“All right. But take some cash.”
She presses money into my hand.
“Go, Mom.”
“Okay, okay.”
Finally
she gets in the car
and drives away.
She leaves me alone
with Grandpa.
I lean into the chair.
Grandpa’s wheels bump over the roots
breaking through the sidewalk.
He grips the chair arm
with his good hand.
“It’s okay, Grandpa. I’ve got you.”
This is way harder
than going over smooth hospital floors.
I roll him to the corner and wait for the light.
The cars slow and stop.
“Here we go.”
It’s this stupid short light.
We have to hurry or we are going to be stuck
in the middle.
I push him across the street,
and he grunts and waves his arm.
“What? I can’t stop in the street
and figure out what you’re saying, Grandpa.”
“Gruggrrr.”
I lean into the chair and push him up the incline
onto the opposite sidewalk.
“What is it, Grandpa?”
He points to the conservatory,
points at me,
and bangs the armrest.
The conservatory.
“Yeah, I see it. So?”
He points at me again,
then at the building.
“Come on, Grandpa.
Let’s go.
He bangs the armrest once more,
but stops grunting.
He never would have done all that
before the stroke.
Even his personality is different.
And right now,
I don’t like it.
There’s a break in the traffic,
and music streams out the barre room window
above us.
Grandpa sways his head.
I focus on pushing him around the people
walking so easily on the sidewalk.
It’s hard to get from one place to another
without running into or over someone.
I bump into a businessman.
He gives me an angry look.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
He hurries off.
Why does everything
have to be so hard?
The bookstore
is straight across the street.
I wheel Grandpa as fast as I can.
Don’t look.
Don’t look.
I do.
Elton isn’t at the register.
It’s some lady with a ponytail.
I shouldn’t have looked,
and then I could have kept pretending
he was there.
Close by.
“Clare!”
Oh, great.
It’s Devin.
“Hi, Clare.
How are you doing?
I’m so sorry you didn’t make it.
And who is this?
Your grandpa?
Hello!
You really would have made it, Clare,
if you weren’t tall.
You know that, don’t you?
Because you are such a good dancer.
I mean it.
Well, it’s great to see you.
And nice to meet you.
I have to hurry.
Rehearsal’s in half an hour.
I’ll tell the other girls
how great you look.
You really do.
Keep in touch.
Bye.”
She skitters away.
Grandpa looks up at me,
chuckling.
Devin chatters more than Mom!
Who knew?
People are so different
outside of class.
Well,
at least I didn’t have to think
of one thing
to say.
I push Grandpa to the park
and stop on the pavement
near the biggest maple tree.
This is the one
with the sculpture
hanging in it.
The plaque says it’s by Anthony Howe.
Grandpa and I
watch the slowly twirling
circles, cups, and stainless steel arms
moving in different directions
above our heads.
It shines and spins in silence.
A perfect spiral dance
in the breeze.
I set the brake on Grandpa’s chair
and sit down on the warm asphalt.
“We made it.”
I lean against his wheel.
Some little kids
are playing hide-and-seek.
I recognize the mayor,
who’s served so many terms,
pushing her grandson on the swing.
She’s someone as identifiable to this town
as the judge
and the daffodils.
Small towns can be cool.
Even this one,
with the conservatory
hovering like a ghost on Main Street.
It will be fun living where Mom grew up.
The Daffodil Parade in spring,
outdoor concerts later in summer.
I’ve heard the high school is pretty tight.
In a couple years
I’ll be a Spartan like Mom was.
A new life and new friends.
Grandpa brushes my head.
I look up.
He’s smiling down at me.
In one half of his face
I see
Grandpa
and the spinning sculpture
glinting above him.
I close my eyes
and listen.
Children laughing.
“Joey,” a mom calls.
The chair squeaks
as Grandpa shifts.
Poplar leaves
shshsh in the light wind.
“Oooh. Yuck.
Drooly drool!”
A kid’s pointing
at my grandfather.
“Oooooh,” he squeals, and runs
to his friends.
I jump up
and wipe Grandpa’s mouth
with his handkerchief.
“I’m sorry, Grandpa.
I’m sorry.”
He hangs his head.
“Let’s get out of here.”
I release the brake
and roll him away
from their laughter.
“Do you want to stop for tea?” I ask.
He shakes his head.
“Okay, we’ll go home.”
We walk and roll
all the way home
in silence.
Grandpa pushes the gate open
with his good arm,
and I push him through.
We both let out a big sigh.
“Home,” I say,
park him by the sunflowers,
and set the brake.
“Do you want some tea now?”
He grunts.
“Okay, I’ll be right back.”
The kettle shrieks.
I pour the boiling water
over the bag,
stir in some honey,
and head back out.
“Grandpa!” I call.
A sun shower mists down on him.
He grins at me.
“It’s raining! Come on.”
I set his cup down on the stair
and rush over to him.
He bats my arm away from the brake.
“Grandpa, we have to get you onto the porch.
It’s raining.”
He grunts
and swats my arm.
“What? I don’t know what
you’re saying.”
He stares at me.
I wipe the water off my face.
I try one more time.
He bangs the armrest,
and I start crying the tiniest bit.
Why can’t he speak
for once?
Even if it was like before,
and he’d run on and on.
Why can’t he speak?
“Ughgh,” I groan.
Grandpa grabs my hand
and holds it up to the sky.
I look up.
The droplets land on my eyelashes.
The sun warms my neck.
Grandpa is smiling again.
Rain washes his glasses.
We hold hands
by the sunflowers.
“Clare!” Mom yells.
I drop Grandpa’s hand.
She slams the car door.
“What are you thinking?”
“I—”
“Get Dad inside right now.
It’s pouring.
He’s soaked!”
She thrusts shopping bags into my hands
and shoves by to the back of the wheelchair.
“Never mind. I’ll do it. Honestly, Clare!”
Mom releases the brake
and wheels Grandpa up the ramp.
“Everything is wet!
I’ll have to get a rag to dry the wheels
before I can even take him inside.”
The storm door bangs behind her.
“Urghph.” Grandpa turns in the chair
and holds his arm up to me.
He’s smiling.
I set down the bags,
hold my arms up
to the sun,
and relevé.
My entire body
stretches
anxiety
out.
“It took me twenty minutes
to change him out of those damp clothes.”
Mom fixes Grandpa’s
dry shirt collar.
She tucks the fleece blanket
over his lap.
I shrink into the couch
in my robe
and pull Mija onto my lap.
She nips my hand and jumps down.
“I need to be able to trust you, Clare,”
says Mom. “I need you to think
about what you are doing.”
“I tried to bring him inside—”
“Tried isn’t good enough.”
“He was batting my hand away,
and I couldn’t even get to the brake.”
“Excuses.
You may have lowered his resistance,
and now he could catch a cold.
I can’t have you saying you’re
responsible and then showing
you aren’t.”
“Mom,” I raise my voice, “I am.
I took him to the park.
We were fine.”
I push away the thought
of the little kid making fun.
“He said he wanted to sit in the rain.”
“Please, Clare. He said?
I don’t know what’s wrong with you.
Maybe you are overwhelmed
with everything lately.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“With the failure—the changes we’ve had—
maybe it’s too much.”
“I’m fine,” I say with my teeth clenched.
Grandpa bangs his armrest.
Mom and I jump.
He points at the couch.
“What is it, Dad?”
He points again.
“Dad, I see Clare on the couch.”
He slaps the armrest harder.
I get up and push his chair.
“He wants you to move him
over to the couch.”
“Are you sure?” Mom asks.
I don’t answer.
Grandpa leans over
and digs behind a pillow.
He pulls out a harmonica.
“Oh, that must have been left behind
from the prayer meeting.” Mom reaches for it.
“Come on, Dad.
I’ll put it in a safe place.”
Grandpa holds it away from her.
“Dad.”
“He wants it himself, Mom.”
“I can see that.”
She struggles to snatch it,
and he pushes her away.
“Fine! I’ll call Bruce
and let him know it’s here.”
Mom storms off to the kitchen.
Grandpa turns the harmonica
over and over.
He brings it up and presses it to his lips.
“Oooooooohhhh.” One long, eerie note
comes out.
“Clare, stop.
Don’t play with that.
It’s not ours.” Mom comes
back into the room
and stares at Grandpa.
He takes another big breath.
Several notes slide out
one right after another.
I take a big breath
each time he does.
Somehow, he cups one hand
over the instrument
and moves it back and forth.
The notes are slurred a little,
but I recognize the song.
It’s Mozart.
The music quivers my skin.
He pulls the harmonica
away from his face.
He’s weeping.
He’s talked
to us.
We both rush over and hug him.
“I’m home,” calls Dad.
“I found this cup of tea on the porch.
Hey, what’s all this about?”
“Grandpa can play the harmonica!” I shout.
“What?”
“He can. He can!”
“Martha, did you know he could?”
“No.” Mom stands and wipes her face.
“I didn’t. I’ve never seen him, ever before.”
Dad sets the cup on the side table.
“Show me, Lawrence,” he says.
“Wait.” I wipe Grandpa’s drool
with his handkerchief.
“Okay. Go ahead and show him.”
This time Grandpa plays a faster song.
Mom claps,
Dad laughs,
and I do some fancy footwork.
Grandpa is showing
there still is some joy
in his heart,
and we are showing
ours right back.
The moon lights Mom’s face.
She nudges the porch swing.
I lean my head back.
“I can’t believe Dad played for over an hour.”
“Me either.”
Mija slinks out of the shadow
and jumps up onto my lap.
She turns around and around
then sits.
A perfect circle of fur.
“And then he played again after dinner,” I say.
Mom yawns. “I put the harmonica
right next to his bed
when I tucked him in.”
“That’s good.”
We rock in the dark.
A slow sad song drifts out of the house.
“I better go check on him.
Something could be wrong.”
“No.” I pull her back down. “Just listen.”
Grandpa plays into the night,
and we rock
in rhythm.
She said
failure
when we were fighting.
It had to have been about City Ballet.
I spit into the sink
and rinse my toothbrush.
I know it.
I failed.
But when she says it,
it makes me mad.
I twist the faucet off.
When she says it,
I want to fight back
and show her
she’s wrong.
Even though
she’s right.
I’m so tight.
My muscles
feel like cement.
I grip the iron footboard
of my bed
and plié.
That’s never felt so good.
I peep at the clock.
7:00.
Ugh.
It’s so early.
Voices murmur,
bags rustle.
Maybe Mom and Dad need help
with Grandpa.
I stumble out of my room.
“Well, hey there!” A very large woman
smiles at me.
She’s like between Mom and Grandpa’s age.
“Uh, hi.”
“Clare, this is Mabel.” Mom
reaches over and straightens
my long T-shirt.
I flinch from her cold fingers.
“It’s mighty nice to meet you, Clare.”
Mabel straightens her white uniform
over her large lumpy body.
“I’m looking forward to taking
good care of your granddaddy for you.”
“Great,” I say. “I, um,
forgot you were coming today.
I’ll go get dressed.”
“And, Mabel, if you’d come with me,”
Mom says, heading to the kitchen.
I slip on my jeans and a clean T-shirt.
Wow. I knew a woman was coming,
but this one is so big.
She fills the whole room.
Will Grandpa like her?
At least she doesn’t look like one of those freaks
who hurt old people.
There was that news report
I watched with Dad one time.
Those guys steal and are rough,
and no one ever finds out
because the patients usually can’t talk
or don’t realize they’re being hurt.
I pull my brush
through my hair.
Mabel’s deep laugh
rolls to my room.
Grandpa’s going to like
this lady.
Dad wheels Grandpa out from his room.
Mom hurries along beside to comb his hair
one last stroke.
“Hey there, Mr. Lawrence. I’m Mabel.”
She reaches down
and shakes Grandpa’s hand.
She covers his hand with her other
and looks him in the eye.
“Pleased to meet you, sir.”
“Grumgrh.” Grandpa smiles.
Friends already?
“Mabel, are you sure
you can handle Dad alone
on your first day?
Especially when we have an early start
at the store?” asks Mom.
“Ma’am, we’ll be fine.
Clare can help
with any questions. Right?”
“Yeah.”
Mabel reaches over
and squeezes me against her.
She’s soft and squishy.
“They’ll be fine, Martha.” Dad
gets his briefcase,
gives me a kiss on the forehead,
and herds Mom out.
“Bye.” We wave from the porch.
“What is that beautiful sound?” Mabel asks.