Things We Keep

Things We Keep

Briefly mentions instances of war.

The translucent jar on the bottom shelf fell and with a deafening crack , broke down it's middle and spilled white smooth sand all over the living room floor.

I always hated the look of that jar but it doesn't mean I wanted it broken.

I dropped the skipping rope in guilt. What was I thinking?!

Grandma would definitely be mad at me now. I rushed to the kitchen and grabbed a broom and dustpan and made quick work of tidying up the place.

In no more than 10 minutes, the place looked good as new. Airy, clean and bright. Except the noticeably empty space on the shelf. I hunted around grandma's house till I found a little figurine she had gotten from her AID work in Zimbabwe and I plopped it there.

Great. Good as New.

The door opened almost as soon as I sat down and there stood Grandma Ruth in all her bespectacled smiling glory. She always had a smile on her face, even when I mistakenly fed her dog chocolate, even when I broke her walking stick. She and I were best of buds and as she came round to give me a warm hug, my heart stopped racing,

No , she wouldn't be mad ....after all ..It was only a Jar and accidents did happen.

I cleared my throat, running my sweaty hands over my braids. "Grandma..." I began "I mistakenly..." Unable to continue, I pointed to the shelf, finger wobbling slightly.

"MY JAR!!!!!" The shrill scream that tore out of this old woman's throat had me cringing and covering my ears in terror.

This little lady, always as smiley as the sun , was crouched on the floor holding her chest as if I had stabbed her.

She was wailing. Muttering words over and over.

I panicked and ran to the landline, hurriedly dialling the only number I knew off head.

"What's wrong?" My father's sharp voice pierced the air . Choked up with my own sobs, I peeked over at where Grandma Ruth was and there she still sat. This time crying silent tears.

My heart went out to her.

"I think I did something to Grandma Ruth!" I wailed, unable to control myself. My father calmed me down and asked me to coax his mother over to the phone but she wouldn't move.

His voice took on a frustrated tint as he promised to be there as soon as work would let him.

The phone went dead.

With nothing else to do, I inched closer to my grandmother and sat on the floor with her, my head bowed.

After some minutes, i looked up, mustered the courage to voice out "Grandma Ruth. I'm sorry for breaking the jar. It was an accident, I promise"

No reply

I felt terrible, we sat there in silence for what felt like a thousand years

until Grandma spoke, her voice had become weak and papery thin voice because of the crying , it snapped me out of my reverie

"I will remember that day like it happened yesterday" she rasped

I was torn between asking "which day?" And being utterly quiet , hoping she would actually tell me.

Grandma Ruth was a fantastic storyteller, weaving emotions and color into past memories

I had a feeling that this one...was different.

She laughed, a solitary tear trailing down her wizened cheek.

"How could I forget that day, I ran home happy because Isaac Eisen had finally given me a kiss"

Her hand ghosted over her lips as if she was recalling that moment.

"Mummy and daddy were arguing again..."

Her voice trailed off wistfully

"what I would give to hear them argue again"

she shook her head, a slow smile coasting her face.

"The house smelled like it always did, of warm bread and peaches."

I sat still, breath bated, wondering when I would finally understand what the Jar meant.

Her eyes which had been previously glazed, now fell to me.

Guilt tore at my heart to see them so red rimmed and watery.

"That night I was supposed to meet my best friend , Amy one last time. Her family was fleeing north. Amy's dad said the unrest would lead to a war."

My grandma laughed "Amy was a bright one. Always talking about parties and new hairstyles. But her speech changed to talk about wars and strange things. It became more and more difficult to be around her because her kind were being targeted....but still i was sad to think of her leaving and I wanted her to have something to remember me by."

I sat up straight.

"The Jar ?" I asked

Grandma Ruth nodded, wiping her face on her sleeve "Everything i could have given to her , had gone to my new baby sister and so I snitched one of daddy's finest jars from his antique collection and shovelled into it some of the fine sand not too far from the house "

At this, Grandma chuckled so heartily, I felt the story would have a happy ending.

I waited as a dark shadow passed over her face once more

"Oh but that was not to be, I waited and waited but Amy never came. Till date I'm not sure what happened to her. I don't think it was good. I hope against hope that she's old like me and is telling her grandchildren of the good old days when her wild curls used to turn all the boys' heads in class."

I frowned .

Grandma Ruth continued " An hour later, as I was about to leave my hiding spot in the basement, I heard what sounded like fireworks outside."

She frowned "I wondered why they were doing fireworks without me. It was silent after that and i waited"

She was silent for so long, i thought that was were the story was going to end.

But then she started to weep anew, " And then that's when the first bomb got dropped and the house collapsed in on itself"

My mouth fell open.

The bombing of Guersden. We had learnt about it in school last year.

A beautiful seaside town , turned into nothing but rubble and ashes.

I didn't know ....i didn't know

Tears filled my eyes as I looked over at my sweet grandma and imagined her at my age, suffering this alone.

"You don't have to continue Grandma" I placed a hand on her shoulder.

"I must."

I wiped my tears away as she took in a deep breath.

"When I finally became conscious, everything was razed to the ground. Smoke was going up all over the place. "

She shook her head, a small sad smile on her face.

"I didn't find my parents or baby sister , i didn't find any of my friends, all my things were gone. But I survived because I was in the basement. .." she paused, head tilted "and funny enough, the jar of sand survived too."

She shrugged .

"From refugee camp, to refugee camp, to gaining citizenship here, to getting my first job, this jar of sand was my shadow. A reminder that I had my past with me. That even though my childhood home was no longer there, it existed, at least in my heart....and my jar."

I was mortified and filled with a type of pain that

Remembering how quickly I had thrown away the sand , to hide the evidence of my accident.

Now it was me who couldn't stop crying

"I'm sorry grandma!" I wailed.

Grandma Ruth came to me and hugged me, whispering "It's okay, It's okay"

My father came to find us this way, seated on the floor, wrapped in each other's arms , still crying.

He sighed with a fond smile

"I had a feeling this was the case. I brought Ice cream!"

That brought a small smile to my face.

As we gathered around Grandma's table, I vowed to myself to keep telling the story about Grandma's childhood home. Even though it wasn't there anymore, it would always remain alive in my heart and in the hearts of whoever I told. Jars of sand and figurines could get lost or destroyed.

But stories?

Stories always stayed alive.