hospital and letting you die outside with all of your family where you should have." I weep and weep and weep.
"Don't worry about it," Grandma said with her false teeth smile. "Things happened they way they were supposed to. If I were pissed, I'd a beat your ass long ago. I Love you grandson. Always have. Always will."
I weep and weep and weep and weep.
"If you keep crying like that, grandson, you aren't going to be able to eat."
I wipe the tears, hug her again, not wanting to let go, but knowing I'd have to let go.
"I know, Grandson. I Love you too. Now sit down and stop crying long enough to eat your breakfast."
It's 7:15 at night, why would I argue with my grandma, she passed away almost 15 years ago. And Jesus brought her so I could have a visit. I hate that fucker, whose name is called in war, a man of peace, yet, he brought my grandma for a visit. I would never Love him like a Christian would. I Love him like a friend. A fellow human being, who just did something very special for me. The fucking bastard.
I sit down to eat at Chuck's table in front of the West facing window and look into the darkness. Grandma places before me a plate with pancakes, eggs, and bacon. She places salt and pepper and butter on the table. Instead of placing syrup and peanut butter like in the old days, she places strawberry jam in a plastic margarine container before me.
I had just heard the story of first man and first woman and the creation of the strawberry, but will not tell it here because I must learn to tell it correctly. The strawberry is about Love.
"Eat up," grandma instructs. I smother the pancakes with butter and strawberry jam. I salt and pepper my eggs. I start to eat. Everything is so delicious. The strawberry jam is the best I have ever tasted. Life is good.
"Grandma," I ask between bites, "how's dad?"
"He's fine," she said.
"What's he up to?"
"You wouldn't understand."
I look at her. "You're probably right."
"But you will," she says.
I nod with a smile starting to cross my face. "Probably."
"So how long do you get to stay?" I ask.
I turn my head toward her, and she is gone. She is no longer sitting there. I start to cry. I look at the table, the food is gone. Nothing. I cry and cry and cry and cry. But wait...sitting on the table before me, almost hidden behind a bowl...a...single...tiny...strawberry.
I pick it up. It's real. It feels good in my hand. I put it to my nose, and it is the most beautiful scent I have ever smelled. "Thank you, Grandma," I say with a tear. Reluctantly I say, "and thank you too, Jesus." GODDAMN, I hate sounding anything close to christian.
I put the berry in my mouth...ambrosia...
I came back to the computer and finished the story.
Subscribe to Posts [Atom]