Grandma's House

The house with the orange shutters sat at the end of the gravel driveway. The house was an off-color white, but you could see those bright color orange shutters from the road. The door was also orange, although not as bright and the porch had potted plants lined up, pushed up against the railing. Behind the house-sat acres of acres of dry, golden brown grass.

It had not rained in months, and there was a high risk of a wildfire, but this was grandmas’ house and Grandma wasn’t going to move. “Or at least until the Lord makes me move-six feet underground” she said dryly one day to her daughter. Her daughter had gasped and dramatically shouted “Oh mom! Don’t talk like that!” But grandma just shrugged and took a sip of her coffee, “It’s best not to pretend. I’ll die soon enough and then you won’t be bothered anymore!” Grandma had not seen the reason to lie about death. Grandma also did not understand talking about it like it wasn’t going to happen. When her daughter was not visiting, she would sit at the porch, and stare out into the vast plains that surrounded her house talking to past ones.  

 Her daughter came every major holiday. July 4^th was just around the corner and the summer had been unbearable. Her daughter would come in, with Peter her only child dragging his feet. He was always shy and no matter how many times Grandma offered him cookies or tried to chat with him, he barely spoke two words-three if she counted “Hello”.

One this particular hot summer day, Peter was on Grandma's ancient flower couch, barely staring at the TV. Her daughter had on a soap opera; blasted volume high enough to wake the whole city.

“Turn it down, Marie! I might be losing my hearing, but it isn’t all gone yet!” Grandma said, shouting into the living room. Marie grunted and lowered it, mumbling something under her breath. She had learned to ignore her child’s tantrums. It does not matter how old she was, her daughter had grown into a very predictable angry divorcee middle aged woman. She had hoped for something better for her-at least for her to be happy. She was secretly glad that Marie had divorced Peter’s father, who had a habit of drinking and not working. She was hoping being free of him would spur her daughter into reinventing herself. Instead, she saw her daughter had grown angrier, often blaming others for misfortunes that she had caused herself.

Marie had wondered into the kitchen, taking out a frozen pie she had picked up at the store on the way over.

“I was hoping they had peach cobbler, but I figured apple pie was better for you. I tried asking the clerk, but of course he didn’t speak English.” Marie rolled her eyes, as she took the frozen apple pie and transferred it into the fridge. “I didn’t realize how many had come into town.”

Grandma froze and she slowly turned around, her tiny frail hands balled into fists. “Where else are they supposed to live child? Now, help me or get out of the kitchen. You are distracting me.” Marie rolled her eyes and walked over to Grandma, placing her hands on her shoulders.

“I just worry about you out here by yourself, Mom. What if something happens to you?”

“I have a better chance of dying in this heat than from anyone. Now, go get me the mixer, “Grandma said, pointing to the cupboard as she kneaded dough on the cutting board.

“There isn’t one here.”

Grandma did not tell her that she did not use the mixer her daughter had gifted her two Christmases ago. She did not like that her daughter assumed she needed help mixing something as simple as dough.

“Oh well, must be in the basement. Guess I’ll have to- “

“Peter! Go get the mixer in the basement!”

Peter sleepily looked up from the couch, his head bobbing up. “Hmm?”

Marie pointed to stairs on the other side of the house. “Go down into the basement. Look for a mixer-red-probably still in the box” She said the last part with a scowl on her face, looking over her shoulder at Grandma. She did not notice or pretended not to notice as she started chopping onions.

Peter did not want to be here. He did not like the heat. He did not like the country. He did not like being away from his best friend, Luke. Peter knew that his mom did not like Luke. She was always trying to get Peter to make more friends. But Peter liked Luke more than anyone else. Peter simply could not imagine being anywhere without Luke. Peter did not like being in unfamiliar places. Luke felt familiar.  Luke felt safe. Peter was not sure exactly what that meant, but he did know the feeling of disappointment when his mom caught them wrestling together. She had yelled and yelled at him, grounding him for the summer. Peter knew the feeling of excitement when Luke had thrown pebbles at Peter’s window and Peter lifted his window and Luke climbed up in the middle of the night. Peter knew something tugged in his chest when Luke and he laid in bed, talking about rockets and space and their hands briefly grazed one another’s. Peter knew he felt happy when Luke laid besides him and intertwined his fingers with his and for a moment, it felt like they were anywhere but here, and Peter had forgotten he was grounded.

Peter’s head smacked the too low light bulb hanging in the basement and painfully brought him back to the present.

“Ow!” he said rubbing the back of his head and clicking on the light. The basement was cold and filled with dark nondescript boxes. Peter, being only twelve and having not hit puberty, began looking at eye level and pulling out the boxes one by one. Towels in one, old magazines in another, Grandpa’s medals in one, and a box of photos. Peter took out the box of photos and set them on the floor.

There were plenty of Grandma and Grandpa in their younger days, her smile reserved and Grandpa’s smile even bigger. There were dozens of black and white photos of them, most of them with Grandpa dressed up in military garb and her in some fancy gown. He peered down, through the box and he saw this stack of letters, all handwritten, cursive so smooth but tiny. All of them were signed “Love you forever, R”. Peter squinted and then looked at the back of the photo of Grandma and Grandpa, which said “Arthur and Mary, 1943”. He thought maybe he had read it wrong, so he looked at another, “Arthur  and Mary, 1942”.  Gasping, he looked underneath the letters and there was a single photo of his Grandma, or someone that looked to be his Grandma, sitting with a tall dark-haired woman. Their legs were crossed, and they were shoulder to shoulder, their perfectly manicured fingers were intertwined. Grandma was laughing and the other women was leaning in close. He flipped the picture around, “Rose” it said with a heart next to the name.

“Peter?” Grandma’s voice called downstairs. “Did you find it?” He could hear the soft steps of hers’ and he quickly got up, photo and letters in hand, meeting her.

“Oh child- “she paused as she looked as his face. “You okay? You saw a ghost downstairs?”

Peter said nothing and grabbed her hand tenderly and helped her upstairs. He did not utter a word, and Grandma followed him as he guided her towards the table. She sat down and looked up at Peter, a puzzled expression on her face.

Marie came in, “Well did you find the- “Peter sat the stack of letters and the picture down in front of Grandma.

The silence hung in the room, heavy like old dusty curtains that held secrets from bygone eras.

Marie leaned down, and squinted, her thin lips pursed in a frown. Grandma held up one of the letters, her eyes misty. “Where did you find these?”

“They were in the basement” Peter said quietly, looking directly at Grandma. He paused and then reached out and touched Grandma’s hand. “Can you tell me about her? This mystery woman. “

Grandma had tears slowly moving down her face, her wrinkles catching them, like they were nets for memories and pleasant times that have past. She opened her mouth, and cleared her throat, speaking slowly.

“Rose and I were very good friends.” She paused, staring at the letters, something catching in her throat. “I fell in love with her.” She smiled and picked up one of the letters and read it, “My dear, may we be stars so that we can share the same sky and never have to be apart again.” She sighed and picked up another one, “They can never tear us apart for we were born for each other. To transform this loathsome world into something beautiful. “She picked up another letter, “My butterfly, you are my heart and I cannot love or grow without you. “

Marie snarled behind her, “Oh please. She could not have possibly been that in love. And neither could you. You hadn’t even met Dad yet!”

Grandma cleared her throat and turned toward Marie, “My love for Rose does not take away the love I had for your father.” She stared at Marie, “And if you can’t understand that then you have no reason to be here. Or visit me.” Marie stood there, mouth agape, staring at Grandma’s eyes. “You were a lesbian!” Marie had screamed the last words at Grandma and Peter immediately stood up and said “Stop shouting! Stop shouting at Grandma!”

Marie opened her mouth and Grandma stood up and said, “You shut your mouth right now child. Stop spewing so much hate. You want me to see me again before I die? You respect me in my own damn house. “She didn’t raise her voice and she didn’t have too. Marie closed her mouth and sat down, looking forlorn.

Grandma had turned to Peter as he sat down next to her, looking at the letters. “I am so glad you found these.  When I was young Rose and I were inseparable. We grew up together and even had plans for college together. But you see, things happened. One night….one night, I don’t know what happened and probably never will. But she wrote this letter,” and here she held up one, “telling me she loved me, but she could not see me anymore. I snuck out to her house that night and told her that I loved her too. “ She had sighed, tears starting to well up. “Her family moved right before I turned 16. I would get these letters every week, and then suddenly-they just stopped one day.  I was devastated. I couldn’t tell anyone. That my first love was gone. You see Peter, it was different back then. I didn’t know if I really liked women-but I knew I loved Rose. A year passed and your Grandpa came into the picture. I never told anyone about Rose. I wasn’t ashamed-it just-it never seemed like the right time.”

Peter took Grandma’s hand and kissed the top and pulled her in for a hug. Marie, stood up and sniffling, wrapped her arms around them both. The embraced had washed away the tension that had hung in the air before.

“I’m sorry Mom, “Marie said. “I shouldn’t be so …. hateful.”

Grandma took her daughters hand, “No you shouldn’t. If you let hate cloud your vision, you’ll see past people that love you the most. “

Peter stood there and fumbled around with his words, “Mom look I know you don’t like Luke-“.

Her hand shot up and she said, “Look, Peter, I just want you to be happy. Just because I’m not happy doesn’t mean I have to take it out on the world.”

She hugged him tight and pulled in her mother close to her and they held each other for a long time, simply holding each other up until dusk washed over them.