Wednesday, May 2, 2012

Week 12

The Field

A soft breeze makes the long, long un-cut grass in the field bend and sway ever so slightly. It plays with my hair; makes it tickle my face. I walk alone, quietly. It's one of those moments where I prefer the silence; I don't want music, I don't want talking.

The sun is shining in the field in a way that makes me wish I had my camera; makes me wish I could take pictures with my eyes.

The talls pines shade me from that hot sun. I read somewhere, recently, that 90% of Maine is covered in forests like this. The most of any state. Interesting. It makes me wonder how many other forests hold secrets like this one.

As I continue on, I think of the times my sister and I snuck friends out here to get drunk. Or how many times I escaped in this field. The hours I spent laying on my back, staring at the stars in the sky.
I sneak out into this field to think. The forest helps me breathe.

This time, I'm just visiting an old place I haven't visited in a while.

The path opens up to a clear part in the field, and in the middle of that clear part is a small thicket.
One lonely bench sits next to a tree; a small blue hand-painted birdhouse hangs on a pine tree above the bench. My grandmother made that and hung it there 15 years ago.
On the ground underneath that tree is a marker. A marker of life; a marker of death.

Grampy.

I took a deep breath and sat down next to Grampy. Christmas had passed, my birthday had passed, life had passed... and it had been a while since I visited him.

"I'm sorry if you got lonely."

I sat there and thought about everything I had heard about Grampy. All the stories. All the times he drove Gram to complete madness. How hard he worked.
But, mostly, just how much he loved his life.
Old friends of his would always shake their head when they met me, saying, "He was quite the man."
I don't remember much about him. I was 4 when he died; at an age where everything was new and my memories became real. I remember he always smelt of smoke from a woodstove. I remember the sound of his voice and his laugh.

I smile when I think of his laugh. So low and raspy... it almost sounded like a cough.

I curled up on the bench, bringing my legs close to my chest. Oh, how badly I wished he was apart of my life.

Sometimes, when I come here, I like to think of what it'd be like if he'd just appear next to me. When I was young I'd like to ask him to meet me in my dreams somewhere. Sometimes he did.

Before I moved away from home, I used to come here and talk to Grampy when I had a problem of some kind. Even if he wasn't listening (I know he was, I know he is), it was nice to talk out loud.

I closed my eyes and begged for him to appear next to me. Even if it's for only five minutes.
Imagine if he appeared next to me all those times I came here to ask for help.



"Boys are dumb, Grampy." I said angrily, crossing my arms and swaying my feet back and forth as I sat on the bench. I wasn't quite tall enough to reach the floor yet.
Grampy shifted in his seat next to me. The hard wood hurt his hips. He let out a low grumble and placed his hands on the big beer gut he kept strapped in with suspenders, "They won't ever change, Holli. They'll always be this dumb."
I sighed, "Well what do I do? He wasn't very nice to me, Grampy. He made me cry during recess."
He shook his head, "Make him cry back!"
I looked at him, eyes wide. He was smiling, and it was big enough to reach his blue eyes, "I can't do that, Grampy!"
"Why not?" He cried, "Your grandmother is the toughest old broad I've ever known, and that's exactly why I married her. Don't ever let anyone make you cry, Holli."
I bit my lip and thought for a moment, "I'm not mean enough to make anyone cry, though."
"I don't mean you have to make anyone cry." He chuckled, "I just mean don't let them treat you like that. Bergins don't get mad. They get even."
And just like that, I heard my father calling my name very loud. It echoed through the fields, like it did every day at dinner time.
"Oh, no. I have to go, Grampy." I said and looked over at him.
"Okay." He said and patted me on the back, "Go, quick, before your dad eats it all."
I smiled and slid from the bench. I looked over at Grampy, his blue eyes were observing me. My smile faded as I looked at the scar on his face from right before he went to heaven.
He laughed, knowing what I was thinking.
"I'll still be here the next time you need to talk." He said and winked. "I'm not going anywhere."
I shrugged, "I guess I get a little scared you won't be here."
He leaned forward, "I'll always be here."
I grinned and quickly hugged him, taking in the scent of the woodstove. I said goodbye and took off running.
Before I got to the path that lead to my house, I turned around and he was still sitting there. He looked at me and waved. I waved back, but didn't leave right away.
He looked so content sitting there.
I heard my dad's voice yell for me again.
But I didn't want to turn around.
Grampy was looking out at the field. Dad told me that this field was his favorite place in the whole world, and that's why he stays here now. He says whenever Grandma's time come, she'll come here and be with Grampy too.
I didn't blame Grampy for this being his favorite place. It was so beautiful when the sun was out. Every blade of long grass had a sheen to it; every wildflower bright.
Dad yelled for me one more, and last, time. Judging by the sound in his voice, he wasn't happy.
I smiled at Grampy and finally left; running down the path and excited for the next time I'd have a problem I had to talk to him about.


And now, I'm a 20-year-old woman, and I still wish my Grampy would appear next to me in this old field.

"I have a million and a half problems, Grampy." I said out loud, praying my voice didn't crack, "And they're not as simple as boys making me cry at recess."

Just boys making me cry myself to sleep.

What has happened to my life since I was that little girl? I had scuffed knees and big dreams. Big glasses but a big heart. I'd save a dying bird that fell out of a tree, and then cry and bury it next to the other animals I tried to save but couldn't.
My Grandmother told me a story once. She said that, the day Grampy's ashes were delivered to us, everyone was crying while we went to the field to choose a place to lay him to rest. I was 4, and I tried to get everyone to stop from crying.
"Look at how beautiful this day is! Grampy would love this. Don't cry anymore! There's a deer over in that side of the field, and the sun is shining! Grampy loved days like today."

My grandmother said that that's when she knew I was one in a million.

"I need to fix my life, Grampy." I said outloud, "I know you can see what I've been up to, and I'm sure you're not impressed."

The past two years have been intersting for me. I've made bad decisions, I've experimented, I've actually ended up in the hospital once because I drank a bit too much tequilla.
My stomach turns at the memory.
I left with my ears pierced and 0 tattoos. I'll return home this May and I have 8 piercings and a tattoo on my foot.
I have more secrets.
I'm not that little girl anymore. The world destroyed her; the world tamed her. Put out her fire. And it hurts to realize that she's gone.

She's not gone...

The thought fled through my mind quickly. So quick I almost lost it.

Sort of like how Grampy isn't gone either.

It's amazing in life how some things can change so much; others so little. The field, for example, never really changes. The grass gets longer, the trees go along with the seasons. But at any given point in time, the field looks exactly the same as it did a year ago.
I'm not like that.
I was different a year ago today. I'll be different a year from tomorrow.
And ever since I was a little girl, I realized that I never did anything in moderation. And change wasn't excluded from that.

I exhaled sharply and decided to start from the beginning.
"I moved out in mid-August two years ago. I guess at that point, I was still very naive. I had high hopes, Grampy. Big dreams. I guess I was always like that up until now. But when I moved out, certain things happened that made me change. And I guess, in the midst of all that change and all that growing, I left that little girl behind. It all started when I realized I had no idea how to drive in the city ... "



3 comments:

  1. Holli--you always do wonderful work when your grandparents are the subject, and this is no exception. Having read about them for two semesters, I know how much you are you because of them. This really reads like the keystone piece, the piece that encapsulates all the material about them, and it is a fine fine piece.

    But what the heck does it have to do with week 12 (book introduction)?

    Let me make life easier for you by adding a one sentence graf to the end of this: "What you hold in your hands is my first book: a combined photo essay about and biography of my grandparents."

    See, that would make everything before that sentence a book introduction. You like?

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  2. Hays that works! I saw it as an intro to an ongoing conversation i'd have. I had a hard time thinking up something for this. But I'm glad you liked it!

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  3. This is actually something I have told my grandmother I would like to do. I want to sit down and have her tell me everything, and the same for my Nana and Papa. I think that's what I'll do for the review. Both of them have such interesting stories, but someday I want to take a day and have all three of them tell me all the details.

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