Stacy Matthews - Dear Mary 01 - Think Twice Before You Order (2 page)

Finally getting to Gpa’s

Dear Mary,

The Kansas City Airport has improved over the years. Although
it seems like every time I’ve come to town there has been some kind of
construction going on, it is one of the easier airports to maneuver around.
When you get off the plane and are leaving the secure area there is a sign on
the other side of the doorway that says LUGGAGE, with an arrow pointing to the
left. No trams to take, no going up stairs, elevators. Nice and simple, the way
it should be. There are a lot more coffee shops, restaurants, gift shops, you
name it they have it. Seeing as how it was the red-eye flight, there weren’t
that many people milling around, but more than I was expecting. It looked more
like a newly remodeled shopping mall than airport. I stopped by one of the
coffee shops and grabbed a cup. Carefully balancing my coffee and bag, I went
outside to get a cab. That is one of the biggest differences between Kansas
City and New York. Now I know what you’re thinking. Out of all the differences
between Kansas City and New York you notice the cabs? What you may not
understand is, in New York, to the naked eye, it appears there are as many cabs
as people. When you look out into the street in New York there are more cabs
than any other kind of car. It’s not the case in Kansas City. I had to grab one
of the skycaps to see if he could help me. It took about ten minutes. He was
finally able to find one, I jumped in, gave the driver the address and we were
on our way.

Now for small town people and small town living. You know how
you get that warm feeling when you think of something from your childhood?
Whether it’s something you ate or time you spent with your family at holidays?
Then when you try to recreate that exact situation or feeling it never measures
up to your memory? Well Edwardsville isn’t like that. It’s exactly the same as
it was when I was a kid. It doesn’t seem to matter how old I get, it’s like
walking into a Thomas Kinkaid painting. It gives me the sense that everything
in the world well be all right. It’s a little creepy, yet comforting.

When you live in the city for a long period of time the
skyscrapers become your trees. You just get used to it. Having grown up in a
small town where there are more trees than houses you wouldn’t think seeing
them again would be a big deal. But when I come home I’m amazed at seeing how
all those dark green trees gives me a sense of calmness and familiarity. There
are a few small parks scattered throughout Manhattan, and of course there’s
Central Park, but most people do not pay attention to any of those. When I try
to explain to my friends how much I miss seeing trees along the streets, they stare
at me as if I’m from a different planet. I try to get them to imagine walking
down the Avenue of The Americas, and in their minds eye replacing the flags
with trees. To them that would be like walking in a forest, which most of them
have never done or would ever think of doing.

As we were pulling up to Grandpa’s house it was like entering
the
Twilight Zone
. Nothing in the neighborhood had changed. No matter
how often I come back I am still in awe at the Berger’s, four houses down, they
still have the lovely and apparently timeless ornaments in their yard. I swear
they are the same ones they had when I was in the fourth grade. Goes to show
you if you take care of your things they will last forever. Grandpa’s house is
on Newton between Fourth Street and Sixth Street. A beautiful brick ranch with
wood shutters, and a yard that is always the envy of the block. Grandpa isn’t
the yard ornament type. There are neatly shaped shrubs, and flowerbeds around
the trees. The yard is the one thing he makes sure is kept up. My father was
like that as well. I don’t know how that gene skipped me, but it did. That may
have also played a part in what drew me to New York
;
no lawns. I paid the driver and started up the walk. I knocked on the front
door, despite my urge to bust in and find him ten feet from the phone. It is
his house and I needed to be considerate of his privacy, for now.

When he didn’t come to the door, I walked around the house.
No windows broken, no doors pried open. Just like the police said. Nothing to
indicate something was wrong. I went back to the front door. I thought I had
waited the appropriate amount of time for him to get up, put on a robe, and get
to the door. I knew there would be a key under the welcome mat, so I let myself
in. As the door opened I yelled “Grandpa it’s me, Sid your granddaughter, are
you home?” There was no reply. I have no idea why I said my name. At this point
I’m fairly certain I’m the only granddaughter he has.

The house was quiet and dark. Of course my mind jumped
straight to “he’s probably unconscious by now from the pain and or lack of
water.” I flipped the switch and the lights in the living room came on. I
haven’t been in this house since I was seven years old and it looks exactly
like I remember.

Considering the year the house was built it has a very open
floor plan. From the doorway I could see the living room, dining room, and a
small part of the kitchen. None of which had an unconscious man on the floor.
As I made my way to hisbedroom, I checked all of the rooms down the hall, three
other bedrooms and the bath. I can’t believe it. You can fit almost two of my
apartments into just this section of the house. He is fifty some years older
than me and yet this house is cleaner than my 500-square-foot apartment. It
appears the cleaning gene skipped me as well. It's amazing how much I'm
learning about myself. Even more amazing is the fact that I'm actually writing
it down.

I had tried to convince Grandpa to let the E-Mafia do a
little bit to help him. Maybe let them cook for him or some light housekeeping
and laundry. He refused. Said those women had been trying to get to him since
the day Grandma died. Turns out he had been doing all of it on his own, and I
am the one who is in need of someone to keep things in order, and would gladly
pay for them to do it.

I made it to his room. Seeing as how the first two scenarios
hadn’t played out, thankfully, the obvious conclusion was when I opened the
bedroom door he would be lying across the bed. I kept my fingers crossed, took
a deep breath, and opened the door. The bed was neatly made and no one was
draped across it. I went to the bathroom and checked the medicine cabinet.
Everything was there, medicines, toothbrush, and shaving kit. I checked the
closet and it appeared all of his clothes were there. If he has gone on a trip
he's going to have to buy everything new. Nothing seemed to be out of place. I
made my way to the kitchen. No dishes in the sink, overflowing trash or
recyclables stacked up waiting to be taken to the bin.

I am a much worse housekeeper than I thought. I knew I was
bad, but this is getting ridiculous. I thought maybe one of his friends would
know something, so I went to the “information center” as Grandpa likes to call
it. It’s the desk against the wall as you come in the kitchen. Even that was
organized. Above the desk is a bulletin board where he keeps a lot of pictures,
coupons, and little clippings from the newspaper. It's also where the phone is
located. As I was going through the drawers to find the address book, I
happened to notice several pictures of Grandpa and a woman I've never seen
before. They looked to be very close. Okay I can deal with this; Grandpa has a
girlfriend. I am a little surprised that he hadn’t mentioned it to me. I
thought we were closer than that, but I guess not. From the looks of it, they
have been together for a little while. There were pictures of them in the
backyard, by the lake fishing, and what looked to be like a party at someone’s
house. She is a very pretty woman, a little young for him I think, actually a
lot young. She can’t be much older than me, but I am glad to see he is getting
out.

I found the address book and started thumbing through it. At
the front of the book there was the name Dr. Niemeyer and a phone number out to
the side. That was really the only name and number I didn’t recognize. The rest
of the book is filled with the numerous friends of my grandparents, most of
whom live here in town and a couple of distant relatives on Grandma’s side of
the family. I know Grandpa has a lot of friends, but not only would Charlie
know where or what Grandpa is up to, he would most likely be up to it with him.
It’s four thirty in the morning so I’ll wait and call him around seven. I’m
going to try and take a nap.

Later

June 7
^th

Dear Mary,

Well, I got a couple hours of sleep. I tried calling Charlie
at seven. According to his answering machine, he’s out of town until tomorrow.
I left a message on his machine letting him know I was in town and why. Being
here in Grandpa’s house has made me think about my Mom and Dad and how much I
miss them.

My parents were William James Graham and Patricia Lee Graham.
My Mom died of stomach cancer when I was forty-one. My Dad died the year after
that. I think he mourned himself to death. I couldn't have asked for better
parents. People who believe in reincarnation say you are spiritually connected
to the same people each lifetime in one way or another. If there is such a
thing, I hope with all my heart those two will be my parents every time I come
back. They were fun to hang out with and were always supportive of anything I
did. Believe me I had several things I wanted to do. I took acting lessons,
dance lessons, flute lessons. I had to quit the flute lessons; the teacher said
I didn't have the lips for it.

I don't know how my Mom did it. That woman drove me all over
town just so I could do what I was interested in at the time. She would sit and
wait for the lesson to be over then drive us all the way back home. That's one
of the reasons I don't think I would be a good mother. I know me, and I
wouldn't want to take little Bobby to Cub Scouts or karate. I would be more of
a “Don’t you know someone who has good parents that you can catch a ride with?”
parent. I would want to be as good of a mother as mine was to me, and deep down
I know I just don't have it in me.

My Dad was a funny guy. He was an accountant. You never see
funny accountants. At least I never have. He taught me how to play baseball,
basketball, and all the usual sports every kid plays. He was a great Dad. We
would go out into the backyard and pitch a tent. We would have a small fire and
make s’mores. I loved doing that. Of course Mom would never come out and join
us. I'm pretty sure that's why we only ever camped in the backyard. Dad knew
that roughing it for Mom was when room service was late, and he didn't want to
leave her by herself for a weekend. She always said she got the best husband
around. I have to agree with her on that one. My Mom's parents were killed in a
car accident before I was born, so I know absolutely nothing about them. My mom
told me stories about them but it’s not the same.

   Even after my parents were married for
forty-five years, they acted like they were still in high school. They would
sit on the couch together, hold hands and watch TV. They loved each other so
much. That’s what I want in a relationship and I don't think that's asking for
too much.

  While I have this time off I think I should focus on
my relationship with Grandpa, and what path I would like to see my life take. I
thought a walk would do me some good and give me time to think. Boy was I
wrong.

Unfortunately I was half way down the driveway before I saw
Mrs. Ruby in her front yard. If she gets you cornered you will be talking to
her for the next hour. I tried to turn around make it back to the front door as
fast as possible without looking like I was running. I should have just run.

The Ruby’s have lived next to Grandma and Grandpa for as long
as I can remember. I’m not exactly sure when Mr. Ruby died, but Mrs. Ruby has
always sort of been the neighborhood watchdog. Nothing and I mean nothing, ever
went on around here without her knowing about it. You either loved her or hated
her. Towards the end Grandma loved her. Grandma told my Mom she felt safe
knowing Mrs. Ruby was watching the house when they were gone; she was better
than an alarm system and cheaper than getting a dog. Grandma didn't like it
when Mrs. Ruby would come over after she had a few of her “refreshments,”
that’s code for whatever beer was on sale.

Grandpa has never liked her. He says he cannot do anything
without her knowing about it, and he feels like he is under house arrest. He
told me in the last couple of years she only leaves the house two or three days
a week now, Sundays for church and a couple of evenings for potlucks with some
of the other widows in the neighborhood. Grandpa says the rest of her time is
spent either out in the yard or peering out one of her windows. Even though she
is getting on in years, she still knows everything about everyone. I think
Grandpa was counting on the nosiness slowing down as she got older, no such
luck.

I made it back to the door and could have pretended that I
didn’t hear her, but I knew everyone in the neighborhood heard her calling
“yooouuuu whoooo Sid!” over and over. Besides I knew I would have to talk to
her sooner or later so it may as well have been then.

She really hasn’t changed over the years. She’s about five
feet tall. Has salt and pepper hair, and still goes to the beauty shop every
week to get it done. When she’s home and puttering around the house she wears
one of her housedresses, and they aren’t just any old housedresses. These
babies are chock-full of flower prints. Some have huge flowers on them; some
have little itty-bitty flowers all over them. The ones with the itty-bitty
flowers make you feel like you’re looking at a poster, one that if you stare at
long enough you’ll see some kind of picture or it just makes you really dizzy.
I would imagine she has between forty and fifty of these beauties. They used to
be the kind with the snap buttons. Now that she is older they are the kind that
zips up the front. If she is out in the yard she has on her gardening outfit,
which is a nice pair of Capri pants usually khaki or some version of brown, a
lovely blouse, tennis shoes, and of course her straw hat.

When my mom and I went out shopping for a gardening hat we
would call it a “Mrs. Ruby hat”. They were hats with a huge brim so your face
wouldn’t get sunburned while you were outside. When my mom finally found one
she got one of the worst sunburns she ever had. Somehow it did the opposite and
reflected the sun directly onto her face.

After Mr. Ruby died Mrs. Ruby became fairly religious; however
she still loves her “refreshments." I think she was genuinely happy to see
me, not just trying to get info out of me. Of course she knew exactly when I
got here. I don’t think she ever sleeps and I swear those are screen marks on
her face and not wrinkles.

At first the conversation was the typical, how are things in
New York, do you like what you’re doing, blah, blah, blah. Then it got a little
interesting.  She said with so many people coming and going at Grandpa’s
house she didn’t know if I would have time to stop by and talk to her. I asked
her what she meant.  She said since that young woman started living with
Grandpa it seemed like someone was constantly coming and going and she was
getting tired of the late night traffic.

You would have been proud of me. I didn’t get hysterical or
start talking fast or anything. I calmly asked her if she had ever talked to
Grandpa about the young girl. Get this, she say’s “Oh no dear, I think that
would be intruding. I believe people should mind their own business.” I wanted
to scream, “Since when”? But I didn’t. I told her I agreed with her completely
and asked when she last saw Grandpa. She said it had probably been three or
four days but that she honestly couldn’t remember with church, potlucks, and
everything else. So Grandpa has a girlfriend living with him, and late night
guests, interesting.

We talked for a little longer, and then I came back into the
house. I don’t mind telling you Mary, I am quite disappointed with Mrs. Ruby.
All of this church and potluck stuff is definitely getting in the way of her
snooping. She didn’t have half the gossip she used to. I wish Charlie would
call, I am sure he will know what’s going on, and who Grandpa’s girlfriend is.
I think I’ll go for a drive instead. See if any new businesses have opened up
since I was here last. 

Later