Anam Cara

“Another screw, Kevin.” Ralph held out a calloused hand without looking. 

The cool, light weight fell into his palm, and he held it up against his work-in-progress, fitting the drive bit into the head. With a whiz, the threads bit in and dug deep. The pine beam released its sharp scent. Ralph stopped the drill and brushed away the yellow curls of wood shavings. 

“That looks cool, Grampa! What is it?” 

Ralph smiled at his grandson’s expression: brown eyes wide with curiosity, and mouth open with wonder. 

“It’s a clothesline pole, Kevin. I told you that earlier, when we started, remember?” 

“Oh, yeah.” The little brown-haired boy resumed tipping the plastic box of screws back and forth, watching and listening as they slid and rattled. 

“I need another one now, Kevin.”

The boy popped the box lid open and gave him a screw. “Will Mommy like the clothesline?” 

“I hope so, buddy.” Natalie had confided to him that the dryer wasn’t working—it was making the clothes smell funny, like the fabric was being burnt, and they weren't even drying all the way. The parts to fix it were expensive, so putting up an outdoor clothesline sounded like a good solution.

Kevin looked around, then leaned forward conspiratorially, brown eyes sparkling. “I made Mommy a card for Mother’s Day,” he said with the loud, spitty whisper of a child. “I drew a heart on it.”

“That’s good, Kevin.” Ralph turned back to his handiwork and squinted at it. “She’ll probably like that better than this thing.”

“No she won’t!” The boy’s voice was loud and shrill with indignation now, secrecy forgotten. “You make the best stuff. She always likes what you make.”

“I don’t know about that.” Ralph revved the drill and drove the screw in. “Another screw, Kevin.”

“Don’t tell her, okay?” The sparkle in Kevin's wide eyes was gone, replaced by worry.

“Don’t tell her what?”

“About the card!”

“My lips are sealed. Now can I have that screw?”

“Wait!" The little boy pulled back, hand clutched tight. "What does that mean—your lips are sealed?”

“It means I’m not going to tell. Screw, Kevin.” Ralph held out his hand expectantly. 

“Screw you, Grampa!” Kevin giggled. 

“KEVIN! Where did you learn that?” 

“At the playground.”

“Well, don’t say it again. It’s not nice. Hand me that screw, please.”

Eight years later

“Dad, push the trivet over here, please.”

“Hm? Oh, sure, Natalie.” Ralph gave the trivet an absent-minded shove, keeping his eyes on his grandson’s face. 

Natalie tilted the stainless-steel pot she carried so that Kevin could see its contents. “I made you cheese dogs!” she beamed. 

Kevin smiled back. “Thanks, Mom.”

Ralph watched his grandson fork the distasteful-looking pieces of pink processed meat pimpled with processed cheese onto his plate. He didn’t know why anyone would eat it, let alone who ever came up with it. 

As he and Natalie ate their own dinner of pan-fried hamburgers and mashed potatoes, Ralph continued to sneak glances at Kevin as the young teen cheerfully ate all four of the edible abominations Natalie had cooked just for him, as a treat for his fourteenth birthday. 

When Natalie went back into the kitchen with the dirty dinner plates, Ralph reached into the shopping bag he’d brought home earlier. “Here, Kevin, I got you a little something. Go ahead and have some now, if you want—before your mother comes back with the cake.”

Kevin picked up the package Ralph slid across the table, and his face lit up. “Thanks, Grampa!” 

“You’re welcome. Happy birthday.” Ralph settled back in his chair with a chuckle. He knew at least one thing about Kevin that Natalie didn’t: Kevin didn’t like cheese dogs any more than he did himself. Where Natalie had gotten the idea that they were Kevin’s favorite food, he had no idea, but the boy would probably never tell her. 

However, Ralph did know that his grandson very much liked beef jerky, and he’d just given Kevin a large package of his favorite kind.

Kevin tore it open. “Do you want a piece?” 

“No, thanks. Eat some yourself. Enjoy it.”

Seven years later

“Heyyy, Gram-pah.”

“Kevin, is that you?”

“Yeah…”

Ralph took a deep breath before speaking into the phone again. He could hear a ruckus going on in the background. “Where are you?” 

“The…bar.”

Ralph’s hand tightened around the phone. “Kevin, listen to me. Don’t drive. Do you understand me?” 

“That’sss…why I’m callin’ you.”

“What?” 

“Will you…come get me?”

Ralph sighed in relief. “Yes, Kevin, of course I’ll come get you. Just wait, I’m coming.”

Ralph found his grandson sitting slumped by himself at the bar, his long, curly hair mopping crumbs from the counter, his stubbly chin folded against his chest. “Come on, Kevin.”

The young man tried to get off the stool, but nearly fell. Ralph caught him just in time. Even with Ralph firmly holding onto him, Kevin could barely walk straight, and once they were in the truck with the doors shut, Ralph could smell the alcohol in his grandson’s every exhale. 

“Grampa…”

Ralph glanced at the lanky, slouching figure riding shotgun, then re-focused on the dark road illuminated by the headlights. He’d expected this drive to endure in silence. “Yes?”

“Pull over.” Kevin had his arm pressed against his mouth, as if stifling a cough. 

Ralph jerked the steering wheel over and slammed the brakes. Kevin kicked the door open and sent a fountain of vomit out onto the gravel-strewn shoulder; he would have followed had Ralph not grabbed his shirt and dragged him back in. 

“I’m sorry I got you up, Grampa.”

Ralph blew out a breath. “It’s alright, Kevin. I’m glad you called me. You can always call me, anytime, and I’ll come help you. I just don’t want you to do anything dangerous.”

“Life…is dangerous, Grampa.”

“That it is, Kevin. That it is.”

One year later

Kevin got out of the truck whistling. He stopped to scratch his unruly brown beard before calling out, “Hey, Grampa! Where are you?”

No answer. Kevin resumed whistling as he circled around the house to the backyard. He smiled when he saw the clothesline; the thing had stood the test of time well. Just like all of Grampa’s projects. Kevin’s smile grew into quiet laughter as he thought about what a nuisance he must have been all those times Grampa Ralph asked him to ‘help’ with things. Probably the only way to keep him out of trouble had been to keep him close, and give him busywork to keep him occupied. 

As Kevin sauntered through the back screen door, he heard an abrupt, heavy thud, accompanied by a wordless shout. He found his heartbeat suddenly pounding in his ears. “Grampa?” 

Kevin heard a groan from the next room, and rushed in to find his grandfather on the floor beside a stepladder. “Grampa!” He dropped to his knees beside the older man. Ralph groaned again. 

“You okay, Grampa?” 

“I’m…fine. Just give me a minute.” 

Kevin looked around, and noticed the dining room furniture had been moved out of its usual arrangement. The table and chairs were all pushed back to one side, leaving a clear space for the stepladder set up under the central light fixture. One of the bulbs was missing. 

Looking around again, Kevin saw brittle white shards, more translucent than eggshells, scattered across the floor. 

His grandfather’s surreptitious struggle to get up on his own caught Kevin’s attention. “Here, let me help you.” He grabbed Grampa Ralph’s strong, wrinkled hand and heaved. 

“I told you, I’m fine.” Contrary to his reassurances, Grampa Ralph leaned against the table to steady himself. Kevin didn’t stop supporting his grandfather until he seemed firm on his feet. 

“Why were you trying to change the lightbulb, Grampa? You know I’ll do it if you just tell me.” 

“Shouldn’t need you to do a simple job like that; just takes a minute to climb up there and switch it.” 

“But you shouldn’t be climbing up there”—Kevin kicked the ladder—“at all. It’s not safe. And if you fall and get hurt, I’m gonna be the one who gets in trouble with Mom for not helping you.”

“Speaking of your mother…” Grampa Ralph looked around at the pieces of smashed lightbulb. “You won’t tell her about this, will you?”

Kevin retrieved the broom and dustpan from the kitchen before answering. “My lips are sealed, Grampa.”

Author's note: "Anam Cara" is a Gaelic phrase, "anam" meaning "soul" and "cara" meaning "friend". An anam cara is someone who offers a compassionate presence, and to whom you reveal intimate secrets. The original version of the word, anamchara, is said to have originated in Irish monasticism. In that setting, the anamchara was a monk's teacher, companion, or spiritual guide. A lay person may also be an anamchara.