by Cathy Lamb
“How are you feeling, Granddad?” I asked, leaning over his bed.
“Damn fine. And I’m not staying here. Hospitals make me sick.”
I almost laughed. Laughed with relief. Not long ago we were breathing into his mouth, now we were listening to him complain about how hospitals made him sick. How life can change in minutes....
“We understand that the hospital makes you sick, but since you refused to breathe out on the farm, we’re gonna have to ask you to stay,” Annie quipped.
“Yes, indeedy,” I said. “Annie or I or Nola or the other nurses will be with you ’round the clock. Won’t that be fun? A jim-dandy good time.”
“Hell. Then you all can spy on me,” he grumped. “As if I’m a tarantula that needs to be watched at all times.”
“You’re a good-looking tarantula,” Annie said, “if only a bit long in the tooth.”
“Yes, too furry and prickly, your bite isn’t pleasant, but there’s some good-looking-ness in there, too,” I said.
He cleared his throat, all signs of the brokenness he had shown us earlier gone. He had toughened back up, chin high, shoulders back. He did not want to talk about his past anymore today. That was our granddad. That was how he had gotten through the broken glass scattered throughout his life. Box up the pain, move forward.
“Girls, thank you for the CPR.” I did not miss the tone of his wry humor.
“You’re welcome,” I said. “What a pleasure! A delight! It was glorious.”
“No problem. I’ve always wanted to breathe heavily into your mouth,” Annie said. “It added excitement to my dreary day.”
Granddad rolled his eyes.
“And I’ve always wanted to squish you,” I said. “Your chest compressed impressively. That’s something to be proud of. You have a squishy chest.”
“Yes, and you had fresh, minty breath when you finally started breathing again,” Annie drawled. “Delicious. I practically wanted to eat it.”
“Damnation.” He sighed. “Now, listen up. You’re not going to boss me around on this. I am my own man and I’ll make the decisions about my own health without interference. I will agree to stay one night in the hospital, given the circumstances, but then I’m going home to the farm, so don’t put up any of your flop-sided arguments. Spring is coming and I’m not going to miss watching the lavender bloom. Or the tulip trees. Your grandma likes me around during those times, especially.”
I coughed. Annie wiggled, as if her laugh was inside her and she wouldn’t let it out.
Grandma liked him around all the time. He was her sun. Her lover, too, as she had told us many times. Her “animal lover,” or her “insatiable lover,” or her “sex-god lover” when she was jacked up and randy.
“We won’t keep you from your lavender or the tulip trees. We won’t keep you from Grandma, either, that nasty, naughty woman,” I said. I paused as I heard Nola’s soft, soothing voice down the hallway, then heard Grandma call out, in French, “Dear and dear! Why is my beloved lover in the hospital? Is it his penis? He’s never had problems with his penis before. It’s always up. Didn’t the swans protect it?”
Granddad sat up. “Don’t upset her,” he growled to us. “She is easily upset.”
Annie rolled her eyes at me. As if we would intentionally upset Grandma. “Are you sure, Granddad? I wanted to try out some torture techniques on her.”
“Gee, Granddad. That was on my list of things to do today: Upset Grandma. Now you’ve ruined my fun.”
“Darling!” Grandma gushed as she glided in, her blue-green eyes shining. She bent to kiss him on the forehead, then on both cheeks. “I hear that your penis is in trouble!”
I saw my granddad’s mouth twitch, smothering a laugh. You see, a man of lesser strength and confidence might get out of whack at such a public comment. Not Granddad. “My dear.” He held out his hand and she sat on the edge of his bed. “It is a pleasure to see you.”
“And you.” She smiled at him, stroking his face. She was wearing a silvery dress, emeralds, and high black heels, as if she were off to the opera. “But, what is it? Why are you in the hospital ? Are you sure you’ll be safe here? Is there blood?” Her face turned grim and worried, and she lifted up the sheet and peered down it. “No blood, but will they report us?”
“Yes, I’ll be safe.” He patted her hand, watching her mood carefully. “How is the lavender?”
“The lavender!” Grandma exclaimed, clapping her hands together. Her two impressive, jeweled rings flashed. One would think they were fake, they were so stunning. They were not fake. “Why, it’s beautiful! Nothing can hurt us when we’re in the lavender. That’s why you planted it for us and why the marbles are there! We planted beauty, didn’t we, so we could hide all the terrible things that happened before we came here. We didn’t want to look at blood anymore, only pink petals, and lavender plants, and apple orchards. We can pretend the ugly never happened.”
“Yes, we can pretend.” Granddad looked exhausted again.
Grandma giggled. “I have something for you, my love.”
“You do?”
“Yes.” She giggled, leaned in close, then took a second to peek at Annie, Nola, and me. “We can’t let the children see, though. Turn around now,” she told us, waving a hand.
We three obediently turned around. Nola grinned. “She’s in a frisky mood today. Wait till you see this.”
I peeked. Grandma stood in front of Granddad, unbuttoned her expensive silvery dress, sloooowwwly, with practiced seduction, and flashed him.
Underneath her dress, she was naked. Buck naked. Not a stitch. Not a thread. Nothin’.
“Want to kiss this?” she said, very sexily.
I sent a sideways glance to Nola. She whispered, “You know I can’t control her. Your grandma does what she wants.”
Annie’s jaw was working, her body wiggling again. She was trying so hard not to let the laugh out!
“Want to kiss this?” Grandma chirped. “I think you do! I think you want to kiss this!”
I stared up at the ceiling. Part of me wanted to laugh, the other to cry. No matter how far my grandma’s dementia went, she always knew she loved, and desired, my granddad. That never changed. It probably never would change. What a love. What an enduring love they shared.
“I wore my naked suit for you, my love!” Grandma said. Annie, Nola, and I started to shuffle out the door, side by side, like soldiers. We tried not to peek again.
“I am so glad the doctors have fixed your penis!” Grandma giggled. “Shall we see if it gets big like a log right now?”
There are many names for lavender: Morning Mist, Manakau Village, Raycott, Regal Splendor, Imperial Gem, Little Lady, Loddon Blue, Willowbridge White . . .
Lavender comes in the most glorious colors on the planet—dark pinks, light pinks, deep purples, light purple, white, yellow, a blend.
How can a person stand in a field of lavender and not feel joy, peace, a tug of calm.
I’ll tell you how: When they’re being chased by demons, living or dead.
“Here’s an article on Steve,” Annie said, handing me a magazine from New York the next evening. “He looks pretty darn hot.”
We swung together on the swing of the deck overlooking the lavender rows. Lisa, the cat missing an ear and half a tail, was on Annie’s lap. We’d spent hours that day going to Annie’s vet appointments, then we’d watched Grandma paint a white swan. It had a swastika on its breast, until she’d taken a knife and shredded that canvas to bits while swearing in German. She prefers to swear in German.
I took the article. I knew I would add it to my collection. “He does look hot.” That would be an understatement. He was gorgeous, gentle, manly, weathered a bit, strong jawline, whiskers that gave him a risqué expression.
“I understand why you didn’t respond to any of his letters when we were kids, Madeline.”
I nodded. “Hurt too much.”
“Do you know if he’s married?” She picked up her glass
of strawberry lemonade.
“I don’t know.” I didn’t want to know. The thought of him married to another woman made me saddened beyond belief. Would that have been me if I had not been forced into a shack? Would we have been in love forever and married out of high school? Out of college? Our parents would have loved that. His parents were smart and funny. In-laws like that would have been a gift.
We swung in the breeze. Annie’s dog, Mr. Legs, and his three legs were curled up beside us.
“Do you want to know, Madeline?”
“Know what?”
“Do you want to know if Steve’s married?”
I did. I didn’t. Mr. Legs whimpered. He was asleep, dreaming.
“He’s successful with the Pink books,” Annie said. “This says he lives on land in Massachusetts. Has horses, dogs, a bird, a pond.”
I nodded. I did want to know. I didn’t. It would hurt either way. Tears dammed up in my throat, tears that have been stuck there ever since I wrote poetry with a tall, blond-haired boy in a tree house.
“He’s involved in volunteer work with an abused children’s group, it says. He’s on the board. He speaks about it, fundraises for them. It’s successful. Gee whiz. I wonder why he’s involved with that,” Annie drawled sarcastically, stroking Lisa. “He was a remarkable kid. Would have made an excellent Special Ops guy, but he was too tender hearted. Remember the pink dresses he had his mom make us? The pressed flowers? The cookies?
“How is it that a boy that age was able to reach out like that, be that brave and gentle? I think it was his parents. And I think it was his love for you, Madeline, and as your sister, that love traveled on over to me, like sparks from the fire. Remember that time he came over and Sherwinn was there and Sherwinn said something rude and Steve snapped, ‘That’s not a good thing to say, Sherwinn. Don’t speak like that to Madeline.’ He was made of gunpowder, Steve was. He was no frilly wimp.”
I nodded and sniffed. I missed him. I’d always missed him, missed the friendship.
“Remember how he always tried to get us to come to his house after Sherwinn moved in?” Annie went on. “Hell, he knew something was wrong, he knew it. He was a kid from a loving home, he wouldn’t have even been able to conceive of what was happening to us, but he got that something was wrong, and he did something, he took action.”
I nodded, my throat so tight, those tears a lasso around me.
“He told Momma he didn’t like Sherwinn,” Annie said. “Kick my ass, he was brave.”
“I know.” He’d told her several times. He was trying to help us, save us. How tight can tears be locked up in a body before they burst like a dam?
“Remember the trial? He was waiting for you outside.”
I thought I would lose that dam holding my tears back and I’d drown.
“Madeline.” Annie held my hand. “Look at me.”
I tried to put myself back together.
“Madeline. Yoo-hoo.”
I took a shuddery breath, then met her blue-green gaze.
“Steve has never married.”
The dam broke.
“He’s never married, Madeline, and obviously neither have you. Maybe you’re waiting for each other. Like freakin’ soul mates. Ever think that?”
I made Granddad and Grandma, Annie and Nola blueberry pancakes and scrambled eggs the morning after Granddad arrived home. I served Grandma and Granddad in bed. Grandma was in white lace with her white curls down around her shoulders. Granddad was smiling. He so loved Grandma, even though I think she wears him out. Still, romance would keep him young.
I thought about Steve. He was coming to Portland to speak about his book in a concert hall here, sponsored by Powell’s Books. It had been announced in the newspaper many times. The event was sold out. He was Steve Shepherd, after all.
I did not have a ticket.
I could call him to say hello, but I wouldn’t.
I couldn’t.
I could still smell the shack on me.
Boutique Magazine
A Life Coach Tells You How to Live It
By Madeline O’Shea
Things to Think About Before You Get Married
Ladies, I am not married.
I do not see myself ever getting married.
This is not because I can’t picture myself in a white dress (bad color for me, not a virgin) and I think that a father walking his daughter down an aisle to her new husband is a bit like leading a pig to slaughter, although the pig has a very fluffy veil on and is, probably, by that time, chugging Valium.
The bride, not the pig. Pigs don’t chug Valium.
My friends, since we are approaching the dreaded wedding season, think about the following questions that I shall list. Why? Because then you can avoid coming to my office and telling me about how you hate, hate, hate being married but are trapped for any number of reasons, including, but not limited to, children, money, health issues, religious reasons, and so on. I am a life coach, specializing in relationships in your life. I should not be doing marriage counseling, and I tell my silly clients that all the time, but to save you fees later, ask yourself the following questions before you get married.
1. Why do you want to marry this man? No, honestly. Why? Think and think and think again. You’re attracted to him, right? Your lust is scrambling your brains, the passion is overwhelming your thinking. Note: This is not a reason to get married. Trust me and my other clients. The passion will fade, and then you are left with each other. Be sure you like the “other.”
2. Do not avoid red flags. This is what I hear in my office all the time. “He drank a few times a week when we were dating . . . sometimes he drank too much.” Truth: He is an alcoholic. “He did drugs, but only occasionally, for fun, with friends.” Truth: He is a drug addict. “He watched porn but he said it wasn’t insulting to me, or us, he did it to relax.” Truth: He is a porn addict. “He had a temper, but if I didn’t push his buttons, he wouldn’t have flown off the handle.” Truth: He is an abuser. He is already manipulating you. “He’s kind of boring, I guess, and controlling, but he’s reliable.” Truth: You will be so stifled by this man you will want to drown yourself in a human-sized pot of chili by the second year of your marriage. “He doesn’t listen very well, but no man does.” Truth: He doesn’t listen because he doesn’t care what you have to say unless it is about him. “He gets upset when I ask him to help me with the house or cleaning or errands.” Truth: You will be a maid if you marry him. “He doesn’t ask me a lot of questions about my day, my life.” Truth: He is a narcissist. These are red flags. Red flags mean: Do Not Marry Him.
3. Are you done living your life? Have you gotten the degrees you want? The job? Have you traveled? Have you met lots of different people and lived in different places? When you are married with children, even though you will love your children more than you ever thought possible, much, if not all, of that fun stuff will come to a screeching halt. If you are a woman you will put yourself on the back, back, back burner to care for your family. Are you ready to be on the back burner? Don’t kid yourself that this won’t happen to you like it happened to your mother. It will.
4. Is there a significant age difference between the two of you? Doesn’t matter now? When you’re thirty, and he’s fifty, it will. What about religion? Think you can work your two religions out? What about when the kids come? Are you sure on that? Money problems can throw your marriage into a tailspin. Do not think it is fun to be with someone who spends all sorts of money to have fun. Your escalating Visa bill will smash all passion between you before you can say, “We’re bankrupt.” Do you hate his mother, his family? This is blunt: Don’t marry him. You do not want to spend every holiday with people you can’t stand. After the third year of marriage, honestly, the man you’re sleeping with now will not be worth having a lousy Christmas each year for the rest of your life. Has he been divorced a couple of times already? It’s likely you’re going to be divorcée number three.
5. Are you 100 percent re
ady to commit yourself to one man for the rest of your life? Some people say you should have one marriage for your young love, a second marriage to raise kids, and a third for a friendly companion in old age. Not a bad idea, I say, but never underestimate the destructive nature of a divorce. Divorce will smash you from the inside out and keep smashing for years, and I’m not even starting in on the demolition it will bring to your kids.
Ladies, think on this one. We have an antiquated, almost biological need to get married in this society. It is from our puritanical roots. Marriage is a lovely relationship, I hear from my few happily married clients, when it works. When it doesn’t, you will reach levels of loneliness, despair, depression, and fury that you did not know exist. So, be sure before you get married that you don’t think with your nether regions, think with your brain. Do not despair that you’ll never get married, think of how you’ll feel if you’re on a camel in India having the time of your life. Do not think in terms of the perfect husband and kids, think in terms of pretty good. Because, honestly, that’s what you can hope for out of life: That is will be pretty good.
Above all, ladies, be strong. Be yourselves. Like yourself. Be courageous and adventurous and curious. Be open-minded to people and ideas and new thoughts and hobbies and directions. Be you. Be the new you. Be open to changing you. Because when you are the you you want to be, and you have been that you for a long time, that is when you are ready to consider getting married, if this is something you wish to do, and you find someone who embraces all of you as we humans embrace the sun for basic survival. And do not get married one minute before this happens.
Wait for the sun.
