by TJ Seitz
Cincinnati
There was still a lot of drive time ahead of us. We needed to get back to Interstate 65 and find someplace to get lunch.
I stopped at the first McDonalds we came upon. I parked and asked Jackie, “Do you need to go to the bathroom? After I take a piss I’m going to order lunch. Do you want me to get you anything?”
She handed me a coupon for a buy one get one free cheeseburgers deal and told me, “Don’t order me a drink. I still have an unopened soda in my bag from earlier.”
We both used the facilities. I ordered three cheeseburgers and two small fries for us to eat in the car.
The drive became gloomy. I topped the gas tank off right after buying lunch so I would not have to stop again for gas until after I dropped Jackie off.
The sky was cloudy. It was raining out and the temperature got colder as we drove northward. Radio stations were easier to tune into though so I didn’t have to listen to Jackie’s tape anymore.
Jackie started talking about how weird it will be to see her grandmother. She has not talked to her in almost ten years and hopes she’s still living in the brick row house they (her maternal grandparents) bought during the late nineteen fifties in the Mount Auburn neighborhood. The last time Jackie talked to one of her cousins a year or so ago they said the she was still there but circumstances might have changed.
She went on to tell me that both her grandparents’ families were Greek and immigrated to America from Eastern Thrace during World War I.
Her grandmother’s maiden name was Laophonte and her grandfather’s last name was Thestius. The families were from the same village but came over at different times.
Circumstances however landed both clans in Cincinnati after leaving Ellis Island. Upon reconnecting they arranged the marriage of their children to reinforce their cultural bonds.
Jackie thought it was interesting listening to her Grandparents argue with each other in Greek at home but in Turkish when in public. She lived with them for months at a time when she was little.
Jackie also noted, “Looking back. I don’t think that they really liked each other but they did treat their kids and grandkids like saints.
Grandma seemed a lot happier after my grandfather died. He was hit by a delivery truck when coming home one morning after working a night shift. Grandpa was a manager at a soap factory.”
Jackie added, “My mother told me that he had lots of younger girlfriends on the side because Grandma thought sex was disgusting.
Mom said that even in his fifties he looked young and handsome, while Grandma looked twenty years older.
Women liked spending time with him. He was polite, listened to them and liked to talk about all sorts of things like books and politics.”
Her grandfather apparently read a lot while on his breaks at work or at home. Her grandparents’ house had a whole room dedicated to the books he read over the years. The books were in English, Greek and Turkish.
The grandmother was always suspicious of him being unfaithful when working double and night shifts. When he was killed she considered it a form of celestial punishment for his philandering.
I guess her grandmother read a lot too but mainly light stuff like the newspaper, detective novels and Readers Digest magazines. Jackie said, “Grandma also knitted a lot and grew a vegetable garden in their backyard. I loved eating the black raspberries and helping her make jam every summer.
I remember Grandma dutifully having breakfast ready for Grandpa when he came home in the morning from work. It was usually sausage eggs and toast.
When I stayed with them Grandma usually made a light lunch for us of tuna salad, cheese or jam on bread because Grandpa usually was asleep and did not eat lunch.
Dinner was also always ready by five in the afternoon on the dot. It always consisted of meat, potatoes or rice, never pasta though, a salad and homemade dessert. Grandma made the best Greek and Turkish pastries.
Grandpa used to say that pasta was for the fucking Italians. He hated Italians and proclaimed that they were all stupid rag pickers who drank wine made from dog shit and slept with their cousins.”
Jackie recalled there being two twin beds in their upstairs bedroom. The guest bedroom was used to store canned good and showcase the few family heirlooms or photos that survived the trip over from the Old Country.
She usually slept on the couch when she stayed with them or her grandfather’s bed if she was sick. Her grandparents would quietly read at night until she fell asleep which was when her grandfather would usually leave for work (or a corner bar to talk with his friends on his days off) and Grandma would go upstairs to read more or go to bed.
Jackie continued narrating her story, telling me, “My mother, Leda, had major rebellion, drug and anger issues. She frequently took advantage of my grandparents, asking them for money or to take care of me while she ran off with some guy she just met for months at a time.
One time, when I was six or seven, a mentally disturbed acquaintance of one of my mother’s many boyfriends picked me up at my Mom’s place and told me he was bringing me to a Munchkin farm to live with the Lollypop Kids, then left me for several weeks with a boy about my age named Ted and his mother in Athens, Ohio. I was totally oblivious.
Police and child protective services eventually found out what happened, located me, stormed the place and brought me back to my mother. I’m not totally convinced that my mother was completely innocent either or if the incident was another one of her attempts to be kid free for a while and play victim. Something she liked to do often.”
Tears started coming from Jackie’s eyes. She, pulled a cigarette out of her purse, pressed the in car lighter in, rolled down the window, lit the cigarette with the lighter after it popped out and started smoking it.
She told me, “I wish I knew my grandparents better and remembered more but I was always at the mercy of my mother’s crazy making.
I think that my grandfather was tall and skinny based on my memory and pictures. He had black hair, a mustache and smelled like peppermint.
Grandma always looked old to me. She had long salt and pepper hair rolled into a bun that was combed every morning, before being neatly pinned to the back of her head. Grandma wore long wool black dresses, even before grandpa died, that covered up nearly all of her body so one could not really tell how much she weighed.
Grandma was slightly shorter than Grandpa. She liked to where a plain white apron over her dress that had 2 pockets on its front. That was where she stored nail clippers, a small pair of sewing scissors and a pencil stub.
Grandma’s eyes were brown and sad looking. Her nose was pointy and crooked.
She visited the beauty shop once a week to get her hair washed and tend to any facial hair issues with her chin or eyebrows that needed taking care of.
Grandma smelled like dish soap or coffee because she drank a lot of coffee and hated dirty dishes in the sink. She used to say that’s what Italians did and she that never wanted to be accused of keeping house like a filthy Italian woman.”
Apparently their mutual hate for Italians was one thing Jackie’s grandparents did share and agree on. One would think it was the Turks but no, they were indifferent to them because the Ottoman Empire was more than just the Turks.
The Turks were just one of many groups, including the Greeks that were ruled over by the Ottomans. It was the Italians they hated because they lost several family members who were conscripted by the Ottomans into a war between Turkey and Italy over Libya and some islands in the Aegean Sea.
Jackie went on to say, “My mother never told me much about my biological father’s family. She always assumed he was no better off than she was.
Over time though I put two and two together and figured out that my father was probably the reason my mom initially moved away from Cincinnati. Whenever I asked her about him or his origins, Mom would just say
that he sold Schwan products from a freezer truck.”
To change the subject I pointed out, “Hey. I notice that you don’t seem to be itching yourself much anymore if at all. Are you feeling better?”
Jackie paused a minute and thought about my comment then started to smile. She said, “I guess that Amber was right about that ring.”
I asked, “So what happened to the ring that you guys were talking about?”
Jackie giggled and bragged, “I ditched it on the little cunt in the cave. I slipped it into her purse while exchanging it for a pack of cigarettes I found inside.
I snapped her bra strap to both teach the rude bitch a lesson and distract her some. She’s way too young to smoke anyways. It’s a dirty habit and I’m pretty sure her parents don’t approve.”
I laughed in response to her comments and stated, “I’m glad that you’re at least feeling physically better. It’s also good that you get all these thoughts out before seeing your grandmother. You two will have a lot to talk about and figure out.”
Jackie said, “I believe that Grandma will probably act oblivious or absent minded at this point. She will proclaim that the past was so long ago, and claim she’s forgotten a lot since the last time she saw me.
I’m pretty sure that Grandma will probably be happy just knowing that I’m there for the moment and be content with small talk versus unpleasant details of what’s happened in the last decade between me and my mom.
Grandma though probably knows a lot more than she will reveal but won’t want rock the boat, staying away from touchy subjects to keep the peace and not push me away at this stage of her life.
Or at least this is the conclusion my cousin and I came to the last time we talked.”
It sounded to me like her grandmother was lonely and misses her family so any contact would be greatly appreciated.
I then inquired, “Have you thought much about your decision to go to Hawaii?”
She answered, “Not much really. I’ve been thinking it might not be a bad idea to get a job for a while so that I can save up enough money to buy a one way plane ticket there. As irrational as it seems my heart keeps telling me that he will stay put and be there for me to talk to when I get there, be it a few days, months or years.
That’s how soul mates are. Time does not change the connection.”
I asked her, “ So what kind of work or job are you considering?”
Jackie told me, “I might apply to a temp agency and try lots of different receptionist jobs or maybe try working at hospital.
There is a hospital within walking distance from my Grandma’s that’s always looking for help in the cafeteria or in maintenance.”
I replied, “It’s good that you are laying out a plan. So many people in your position feel powerless. They never accomplish their goals or anything in those lines because they don’t make a plan and take the first steps.
You don’t seem to be that way. You are flexible enough to change if you need to and not afraid to admit that you were wrong or made a mistake.”
She gave me a look of gratitude and said, “Thanks. I like getting compliments with details. I’m not used to getting them.”
For five or six more hours we drove and talked about the stories she remembered regarding her family history before arriving in Cincinnati.
Once inside the City limits Jackie basically remembered how to get to her Grandparents’ home. After a few wrong turns and some backtracking we arrived in Mount Auburn. The area seemed pretty hilly to me.
Jackie directed me to park in the street in front a several groupings of red brick row houses. The neighborhood looked like it was well tended. There was no garbage in the postage stamp front lawns, just winterized flowerbeds and rock gardens.
The three story narrow houses all basically looked the same other than their owner’s decorations and personalized touches. They all had brick stairs with six steps and rod iron railings that lead to black front doors. Three or four of the residences had American Flags. All had big picture windows on the ground floors, two regular windows on the second floors and one on the third floor. Some had pruned rose bushes under the picture window and others had what looked like trimmed raspberry plants.
It was around 6PM. I had no idea where in the City we were or what street we were on but Jackie did. She took a deep breath then got out of the car and walked quickly to a stairway with a plastic statue of a cat sitting on the stair. I followed to make sure she was going to be OK. She bent over and patted its head and said, “Hello Kitty. It’s good to see you’re still guarding the entrance to Grandma’s house. I missed you too.”
Jackie then pressed a doorbell on the right side of the door. The Mason jar porch light on the left side of the doorway turned on and the door opened. A lady who matched the description Jackie gave me of her grandmother came out with wide eyes and a big open mouth smile yelling, “HELEN!”
Jackie modestly said, “Hi Grandma.”
They both gave each other big teary happy hugs and kisses for about five minutes.
I wondered why her grandmother just called her Helen. I was confused and I think Jackie noticed. Her Grandmother asked us both to come in. I replied, “Thanks but I need to get back on the highway. I’m hoping to get home sometime tonight still. I want to make the best of the remaining daylight and least get out of the City back onto the highway northward.”
Jackie told her grandmother, “I want to say goodbye to TJ before coming in.”
She came down to me, took the jacket I leant her off and offered it back to me saying with wet appreciative eyes, “Thank you for everything.”
I pointed out, “You will need that jacket more than I do. You have almost no clothes and it’s a lot colder up here than in New Orleans. You should keep it.”
She started to cry and gave me a big hug and kiss on the cheek saying ,“I will remember your kindness for the rest of my life.”
I replied, “I’ll remember you too. I’m curious though why your grandmother just called you Helen.”
Jackie smiled and let me know, “That’s my middle name. Both me and my mother have the same first name, ‘Jacquelyn, ‘
To not confuse our names family members call or know me by Helen and my mom as Leda, her middle name.
Jackie is the name I use around friends and non-family.”
Her response made sense to me because my step father did the same thing.
I didn't linger around much longer, gave her a final hug goodbye, got into my car and drove away. I saw her go into the house in my rearview mirror as I turned around and drove back the way I came.
My conscience was glad I did what I did. Jackie was crazy to think she could get to Hawaii on an impulse with no money. Maybe her grandmother would talk her out of chasing the guy down and help fix Jackie’s life. I just knew that if I left her in New Orleans she would have surely ended up in trouble.
I simultaneously felt both a relief and loss the rest of the way home.
It would take several weeks before I stopped annualizing the events, wondering why things happened the way they did.
I got home early the next morning and passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow. It had been a long week.
Conclusion
I waffle a lot between the concepts of Synchronicity and Fate.
Was I guided to New Orleans by a higher power to remove Jackie from a volatile situation or was it dumb luck that I happened to be in the right place at the right time?
I’ve wondered many times over the years about what happened to Jackie after I dropped her off.
The realist side of me assumes she still ended up dead in an abandoned well or shallow grave somewhere despite my efforts to help. However, the optimist part hopes that she came to her senses.
Maybe reconnecting with her Grandmother helped Jackie to remember stability.
Rather than allowing her obsession with the co
llege professor to control her Destiny she decided to take control of her choices focusing instead on rebuilding her life, eventually letting go of the past and moving on.
I envisioned her getting a decent job and after a few months retrieving her son, then starting over in Cincinnati.
It’s taken me nearly twenty years to remember everything and get it all down on paper. All the words I needed to complete this piece were hard to come by until now.
I am also confident that there are additional chapters to this story; they’re just not mine to tell.