“Oh, sweetie, I’m so glad you guys made it. It’s . . . it’s not looking good,” she said, close to tears. My Grandma Ivy had a knack for dramatization and exaggeration. Not that we didn’t think it was important, it was just that Grandma Elizabeth had lived so long. What more could anyone want?
“Hi, sweetie. Your great-grandma has been asking for you every day,” she said, choking back more tears as she half knelt next to me. I didn’t welcome the amount of pressure being put on me to be this dying woman’s last wish.
“Oh,” is all I could say as I tried to rush inside before my grandma actually started crying. I just wanted to go somewhere and hide, but as soon as I walked in, I was greeted by my uncle. He stood almost six feet tall, with a muscular build and light brown hair, cut in a rugged but appealing style. His face was almost clean shaven. He undoubtedly was a handsome man. He seemed to still be sober, and he dispensed one of his phony welcomes.
“Hey, girl. How’s my favorite niece?” I was getting so sick of hearing the word ‘favorite’ associated with a reference to me.
“Hi, Uncle Christian . . .” I muttered. He gave me a big hug, lifting me slightly off the ground.
“Happy birthday, baby girl. How old are you now, thirteen?” he laughed then cast his eyes around, knowing he’d said the wrong thing. My parents just flashed fake smiles and attempted their own rescue.
“That’s right, we were just talking about how we wanted to make it so special, once you know, all of this has passed,” my mother said, moving her hand in a circular motion. “It’s just so dark right now.”
“Yeah, only the best for our baby girl,” my dad chimed in, giving me a hug.
“I see. Well, I got you a little something,” my uncle said, handing me a rectangular wrapped package that I hastily placed under my arm.
“Thank you, Uncle Christian. I’ll open it later,” I responded, noticing the embarrassment on my parents’ faces.
I expeditiously used this as an excuse to escape; sparing them further awkwardness, and sneaked off into one of the living areas, while they remained chatting in the entryway. I realized my brother had found my uncle, who was giving him the “hey, sport” speech. Christian was boasting he had a surprise for my little brother, Nathan, as well. I rolled my eyes in frustration. Of course, my brother got a gift on my birthday. I was glad to be away from the clamor and falsity of everyone.
I glanced around the room I’d stumbled into. It was beautiful. Oak furniture was everywhere, projecting a feeling of richness and hominess. I sank into an unbelievably soft couch. One of the walls across the room was covered from top to bottom with photographs of the family. There were hundreds of pictures.
So many people, so many stories behind each photo. They all portrayed a family or children; everyone was smiling. This was true of them all except those including my Grandma Elizabeth. Hers seemed so dark and depressing. Then, in the crowd, I spotted the legendary photo of her holding me, with a smile on her face. I arose from the couch and crept toward it to get a closer look.
The photograph drowned out all the darkness of the other pictures. It was like seeing a different person. It was an expression of happiness that I knew I had yet to experience. I moved closer to the photo; perhaps there was some other reason she was so happy. It was hard to tell. I knew before my great-grandpa died she smiled and was happy at times. I just didn’t understand why if he was such a jerk. I’d heard my mother say he was a drunk, even abusive at times. All I thought of when I tried to picture him was Uncle Christian, and I failed to understand how he could make anyone happy.
“You know, that picture is a legend,” my grandma said from behind me. Startled, I direct my gaze away from it.
“Not even the day her own children were born did she smile like that. She was happy of course. I guess it had been so long since anyone had seen her smile that we were just so taken off guard, and you of all people . . .” my grandma’s words trail off. I sensed a lot of jealousy, “It’s amazing they got it on camera.”
“Yeah, amazing.” I wished they hadn’t gotten a picture, that way it would still be unbelievable.
“They’ve already started going in to see her. Your turn should be in a short while.”
My grandma seemed quite spaced out. I grasped that as a chance to slip in to see Grandma Elizabeth while I could still just stand in the background, hoping she wouldn’t even notice I was there. I didn’t want to be alone with her. I wasn’t ready to watch someone die.
I made my way up the stairs as slowly as possible and crept along the hallways, pretending I didn’t know which room she was in. A butler quickly approached and directed me saying, “Down this hallway,” while pointing in the direction I was already heading. I nodded and moved just a tad quicker.
The hallway contained artwork and a fancy rug that ran its length, covering the wooden floorboards. Elegant windows were every few feet. I walked on the outside of the rug thinking my shoes would somehow taint its elegance. Then I thought about my great-grandma’s impending death and decided to place my feet on it instead.
The door to her room was wide open, with everyone talking, Uncle Christian the loudest of course.
“Grandma Elizabeth, I will make sure all of your last wishes are carried out exactly the way you want them.” His voice dripped with sincerity; he is a convincing liar.
“It’s okay, Christian, I have someone to take care of it, you won’t have to do a thing,” I heard her voice for the first time. It sounded neither old nor sick. I wondered how anyone could actually believe that this woman was dying.
“No, grandma, I want to.”
“No. Alex, you will be my executor,” she said, referring to my father.
“Oh, wow. Grandma Elizabeth, are you sure? Someone in the family perhaps?” My dad attempted to wriggle out of it.
“No, my family is after my money. I cannot trust my family. I’m old, dying, but I’m not stupid,” she said matter-of-factly. I could tell my uncle was put out by this, and I heard him begin pacing the room.
“He’ll take care of it, Grandma Elizabeth,” my mother said quickly, sealing the deal for my dad. “We know where all of your documents are.”
“What’s an executor?” my brother asked.
“Nothing, sweetie. Go say hi to Grandma Elizabeth,” my mother told him.
I peeped around the door and watched him reluctantly walk over and give her a half hug in the bed where she lay. He pretended to tend to my great-grandma, as he ran a toy car over her leg as if it was driving down a road.
“Honey, why don’t you put Uncle Christian’s gift down a minute,” my mother urged him. He pretended not to hear and continued driving the car up and down the blankets on the bed.
I retreated to listen to their ongoing banal conversation from the seclusion of the hallway, crouched out of sight against the wall, grateful no one noticed my absence. They talked about the will, the house, the family.
The conversation seems to drag on for hours, then my uncle, apparently still frustrated, declared: “You don’t even look sick!” The silence was palpable. Eventually, he continued, “I mean, I know that you’re getting older . . . much older, but the doctor says there’s nothing wrong with you. Why are we deciding all these major things unless you’re dying? No, I think we should let you rest and then revisit all these important things-”
“Christian, you may convince yourself and everyone else, but have never convinced me that you can be trusted with a single thing. Your judgment is clouded by your habits and your greed. You’re a damaged individual and capable of the most atrocious acts. So if you came here looking for a handout from me, then you came to the wrong place. I don’t care if I had all the money in the world, you would be the last person I would want to see.”
This caught everyone off guard, including my uncle. It became so quiet I could hear my grandmother downstairs weeping in the kitchen. I was scared of what my uncle might say or do next. He is known for his short fuse. I wished more than anyth
ing I wasn’t sitting outside the room. I probably looked as though I was eavesdropping.
Suddenly he just left, storming out of the room so violently I felt the floorboards shake beneath me. I thought he hadn’t noticed me and allowed a small sigh to escape; he quickly jerked his head back and walked up to me.
“The favorite . . .” he laughed under his breath. The expression in his eyes reflected both hatred and jealousy, “The Fucking Favorite!” He shouted before storming out of the house while slamming into everything humanly possible.
I hoped more than anything that somehow nobody heard his last outburst. Everyone remained silent.
“Grandma─ ” my mother ventured.
“Don’t! Don’t talk to me about him. He is a vile creature . . . a parasite!” she said with disgust.
“He’s not Grandma. He just—”
“Don’t make excuses for him Bridget. I can’t hear it from you.” Grandma Elizabeth retorted.
“I should probably go make sure he’s okay,” my dad said heading out the door. I was attempting to press myself against the wall and become invisible when I heard the words I’ve been dreading.
“Where’s Danielle?”
My father looked down at me, his expression apologetic, but despite my obvious reluctance, I knew he had no choice.
“She’s here,” he replied, nodding his head in my direction.
“Tell her to come in. It’s time.”
* * *
I sat in a chair across from her bed. Everyone’s aura reflected shock from the interaction moments earlier. My brother appeared confused, my mother stared out the window, and my father was still trying to escape the room, with any excuse he could muster.
“Please leave us alone,” Grandma Elizabeth requested, looking only at me. She appeared so young, so healthy, so full of energy. I was convinced that if she wanted to she could get up out of that bed and run a few laps around the house. However, I tried not to stare for too long. I felt her eyes boring into me. My father took her up on her request as quickly as possible. My mother more reluctantly crossed the room to gather up my brother.
“We’ll be right outside,” my mother began.
“No, please we would like some privacy, close the door, will you?” She had reverted to a sweet tone. They slowly exited and closed the door. The awkward atmosphere increased in the room as she scrutinized me. She inspected every inch of me while I made a pretense of examining the room in minute detail. It was clearly not her room. It had the appearance of a makeshift guest room, appropriated for the purpose of dying I supposed. There were no decorations on the walls. It was much like a hotel room, with the bare minimum of furniture: a bed, nightstand, a few chairs for guests, and dresser.
“Come sit closer,” she said, waving her hand to indicate next to the bed. I moved the chair over, and sat once more, half-heartedly reaching for her hand which she seemed to pull away or perhaps not to notice my attempt.
“You,” she said, still looking at me. I responded with a halfhearted smile.
“Me . . .”
“I’ve waited so long for this day, my dear. At one point I thought it would never come, that I’d be stuck here forever. Then here you come after I had given up all hope. You came into this world, and you were so perfect . . . Not a thing wrong with you, not an ounce of pain in your heart. You didn’t even cry when you were born. It was as if you knew why you were here, and you had already accepted it.” In these words I found nothing but confusion, perhaps her mind was much further gone than anyone had realized. I just sat there staring, trying to think of something to say. Realizing my confusion, she suddenly appeared confused herself.
“You know what I speak of, of course?” she asked. I shake my head.
“Yes, you are still young. Thirteen to the day.” I respond with a smile, happy that she remembered, then questioning what I had assumed about her mental state.
“I remember at your age I was so lost. That’s when it started and I didn’t know what any of it meant, or if it was even real. I thought I was going crazy,” she laughed. The same thought occurred to me.
“We are special Danielle, but not in the way anyone would wish. Our curse disguises itself as a gift. It is powerful, it is remarkable, and most of all, dangerous. You must never underestimate what you can do, the pain you can cause. We hurt everyone we love,” her eyes drifted off with an impression of regret.
“Grandma Elizabeth, I’m sorry but I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have no gift.” I stopped short, realizing how stupid it sounded.
“Child, I wish you were right, and I wish I could tell you what is coming next, and how to prepare yourself, and that it’s not as bad as it seems, and that it will get better, but I can’t. This burden will haunt you every day of your life, it will steal away every chance of happiness, belonging, and optimism a person can have, and do not mistake pleasure for happiness. True happiness will never be yours. It will feel close . . . like it’s right around the corner, or that you think you just about have it, and then just as quickly it will be taken from you. Do not subject anyone you love, or think you love, to that sort of torture. You can’t help anyone, not really. Sure, when you’re young and have the whole world ahead of you, you get your Mortal Nights, but they come and then they will go. You will wish you had lived more those days, or died more.”
I sat beside her, growing more confused and impatient. This was not the conversation I had expected. I almost wished she had just started talking about how much I was her favorite, or how she would give me all her money; this was overwhelming and depressing. If she wasn’t really dying, this conversation wasn’t worth the pain.
“Tell me about your brother. He’s just the cutest thing,” she changed course with a little smile.
“Nathan? Well, he’s a great kid. You want me to get him?” I asked, pleased at the prospect of more company.
“No! No, tell me about him. What does he like, what does he want to be when he grows up? What’s his favorite thing to do? Is he a trouble maker?”
“Ha ha, yeah, he’s a little bit of a trouble maker. He does it in a sweet way though. Like just the other day he about destroyed my entire wardrobe. My clothes were all cut up, colored with marker. I was so mad at him. I was yelling and yelling at him.” Remembering the story made me feel guilty for making him feel so bad. “He told me that he heard I had wanted new clothes and that Dad had said we didn’t have money for new clothes, so he decided to change my clothes for me. Make them better, I guess.”
“Ha ha! Aw, that’s just the sweetest thing,” she said with a smile.
The knowledge of how he really did want to help made me ashamed. I had just been so mad. I remembered not being able to control myself and shoving him aside, not paying attention to what I was doing. He had stumbled and smacked his head on the end table in my room. At that point, all the anger had disappeared from me and I’d grabbed him quickly to see if he was okay. He’d closed his eyes, and I’d thought he was about to cry. My heart had sunk into my stomach knowing I had caused him that pain. Instead, he had opened his eyes, smiled, and ran out of the room laughing.
I just remembered sitting on the floor, my heart racing and thanking God that I didn’t hurt him. All throughout dinner that night I kept glancing at him in the light making sure there wasn’t a mark, black eye, or anything my parents would notice. I promised myself that day to never lose my temper with him again. Not like that. No matter what he did.
I realized that the room had grown very quiet as I had drifted away into my thoughts. I could see my great-grandmother was trying to figure out what was going through my mind as if it was familiar to her. Then something hit me.
“I don’t understand. How come you have never asked about the other children, grandchildren, or great-grandchildren before? How come it’s always me? I’m the only one you visit, the only one you talk to. Am I the only one you care about? ‘Cause if I am, then I’d rather be ignored like the rest. It’s not enough for anyone to on
ly be loved on the day they were born and the day they die.”
She studied me but didn’t seem at all angered at my harsh words.
“But I do care for them and love each and every single one of them. In some ways, I even love Christian, or at least a part of him that I’m not sure still exists,”
“What is it about Christian that you don’t like? I don’t understand. He’s a drunk and a jerk, but from what I hear he’s a lot like the man you married,” I had become emboldened with my words, trying to get to the bottom of this riddle. She remained unruffled by my remarks but had an air of curiosity as to why I would know so much.
“You’re right, Christian, in many ways is a lot like your great-grandfather, which would be his grandfather. Like his grandfather, Christian has an uncontrollable drinking habit, a short temper, and a knack for hurting the people he claims to love. With Christian, I know things that would turn your stomach inside out. I cannot believe that he still has the audacity to show his face around me. Does he think I’m so old I wouldn’t remember?” As she spoke, she gestured with her hands. “Things like that, a person never forgets. I know he blames me for the person he has become. I did everything I could . . . but he still turned out . . . well, we all know the person he is.”
At that point, I felt defeated. I didn’t care to know what horrible things she spoke of, so I returned to my original point. “Then why don’t you visit anyone else, Christian, I guess I could understand, but the others? What about them?”
She seemed to be collecting her thoughts.
“You remember when I said earlier that we hurt everyone we love?” I nodded, thinking about my brother again, then tried to push that memory from my mind. “We can’t help it. To the ones we love, we are like a disease. The closer we get to them, the more dangerous we are to them. That’s one of the reasons I was with your great-grandfather. Part of me hated him so much, it’s like I thought I could never love him enough to hurt him, but you’re with blood, it’s as if it’s already written on the wall, you don’t choose or decide who, or how you love them, it comes naturally.
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