A Futile Device

When I was younger, my grandmother would read me stories from letters that are enclosed in an envelope. Word for word, she would read them and then put them back inside the envelope, then further tell the story with her own words. I had moved out when I turned 24, making sure that I visit whenever my work ended so that our tradition would continue to stand.

She never told me who had written these hundreds of letters, nor had she shown me who had written it.

It was the endless buzzing of my phone that had woken me up from my peaceful sleep. Irritated, I forced one eye open to check what was waking me up. It was my grandmother’s care center.

I’d lifted my head up and then swiped the phone to answer the call, “Hello?”

“Miss Williams,” the lady on the other line, Christina, my grandmother’s nurse, had said, “You asked us to call you when your grandmother is showing unusual behavior.”

“Yeah, is everything alright? Is she alright?”

“Of course,” Chris answered, but there was hesitation with her voice. “However, she’d already spent her whole morning staring out the window.”

“Whole morning?” I asked, confused. It was when I’d looked at my clock, seeing that it was already eleven. “Is she alright? Did she say she needed anything?”

“She had been looking for you and…”

“And?”

“A person named Timothee?” Chris sounded unsure like it was the first time she had heard of the name as well.

“Timothee?” I repeated, “Did my grandma make friends there?”

“None, Miss Williams---”

“Bree, please. Call me Bree.”

“None at all, Bree. Your grandmother had not talked to anyone but you and me lately.”

I nodded as if it could be seen through the call. “Alright, I’ll come over in a bit, tell her I’m bringing stories with me. I’ll read her to sleep, she’d like that.”

After dropping the call, I got down on my knees and grabbed the weaved box that my grandmother used to keep all the letters that she had stored. I never opened it, simply because I didn’t have the time. I was always busy with work, bar, and possibly hooking up with anyone that I would be attracted to. I never found it in myself to settle down, because of my past boyfriend. As I said, this family might be cursed.

I opened the cover, and then pulled out the one portrait that was rising above everything else. It had been folded on the corner as it wasn’t placed inside the box properly. It was forced to fit into the tight spaces of the box. I’d pulled it out, seeing an old candid photograph of my grandmother, with her careless attitude and laughter. I found myself smiling, wondering how happy my grandfather must’ve been when he took this.

I wonder when someone would be able to make me smile like this…. I turned the photograph around and then saw beautiful handwriting, that I couldn’t recognize.

I’ll see you at midnight in the garden and we’ll get away from all these, the writing says. I’d thought that this was from my grandfather, making me smile. But as I read at the bottom corner of the photograph, it had been signed by a different name written in cursive. Timothee Belan.

Timothee Belan… Who was he? Why was my grandmother looking for him?

Below his name was his address written… I don’t know if she already knew this, or if she even remembers these things.

And that’s when it dawned on me: All the stories, all the writing that she told me, she never once confirmed or said that it was Bert, my grandfather. That was why she always became silent when I’d asked if it was my grandfather—if he always was her true love, her soulmate… she never said that he was.

This was in my mind the whole time I drove to the care center where my grandma stayed. I passed by McDonald’s to grab my grandmother some snacks, she had always loved chicken nuggets, it never changed as she grew older.

When I arrived at my grandma’s room, she’s looking out the window just as Chris told me earlier this morning. Chris was standing just behind me and offered to fix the food so that my grandma could eat it.

“Gammy,” I called her as soon as Chris walked out of the room. She didn’t turn back to look at me, instead, she just waved her hand and then placed it down on her lap. “I heard you were giving them a hard time again.”

“Oh please,” she scoffed. “It was too early for them to give me a bath, and I can give myself a bath, you know. I’m not that old.”

“You can hardly stand on your own, gammy.” When I walked before her, I’d noticed she rolled her eyes on me. I couldn’t help but let out a smile as I got down on one knee so that I was on level with her. “How have you been?”

“You were here yesterday morning, Brianna, don’t act as if I’m dying so soon.” My grandmother had always been stubborn and sarcastic. It was one of the great traits that I may have acquired from her. “I’m old, not dying.”

“I was just wondering if you’d gone insane staying here, Chris told me that you wouldn’t stop looking out the window,” I informed her. I held her soft, fragile hand and then looked into her eyes. Some people say that I looked exactly like her. My mother always told me. I got her green eyes, her blonde hair—even her attitude to top it all off. “Why don’t you come home with me?”

“I—” she started, but then her attention had been snatched away. I didn’t know what she was looking at, and when I tried to follow where her eyes were, I could only see two people walking. A man in casual clothing walked with an older man-- my grandma’s age, I would assume.

“What is it, gammy?” I asked, nudging her arm playfully. “You’ve got a little crush now, don’t you? Is that why you don’t wanna come home with me?”

“I thought you came here to read for me?”

“No, actually, I came here ‘cuz I thought you’d read for me.”

“Brianna…”

“Joking, gammy, come on,” I said, chuckling as I helped her up the chair. I guided her as she walked to her bed, laying her down gently and letting her settle in. “Okay, so, my day started…”

“Brianna, grab an envelope, will you, and read it for me.”

I’d stared at her for a moment, both confused and surprised. She had never asked me before to read a letter, even told me that the envelopes were not to be read by me. So, when she’d said that, I felt anxious and excited, both at the same time.

I nodded as soon as I had collected myself, grabbing the box from the bedside table, and then taking the one beside the photograph that I had seen. With a last glance towards my grandmother, I started reading:

December 17^th, 1956

To my beloved and my whole life, Ruth,

To tell you how I feel would render my words as nothing but a futile device. I have loved you ever since I’ve first laid my eyes on you, walking out of your house with your hair down and wearing clothes of your brother that only made you more beautiful than anyone I have ever seen. I have loved you the moment you’d take my hands in yours to shake them, telling me your name and how lovely it was that you’d met me. I have loved you from the moment that you’d rolled your eyes on me as soon as you saw me downing one shot after the other, and told me off when you’d seen me placed a cigarette between my teeth.

To tell you how I feel would render my words as nothing but a futile device. One that could not begin to cover how much I think of you from the moment I open my eyes and the moment I close my eyes and drift into my slumber. One that could not begin to cover how much I love being by your side-- to listen to your stories and problems or watch as you crochet sweaters for your friends. How talking a cigarette between my fingers would only remind me of your disgusted face, or how holding a shot glass would remind me that I’d disappoint you… So, I gave it all up, to have you in my arms.

But even if it would render my words as nothing but a futile device, I would still say it. I love you, as my friend, as my mate, as... myself. I love you as myself and maybe even more. And I could only hope that you’d feel the same, and you’d keep feeling the same way as I do.

“I love you against all odds, always,” I looked at her, seeing her subtle smile as I said the name that had awakened a curiosity inside me, “Timothee.”

I let my grandmother wander her thoughts for a moment, let her smile as much as she liked. She did not meet my eyes, she only looked out to the ceiling, and I could only imagine what she was thinking about.

It was when she looked at me that she’d realized my effort to mask my confusion, “I loved your grandfather, Brianna,” she explained but then she’d frowned, “But I couldn’t have loved him the way that I had to.”

“Who was Timothee, Gam?”

“He was a young boy from my home, very annoying and arrogant, I suppose… I met him when I was with my brothers once on the beach, he was friends with them. I wasn’t kidding when I told you that I was a heartthrob, Brianna.” My grandma nudged my elbows and smirked, cockiness in her expression. “I hated him so much, the way he kept his hair tied behind his back, the way he smirked when he glanced at me. I hated it all so much.”

“I don’t think he hated you back…”

“Oh dear, we hated each other’s guts. As he would say, he hated how I was without filter with words, how reckless I was even, how snobbish I was. Days passed that we’d spend with each other, though we never talked much. I would find myself stealing glances towards him, somehow always finding him either smug or flirting.” I could hear the joy in her voice, then she’d looked at me. “That was what was different with your grandfather and Timothee. I love your grandfather with my whole heart. He gave me your mother, and then you…”

“Why do I feel like a 'but' is coming?”

She finally met my eyes, grabbing my hand as she pushed herself up to sit. “But with Timothee, I hated him. I hated him, I loved him, I despised him, and I adored him. I was mad, and happy, and confused, all together with him. I felt the world, I felt everything with him. He was what Aristotle would describe as half my soul, Bree.”

“Where is he now, grandma? Why didn’t you marry him when you loved him that much?”

“My parents did not like the guy; he wasn’t rich nor was he enough for them. When they found out that I was going to run away with him, they packed my bags and took me home, to the city, where I was far away from him. No goodbyes, no nothing. The next thing I know was that I was already engaged with a man that my parents approved of, and all these letters were all I had of Timmy.”

“Was this the last of his letters?”

Suddenly, she reached for her purse that was on the bedside table and took out another envelope that I’ve never seen before. “I never took it away from my side because it was the only thing, I had of him. The thing that keeps me going.”

I took the paper and then paid my grandmother one glance to ask if I could open it. When she nodded, I looked down and then smiled a little. “This is romantic, gammy.”

“I wrote to him, giving him an address to send to me something back, maybe I even hoped that he would visit me. He wrote for more years, once every week, I’d receive word from him.” I’d heard her ragged breath and the slight break of her voice as she spoke, knowing that this was a hard memory for her. “It was the last letter I’d received from him after I told him that I was to be married.”

“To my dearest Ruth, my soul, and my life…” I started to read, smiling softly. I was always amused at how this Timothee wrote to her. It gave me butterflies, to say the least. “You’re getting married? I suppose that someone as beautiful as you are ought to be married soon. Do you love him? Does he love you? You’re Ruth, of course, you wouldn’t marry anyone you don’t love, such a strong-headed woman you are. It’s one of the things that I love about you.”

“It doesn’t matter who you are with, though, my beloved Ruth…” my grandma started reciting. I’d looked at her and then down on the paper, reading the exact same words that she was reciting. “You’ve got my heart and my everything. You and I are two bodies sharing one soul, perhaps in our next life, we’d be blessed with time and with each other. I love you, Ruth, truly. With all my heart. And in another life, I’ll be the one marrying-- you.”

When I looked at my grandma, I had noticed a tear rolling down her cheeks. I dropped the paper on the table and then moved closer to her. I couldn’t find the proper words to say, so I’d done what she’d done for me whenever I cried when I was younger. I hugged her, humming quietly.

“Perhaps one day, Brianna, if you find a Timothee in your life, don’t let anything stop you from being with that person. I wouldn’t say that it was a mistake—the worst thing that happened to me, because it brought me your mother and you… But to this day, those were the words that stuck to my head. What if I’d just seen Timmy one more time? What if I’d told him I loved him instead of acting tough and cold? What if I’d tried to find him years before I’d grown this old?”

***

Her words stuck to me as a couple of days passed by.

I had not gone to see her yet, being busy with all the work that I’ve been doing. And I hoped that I had made the time to visit her once more, leaving this job for a couple of minutes a day. Because the after the week, as I walked down the street to my office, I’d felt my phone’s vibration.

The words I’d heard had me wanting to hurl my guts out and just drop everything and run to my grandmother. After a moment of nothing but silence and confusion, I’d held out my hand to hail a cab, but none stopped. My hair haggard and my make-up smudged by now, I would assume.

Finally, after a few more failed attempts to hail a cab, an impala Chevrolet stopped before me. The man behind the wheels wore a shirt and jeans, his hair tied behind his head, and with a worried look, I met his blue eyes. “Do you need help?”

I couldn’t think of anything but getting to my grandmother, so with a panicked voice, I said, “Can you drive me to the Werring Nursing Home? My grandmother---”

“Get in, I was going to the same place.”

I didn’t give it another moment or thought, I’d opened the car and jumped inside. Perhaps I shouldn’t have because this was how people usually died, but I couldn’t care less. I had to get to her. The car had no music, and all I could hear was the noise from the outside and the subtle humming of the man beside me. When he noticed that I had been looking, a smirk formed on the corner of his lips, “I’d be willing to give you a picture if you wanted.” I didn’t reply. Already, I was pissed at him, though thankful for the ride. “I’m Hal Belan.”

Belan? Why it sounded familiar, I didn't know. “Bree. Why are you going to the nursing home?”

“My grandfather was staying there, I was on the way there, I’d received a call that he passed away last night. How about you? Why were you crying?”

“My grandmother passed this morning…”

The whole ride to the nursing home wasn’t filled with getting-to-know questions and answers. We mostly stayed quiet, both nervous and afraid. He immediately parked the car as soon as we arrived, and then side by side, we walked inside the building. Christina greeted us, “Bree, Hal, glad you two are already here. Ruth and Timothee are inside. Your grandfather walked to her room last night, and then the next morning…”

That was why she never left the nursing home. The man that she’d come to love was with her all along. When I looked up to Hal, I’d seen him staring back at me. He was the man that was walking outside my grandmother’s window.

And when I’d looked inside the room, my throat closed up and my eyes waters. They embraced each other tightly as they passed together, following each other to another life.

Perhaps Timothee was right… Words would be a futile device to explain their love.