Blank Verses

There’s this thing, sometimes I think it is sad, but most of the time I think it is beautiful and wouldn’t change it if I could, and it is the way I think almost everything she does in her old age is endearing or cute or funny and I record so many instances in different ways, either like this, on this blog, or on material pieces of paper, stuff like that, just like her journal she kept of some of us grandkids of hers…and that’s the sad and beautiful part of it, that what I’m doing is the same as what she was doing then, just the age is reversed.

When she was ready to go back to her house today (she’s like the friend you used to have that you always wanted to stay over but was just a person that didn’t seem to do sleepovers, and you wondered why) I was working something on the computer and she said

“You know we could go right now if you really wanted to.” and I said “Woah, hold on there Sassypants I’ll be there in a minute.” and then I waited sixty seconds NO I DIDN’T but I finished what I was doing (it was important business!) and we got in the car after we made it down the stairs alright.

In the car we debated over whether we should get gas now or not and decided we would right-this-very-second even though the station was a little bit past the interstate ramp due to the state the tank was in, being nearly empty.  I said “Okay.  I’m goin’ in.  Make sure nobody kidnaps you okay?” and she said “Okay I will.”

Got gas, we headed up the highway, the sky had so many colors.  It was one of those things, real cliche

“Sky sure looks nice” I said.  She made this situation all better

“All those colors.  Must be the sun over there.  And over here,” gesturing with her right hand toward the part of the sky that didn’t have the sun on its side to illumine

“nothing.”

It was darker blue on that side, somewhat gray.  However!  The way she said nothing.

“I wish I could take you up to Burlington but they don’t let me drive the car anymore.  I used to drive up and down this interstate like I owned the place, now they don’t even let me drive.”

Thought I would chide with her a while

“You owned the place!  Burlington?  The coat factory!?”

Something about a hotel came out of her mouth, I started asking real questions about this Burlington business because I knew she meant the place up in North Carolina where her sister lived- she doesn’t think she’ll get to see her again.  That really stopped the jokes.  Can I change that I wonder.  Sure did makes us gloomy there together under the darker blue portion of the sky, until.  Me anyways.  She was fine and making these faces at me.  Like this one :) but cartoonish then something like ;].  That one was my favorite.  Wished my head had a camera to capture that.

“Are you going to take me back first or go to Mema’s?”

Mema is mom’s mom.  She couldn’t join us for dinner today because she has shingles.  I asked mom what the shingles really were, she said they’re like the chickenpox inside-out but I’d be good since I’ve had chickenpox before.  But I was still scared.  I was going to drop off some food for her.

“I’ll drop you off first.”  There was a song on and she hummed a part of it, but her throat wasn’t prepared.  Her hum cleared her throat.  I asked her if she hummed and she said she did, even though she didn’t know the song, but it sounded nice and she wanted to try.

My whole life, every time I have come over to her house, the light, well first you need to know that her garage has no door; it’s more this brick thing with a little shed on the side, and there’s a light in the middle that goes off, just as most regular garages with doors, with movement.  She turned it off this time.  I’ve never known her to turn it off.  I learned this when I got out of the car, telling her I’d see her in, planning on helping her up the two steps she has.

“Don’t know why I decided to cut that light tonight.  Should’ve left it on.”

“Yep!  I was thinking that very thing.”

She couldn’t find the right key.  Country music was on in the kitchen.  She always leaves the radio on, for safety.  She found the key and we told each other we loved the other, a couple times.  She got in and I backed down the steps.

—-

On the path to Mema’s I was thinking about how to say hello.  I had this all organized:

(I knock on the door)

“Justin?”

“No!  This is the police!  Here to arrest you for being too sweet!”

And she would giggle, maybe let me in.

This is what happened:

(I knock on the door)

“Justin?”

“caught off guard) Hey.”

“Come around to the other door.”

“Okay.”

Totally blew it.

Dropped off the food, met with her for a little bit but not too long.  She was not well and I was scared.  It was the fear I hate, which is the fear of sickness and age.  Seeing her mother, Mamaw, once at a nursing home, I hugged her begrudgingly because I thought she smelled funny.  At least then, I had young age for an excuse.  Now?  I made myself feel a little sick and we got through it.  She got things confused and said since I’ve had chickenpox that means I can get shingles, which put me on edge some, and I let it keep us from hugging.  That sucked!  Leaving, she told me I could call her.  It was a good reminder.

On my way home I stopped by Wal-Mart and bought some shoelaces, which fit my shoes great.