cordelianne (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cordelianne) wrote2007-11-10 08:18 am
cordelianne) wrote2007-11-10 08:18 am
Entry tags:
Original Fiction: Tree, Grandpa
Today is my grandpa's birthday and I wanted to do something to mark today since I can't give him my usual handmade card - he passed away last year. I still miss him a lot, so I wanted to share a short story I wrote a number of months ago. It is very much inspired by my relationship with my grandpa although it is fictionalized.
Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
savoytruffle for her beta and support.
Tree, Grandpa
by Cordelianne
At two years old grandpa was magic.
It was the dipsey-doodles in the pool that did it. The hands that held her waist tight, the plunge underwater, the triumphant resurfacing. For her, he broke the time-space continuum.
Wherever she wanted, Grandpa took her. Toronto, Kingston and back to Belleville – her whole world. A universe in the backyard pool.
Grandpa’s dipsey-doodles were magic, and they couldn’t be replicated.
At four, she tried.
She tried with her other grandpa, but he yelled at her, sinking into the lounge chair as she ran between him and the nearby tree. As fast as she could until it became a blur.
Tree, grandpa, tree, grandpa.
But he left – in annoyance – and she was left with Tree, no grandpa.
*****
At ten her dad left, too. It was kind of a secret so she couldn’t tell her friends – and she was embarrassed.
But grandma and grandpa knew and she knew that they were at their house in Toronto. They hadn’t left. Grandma out working in the garden, grandpa in the sunroom completing a crossword and listening to a Patsy Cline record. She could bring her book and sit beside him.
They didn’t always read. She was one of the few people grandpa would talk to. He told her lots of stories, but always about someone he knew or a book he read or something he heard.
On occasion, if she asked, he would tell her about when he was a boy. How he’d had two paper routes, and that meant sometimes he could buy fish and chips wrapped in newspapers to keep them piping hot.
The time he was coming home from school and three fire trucks roared past him, sirens blaring. A neighbour told him his house was on fire and he ran all the way home to discover his home wasn’t any longer.
But grandpa never told her about when he was older – she had to get those stories from grandma – and he never talked about the war. Her mom told her not to ask grandpa about the war and even though she wanted to know she never did.
*****
At twenty-five her mom told her that he’d been a gunner on an airplane.
A month or so later she watched Memphis Belle, saw what a gunner did. She saw how close they got to the other planes, how they saw the people they were shooting at.
Grandpa hadn’t wanted to go to war. That he told her.
*****
At six grandpa no longer bent time, he expanded it.
He took her on walks, long walks. They’d set off together, hand in hand, and there was always a stop at McDonalds, or Druxy’s for a bagel with melted cheese or mmmMuffins for a chocolate chip muffin.
Gone the entire day but it felt longer, like slipping through a portal and into another world where they could explore every nook and cranny and not leave any Penelopes waiting because they always returned in time for dinner.
One time she was so excited to get to that world that she ran and tripped at the top of the stairs. She fell all the way down – somersaults – and he caught her at the bottom.
At six, grandpa was still magic.
*****
At twenty-eight she held his hand as he cried over grandma.
She wanted to cry too – a huge gaping hole in her heart – but it was her turn to patch grandpa’s hurts. But there was no scraped knee to put a bandage over and kiss better.
She held on tight.
*****
At twenty-four she knew grandpa wasn’t magic.
He refused to believe grandma had Alzheimer’s. He refused to help.
For the first time she told grandpa what she really thought – not what he wanted to hear. She told him he needed to believe.
But at eighty-seven it wasn’t something he could ever believe. And grandma had always taken care of that sort of thing. But grandma was gone even though she was standing right in front of him.
At twenty-four she became an adult.
*****
At twenty-eight she felt like five.
Grandpa had his stroke and he lay in a hospital bed looking very small, she stood over him and sobbed. She wasn’t sure she could stop.
Five years old again and crying before they even arrived at grandma and grandpa’s house for a visit. When asked why, she explained she knew they would have to leave soon.
But grandpa left first.
Before he did, she got to hold his hand and tell him she loved him. He took her hand and pressed it to his cheek and then kissed it. He called her sweetie and told her he loved her.
She held her tears inside.
*****
Three days before he died, grandpa was full of life.
She pushed him around the hospital in a wheelchair, but he didn’t want to be pushed. He took the wheels and used his foot to steer.
He wanted chocolate. Grandpa always had a sweet tooth and grandma would hide the treats from him so he couldn’t eat them all in one sitting. They stopped at a vending machine and got him a Coffee Crisp. She suspected she wasn’t supposed to but she’d inherited his sweet tooth and knew she would want chocolate too. In his place.
He sucked on the chocolate for a minute with a huge smile on his face, then tucked the rest of the bar in his pocket.
When they got in the elevator to return to his floor they were mid-dipsey-doodle – a moment of air before the plunge.
She wished the ride would never end.
*****
At four she made grandpa a house.
A single sheet of cardboard but she drew on windows with shutters and even a chimney. The best part was the single door – it opened like a real door! No other part on the house had that special feature, but one was enough.
Like grandpas.
She was glad the other one had gone back to New Zealand. Her grandpa let her play the “tree and grandpa” game.
Tree, grandpa, tree, grandpa.
Even after he left she would run between the tree and empty chair.
But she had to change it.
Tree, no grandpa, tree, no grandpa.
She ran as fast as she could until it blurred.
Treenograndpa, treenograndpa.
It wasn’t a dipsey-doodle but it would have to do.
Thanks to
savoytruffle for her beta and support.Tree, Grandpa
by Cordelianne
At two years old grandpa was magic.
It was the dipsey-doodles in the pool that did it. The hands that held her waist tight, the plunge underwater, the triumphant resurfacing. For her, he broke the time-space continuum.
Wherever she wanted, Grandpa took her. Toronto, Kingston and back to Belleville – her whole world. A universe in the backyard pool.
Grandpa’s dipsey-doodles were magic, and they couldn’t be replicated.
At four, she tried.
She tried with her other grandpa, but he yelled at her, sinking into the lounge chair as she ran between him and the nearby tree. As fast as she could until it became a blur.
Tree, grandpa, tree, grandpa.
But he left – in annoyance – and she was left with Tree, no grandpa.
*****
At ten her dad left, too. It was kind of a secret so she couldn’t tell her friends – and she was embarrassed.
But grandma and grandpa knew and she knew that they were at their house in Toronto. They hadn’t left. Grandma out working in the garden, grandpa in the sunroom completing a crossword and listening to a Patsy Cline record. She could bring her book and sit beside him.
They didn’t always read. She was one of the few people grandpa would talk to. He told her lots of stories, but always about someone he knew or a book he read or something he heard.
On occasion, if she asked, he would tell her about when he was a boy. How he’d had two paper routes, and that meant sometimes he could buy fish and chips wrapped in newspapers to keep them piping hot.
The time he was coming home from school and three fire trucks roared past him, sirens blaring. A neighbour told him his house was on fire and he ran all the way home to discover his home wasn’t any longer.
But grandpa never told her about when he was older – she had to get those stories from grandma – and he never talked about the war. Her mom told her not to ask grandpa about the war and even though she wanted to know she never did.
*****
At twenty-five her mom told her that he’d been a gunner on an airplane.
A month or so later she watched Memphis Belle, saw what a gunner did. She saw how close they got to the other planes, how they saw the people they were shooting at.
Grandpa hadn’t wanted to go to war. That he told her.
*****
At six grandpa no longer bent time, he expanded it.
He took her on walks, long walks. They’d set off together, hand in hand, and there was always a stop at McDonalds, or Druxy’s for a bagel with melted cheese or mmmMuffins for a chocolate chip muffin.
Gone the entire day but it felt longer, like slipping through a portal and into another world where they could explore every nook and cranny and not leave any Penelopes waiting because they always returned in time for dinner.
One time she was so excited to get to that world that she ran and tripped at the top of the stairs. She fell all the way down – somersaults – and he caught her at the bottom.
At six, grandpa was still magic.
*****
At twenty-eight she held his hand as he cried over grandma.
She wanted to cry too – a huge gaping hole in her heart – but it was her turn to patch grandpa’s hurts. But there was no scraped knee to put a bandage over and kiss better.
She held on tight.
*****
At twenty-four she knew grandpa wasn’t magic.
He refused to believe grandma had Alzheimer’s. He refused to help.
For the first time she told grandpa what she really thought – not what he wanted to hear. She told him he needed to believe.
But at eighty-seven it wasn’t something he could ever believe. And grandma had always taken care of that sort of thing. But grandma was gone even though she was standing right in front of him.
At twenty-four she became an adult.
*****
At twenty-eight she felt like five.
Grandpa had his stroke and he lay in a hospital bed looking very small, she stood over him and sobbed. She wasn’t sure she could stop.
Five years old again and crying before they even arrived at grandma and grandpa’s house for a visit. When asked why, she explained she knew they would have to leave soon.
But grandpa left first.
Before he did, she got to hold his hand and tell him she loved him. He took her hand and pressed it to his cheek and then kissed it. He called her sweetie and told her he loved her.
She held her tears inside.
*****
Three days before he died, grandpa was full of life.
She pushed him around the hospital in a wheelchair, but he didn’t want to be pushed. He took the wheels and used his foot to steer.
He wanted chocolate. Grandpa always had a sweet tooth and grandma would hide the treats from him so he couldn’t eat them all in one sitting. They stopped at a vending machine and got him a Coffee Crisp. She suspected she wasn’t supposed to but she’d inherited his sweet tooth and knew she would want chocolate too. In his place.
He sucked on the chocolate for a minute with a huge smile on his face, then tucked the rest of the bar in his pocket.
When they got in the elevator to return to his floor they were mid-dipsey-doodle – a moment of air before the plunge.
She wished the ride would never end.
*****
At four she made grandpa a house.
A single sheet of cardboard but she drew on windows with shutters and even a chimney. The best part was the single door – it opened like a real door! No other part on the house had that special feature, but one was enough.
Like grandpas.
She was glad the other one had gone back to New Zealand. Her grandpa let her play the “tree and grandpa” game.
Tree, grandpa, tree, grandpa.
Even after he left she would run between the tree and empty chair.
But she had to change it.
Tree, no grandpa, tree, no grandpa.
She ran as fast as she could until it blurred.
Treenograndpa, treenograndpa.
It wasn’t a dipsey-doodle but it would have to do.
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*hugs*
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This was so lovely -- a loving tribute and a beautifully told story as well. And dipsey-doodle will now be what I associate with you. :)
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I like the way you've used the ages, staggered them, and captured the magic of childhood and belief. The phrase "they could explore every nook and cranny and not leave any Penelopes waiting because they always returned in time for dinner" made me smile.
Five years old again and crying before they even arrived at grandma and grandpa’s house for a visit. When asked why, she explained she knew they would have to leave soon.
That's the bit that really nailed me through the heart, because all of life's like that, and I know the feeling. (So prescient, though, at 5!)
*hugs*
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This is beautiful and very, very moving.
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