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Gramma had always been a mainstay in my life - up until the time I left home. I wanted to keep in touch with her, but
I was so angry with my parents that I didn't want anything to do with anyone in my family. I know it hurt her - it hurt me
- but I trusted her enough not to judge me as harshly as my parents did.
I pulled into her yard and turned the truck
off. She still had the 'Welcome to Gramma's House' sign I made for her when I was 11. I got out of the truck and went up
to the door.
"Hello? Gramma?"
"Matt? Is it really you?"
"Hey, Gramma. How's it going?" Gramma was
a frailer version of Mom. I could smell the fresh bread and supper aromas coming from the kitchen as she opened the screen
door.
"Oh, Matt, it's so good to see you. Come in. Make sure you take your shoes off."
Gramma lived on what
used to be the family farm. During the last farm crisis, before Grampa died, they sold off their land to my uncles and cousins.
Now, she lived on a small acreage in the house my mom grew up in. It was my favourite place in the world.
"Come sit
in the parlour. I think there's someone in there you'll want to meet." Gramma showed me into the 'parlour' - it was really
the old dining room that she'd converted a few years back when the family stopped getting together every season for the huge
dinners that she would cook. It was full of knick-knacks, a worn sofa, and the old dining room table covered in books, sewing
materials and pictures.
When I walked in, I saw her colouring a picture. She was absolutely beautiful. I couldn't
believe she was my little sister.
"Hello." I didn't want to scare her. As far as I knew, she might recognize me
from the pictures that Mom and Dad kept around the house, but she was four.
"Hello. Who are you?"
"This is
your brother, Matthew. Matthew, this is Alana." Gramma stood between the two of us, looking from one to the other, anticipating
something. Anything.
"Hi, Matthew. How old are you?"
"I'm 19. How old are you?"
"I'm four. You're
old."
"Now, deary, he's not old. I am. Sit down, Matt. I'm going to go wrestle up something to snack on." Gramma
had her hand on a chair at the table that I assumed she wanted me to sit in. I slid into it and she put her hand on my shoulder
and whispered into my ear, "Be gentle. This is a new situation(?) for her." And she left us alone.
"What are you
drawing, Alana?"
"This is a picture of me at my house in the tree in the backyard. See that? It's my treehouse.
Daddy built it for me before I was born."
I wanted to correct her so bad, but I bit it back. She wanted to believe
that Dad built it just for her, she could go right ahead. I remember helping Dad with that when I was a kid...
"It's
very pretty."
"Thank you. You look like Daddy." She was staring at me so intently I felt like she could read my entire
life story through my eyes.
"I've been told that. You look like Mom. I've seen pictures of her when she was your
age. She was very pretty."
"I know. She's very pretty. Come here." Alana jumped off her chair and grabbed my hand.
She led me over to a bookcase filled with photo albums and pulled one out. She flipped through it and stopped at a page filled
with slightly discoloured photos.
"This is a picture of you. Gramma told me you liked to help milk the cows."
"Yeah,
that was when I was 8. I liked coming out here every summer." The time I spent here was a relief from my parents.
"Why
are you here?" Typical four year old - couldn't keep her on one track for more than a minute and the questions, my god.
"I'm
here to stay, Alana. I was away at school for a while and I want to move back home." Why lie to the kid? I don't know what,
if anything, my parents had told her about me. And I'm sure she'd hear a lot more now that I was back on the scene.
"Oh.
Are you going to live at Gramma's?"
"I'm not sure."
"Are you going to live at our house?"
"I hope so.
I asked Mom and Dad if I could."
"I think you should live here, instead."
"Oh, why?"
"Because that's
my house. Gramma needs people around - you should be here for her."
Hi, this is my four year old sister, Alana. She's
smarter than most people my age or older.
"Yeah, you're probably right."
"Snacks are here! Come sit at the
table, you two."
Gramma came into the room carrying a tray with glasses of milk and a plate of sugar cookies. She
set it down on the least cluttered part of the table. Alana jumped back up into her seat and I made my way to one opposite
her.
"So, dears, what have you two been up to while I was in the kitchen?" Gramma took her spot in between us, making
sure that she was right in between both of us. No favouritism here.
"Alana was showing me the picture she was drawing
and we looked at some photos."
"Yeah, Matthew says he wants to live at my house. I don't want him to."
"Oh.
Well, I think your parents will make that decision. Eat up, dear, and then you'll go for your nap."
Alana downed her
glass of milk and ate her cookie in record speed. I've never heard of a four year-old who actually wants to go for a nap
- I guess this should have been my first clue that she was unique.
Gramma led Alana to the guest bedroom she put all
of her grandkids in when it was naptime. I could see the room in my head - the big bed that seemed to go on forever, the
thin lace curtains on the windows, the old books on the shelves, a box of toys in the corner. I loved every rainy afternoon
I spent in that room, sitting in the closet trying on Grampa's old clothes, reading the books. Man, to be a kid again - it
would all be so much simpler.
"So, Matt, tell me what's going on." Gramma pulled out her cigarettes as she spoke.
After she lit one up, she handed her pack to me. I briefly thought about refusing, but we're both adults. Why bother trying
to hide it?
"Well, Gramma, I quit school and want to move home. Into Mom and Dad's. I just came from there."
"And
what did they say to that?"
"Dad didn't like it very much. Mom's going to think about it. Dad was just a jackass
about it - he's the reason I left home before. It's not like I just ran away."
"Yes, dear, but they do see it that
way. You left in such a hurry without an explanation."
"I know." I picked up my glass and took a sip. Gramma knew
more than she was willing to tell. That much was plain - but who's side was she going to take?
"Matt, you have to
realize something. Your parents went through a lot when you left. Then Alana came along. A lot of people around town said
that they only had her because you left. I prefer to think that she was a glorious surprise. Even though you moved out and
across town, you cut yourself off from your family. I was hurt when you refused to talk to me, I can't imagine what Cynthia
and Luke felt."
"Yeah, well they sure as hell didn't try very hard to get me to come back."
"I'm sure they
wanted to. For the entire time you lived away from them, they wanted you back. Your mother would come over for coffee and
they only thing she'd talk about was you. She wanted to know if you were eating right, if you were studying, if you were
getting enough sleep. But I couldn't give her those answers - I didn't know myself."
I knew what Gramma was getting
to. She was my second mother and when I cut myself off from my parents, I cut her out too. That's one thing I really regret.
Gramma had always been there for me and she should have been the person I turned to when things got bad at home. Instead,
I ran away - albeit across town - and started over.
"Look, Gramma, you know I would have talked to you. I should have.
I was stupid and immature. And absolutely nothing I say now will make that any different. I feel like I'm in an after-school
special."
"Well, dear, you're back. And you're going to have to deal with your parents and the issues that made you
leave in the first place. As much as you would rather avoid it all, those problems are going to be around you all the time
until you fix them."
"Yeah. I'll wait until Dad makes the first move. There's no way in hell that I should have to
apologize for leaving. He's the one who fucked up, not me. I just wanted to avoid any more hassles and headaches from that
tyrant."
"Matt, watch your language. You have a little sister who will pick up whatever you say and repeat it to anyone,
especially your parents. I am only an outside participant, if you can call it that. I will not be a go-between for you and
your parents. You have to fix this on your own and whatever you chose to do will make me happy. But do not expect me to
take your side - at least publically. I will not interferre - Cynthia is still my daughter and Alana is my granddaughter.
You are still my favourite grandson and you always will be."
Gramma got up from the table and cleared the dishes.
I sat there looking out the window at the small garden she had. All I could think about was the next time I'd go to my parents
and the inevitable fight. Dad was a fucking prick and deserved the shitty attitude I gave him. God, the fucker probably
thought I should be coming back on my knees, begging to come home. Return of the prodigal son.
I don't know how
long I sat there, staring out the window. A few minutes, an hour, who knows. Alana shook me out of my stupor by jumping
on my lap after her nap.
"Matthew? Gramma says you should go home now. It's dark. My mommy and daddy will be picking
me up soon."
"Okay, yeah. I don't want to be here when they come. Could you do me a favour, Alana?"
"What?"
"Don't
tell Mommy and Daddy that you talked to me today. I want to keep this a secret from them for now, okay?"
"Why? Don't
they want me to talk to you?"
"Probably not. Let's make this our secret, okay?"
"Okay."
I headed for
the door to grab my jacket and noticed Gramma standing over the sink with her back to me. I went up behind her and turned
her around to give her a hug. She'd been crying.
"Oh, Matty. It's so nice to have you back. I pray that things go
well with Cynthia and Luke. I really do."
"Thanks."
"If you need to talk again, please drop by."
"Yeah,
I think I will."
"Good-bye, dear."
"Bye, Gramma."
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