by T L Harty
The organization of the meeting was impressive. The first fifteen minutes, everyone coming into the meeting would go get weighed. If someone was late, Grammy told me they could weigh in after the meeting, but weren’t eligible for any of the prizes during the meeting, such as top loser.
The meeting came to order exactly at 10:15, when everyone stood to recite a pledge. I stayed seated, unsure of what to do. After the pledge, attendance was taken by the president. When a name was called, the person would announce if they gained or lost weight. If they lost weight, they would announce how much, but if they gained- they weren’t required to say.
“This is our spring cleaning meeting,” the vice president said. “Remember, as always, that anything said in this meeting isn’t to be discussed outside these walls.” She looked around the room with a stern look on her face as though this rule had been stretched in the past.
“This year we’re going to do something a bit different,” announced the president, “sharing with each other a bad memory or experience. You don’t have to participate, but if you’re comfortable doing so; we ask that you tell us about a difficult time in your life. Then, inform us how you overcame the obstacle or are overcoming it, if it’s still a challenge. Are there any questions?”
A hand raised a couple of tables down. The president nodded.
“Why are we doing this?” A woman asked.
“Sadly, many of us don’t have people to confide in,” answered the president. “Like I said, you don’t have to participate, but this will be cathartic for many of us. We are giving people an opportunity to spring clean their emotions along with everything else.”
Cathartic was a word I didn’t know, but I assumed it meant good or helpful. I’d try to remember to look it up later. There were a couple of women who readily spoke. One shared the abuse she suffered at the hands of her husband when he had too much to drink. The other spoke of losing her brother when they were young, and how she felt partially to blame.
Women shifted in their seats, either uncomfortable by the stories being told or the reality that they might share theirs. The women that spoke first were able to do so more easily because the difficult times in their life were long past. Time had healed.
The next woman that stood up had the entire room in tears. The tale was simple. She just found out that her husband of five years was cheating on her. She then proceeded to take on all the blame, explaining how she had gained weight after the birth of their children and how she was so tired all the time.
The women rallied to her defense. They told her she was beautiful (which was true). The words of wisdom she received were pure gold. At the end of the flurry of advice, the woman was ready to give her husband an ultimatum, feeling better about herself than she had in years.
Grammy stood up next. This was unexpected.
“I’ve never been hurt more than when my daughter said she hated me and meant it,” Grammy said. “The words were spoken years ago, but they still sting today.” She sat down.
My mother was such a disappointment to me that I’m not sure I ever fully realized how Grammy must have been hurt by her, too. Another woman quickly stood up to share her tale.
The stories that pierced my ears were dreadful, painful and unbelievable. These women had endured so much or were still going through their trials.
When the sharing started to wind down, the president asked if anyone else would like to share. We all looked around the room. Slowly, a woman in the back rose from her chair. It was Barbara from the drug store in town. She had helped me with my feminine product selection a couple years back.
She was one of the sweetest people I had met in town. She was warm, with dark hair surrounding her pretty face. I’d guess she was around forty or forty-five. She didn’t look like she was very comfortable with her decision to stand and speak.
“I’d been married for a couple of years,” Barbara started slowly. “Roy worked as a lumberjack for our first five years of marriage. It took him away a week at a time, and because we only had one car, I’d call in a grocery delivery once a week.”
“The delivery man was always very kind,” Barbara said, “until he wasn’t. He told me that I was always flirting with him, and that no one liked a tease. I tried to fight him off, but he was too strong.” Barbara lowered her head, still carrying a shame that wasn’t hers to lug around.
After a deep breath, she said, “He raped me. I never told Roy, but I did call in a favor, getting the delivery man fired from the grocery store. I started holstering a loaded gun when Roy was away. There was no need to ever use it because the man who attacked me eventually moved out of town.”
The vice president told Barbara how sorry she was about the incident. Barbara held up her finger, letting everyone know she wasn’t quite finished. Tears formed in the corner of her eyes, her voice changing to reflect the emotion unable to be contained.
“My daughter just started dating a nice young man,” Barbara continued. “My veins ran cold when she told me the name of his father. Apparently, the delivery man recently moved back into town with his family. And his son has started courting my daughter.” A few women let out gasps.
The secretary spoke up, “You’re just going to have to forbid the relationship! Tell your daughter what happened to you and she’ll understand.”
“There’s not much choice in the matter,” Barbara resigned. “My whole world seems to be falling apart around me. Because, you see, she is the delivery man’s daughter, too.” This time, the entire room gasped in unison.
Barbara was in tears, as were many. The meeting was adjourned. Women milled around, continuing to talk to each other and offer support. Grammy grabbed my arm, dragging me over to Barbara.
Grammy hugged Barbara, telling her, “I had no idea.”
“It’s the first time I’ve ever said a word about it,” Barbara informed. She vaguely pointed around the room, asking “Do you think these women will respect my privacy and keep it to themselves?”
“You and I have always been pretty straight with each other,” Grammy grimaced. “There’s one or two snakes in the grass, but you know that.”
“That’s O.K.,” Barbara decided. “It was good to get it off my chest. I’m going to have to tell Roy tonight. I’m scared, but it’s been a long time comin’.”
I went outside to feel the fresh air fill my lungs. The air inside the building had grown heavy with emotion, making me a little claustrophobic.
Riding back to Grammy’s was introspective. The struggles heard today touched me deeply. It was a good thing to have had Jed even for a short time…to have dipped my toe into love. Some of the women today admitted to never knowing it.
An uninvited vision alluded that my future life would be filled with so much happiness and joy. I denied the sight, stuffing it down, making it go away. There was no place for such things if my future included being an Oris.
Grammy broke the silence, asking, “What would you like to have for lunch when we get back? This meeting ran longer than usual. They usually end at noon.”
The question caught me off guard. “I’m not really sure what there is to choose from, Grammy,” I answered. “A sandwich would be fine, maybe a peanut butter and jelly.”
When we arrived home, the decision for lunch had already been made for us. Gramps had gone fishing earlier that morning. It never dawned on me that I didn’t see him around before we went to the meeting.
Gramps was out on the back porch cleaning his haul. Viewing the process didn’t make the fish seem like an appetizing choice.
“Did you catch a lot of fish, Gramps?” I wondered.
“A fair amount, considerin’ I was only out there for an hour,” he replied. “Yes, indeedy, a pretty good catch.”
“You should write a book about the art of the catch, Gramps,” I suggested.
“It would be a pretty short book,” he said. “Fish early in the morning, use the right bait and don’t fish with chatty people…the end.” He smiled at h
is own advice for fishing success. “There’s some fish already cooked up in the kitchen. Help yourself,” he instructed, pointing with a hand bloodied from the gutting.
The fish were still slightly warm. Gramps had coated them with a light beer batter, frying them to a golden brown. They were delicious! Grammy and I ate most of them, not even asking if Gramps had already eaten.
I went back out on the porch to thank Gramps for a wonderful lunch. “The fish were yummy, Gramps. Thank you.”
He was busy placing two fish in each half-gallon, cardboard milk carton. He must have saved the containers or gotten them from friends because Grammy preferred powdered milk. He filled the milk cartons with water and put them in the stand-up freezer on the patio.
I had heard the argument between the two of them over those milk cartons in years past. Grammy’s side was that the containers took up too much space in the freezer, while Gramps argued the practicality. I really hadn’t paid much attention to the argument. They were always fussing with each other about something.
“Why do you store the fish like this?” I asked Gramps.
“When you put food in a freezer, it can get freezer burn. Sometimes it happens because air gets to it and sometimes because it dehydrates when the moisture escapes,” he answered. “Putting the fish in water and freezing it stops both those things. Then, when it’s thawed out, you still have fresh-tasting fish.”
That made complete sense to me, so I went to ask Grammy why she objected to his methods. She was on the couch reading when I entered the living room.
“Grammy, why don’t you like the way Gramps freezes the fish?” I wondered, sitting down on the couch.
She lowered her magazine, looking over the top of her glasses. A chuckle bubbled up. “Why would you ask such a thing?” she questioned.
“He explained to me why he does it that way,” I replied, “and it makes sense.”
“Oh, it does, does it?” she probed, in a tone signifying a rhetorical question. “Did he tell you how the exposed tails sometimes stink up the freezer before they freeze or how he spills some of the fish water in the freezer? He catches fish that are too large for those cartons so he always leaves the tails exposed. They rub underneath the shelf above them when he puts them in the freezer. It’s like he’s painting the shelf with fish aroma! Do you think he’s the one cleaning that up?” She finished her rant at a much louder and higher-pitch than she had started.
Those were all very good points, and as much as I wanted to side with Gramps, it wasn’t possible.
Grammy calmed down quickly, and said, “But the man goes out in the wee hours and catches fish, then cleans, cooks and stores them in the freezer. When I think of it that way, he can paint the freezer with the stench of fish to his heart’s desire. Your grandfather is a good and decent man. You should be so lucky to find a man like him when you’re older!”
It was hard to refrain from smiling. It would be lucky for me to find a man like him, but what made me want to smile was the way Grammy could yell about how Gramps drove her crazy, and then yelled some more about his good characteristics. Gramps walked through the entrance to the living room.
“I love you, Wayne,” Grammy said, like she owed him the sentiment.
Poor Gramps looked so confused. “I love you too, Muriel,” he replied. “I’m going to take a shower. I smell of fish.” He leaned over and kissed Grammy on the way to the back of the house.
She smiled, lifting her magazine to continue reading.
“I’m going outside,” I said.
Grammy paid no mind to my announcement.
As soon as the porch door shut behind me, the sobbing began. All I could think about was Jed. The meeting this morning reinforced that losing Jed was the worst thing that has ever happened to me. Verbalizing how much it hurt, in a way that would honor our relationship, wasn’t even possible. And then, to see my grandparents say I love you after all this time and be tender to one another…that was supposed to be me and Jed fifty years from now.
As the crying became uncontrollable, I walked to the edge of the property. It was a little corner of nothingness that seemed perfect for the sorrow. Once the tears ran out, I made my way to the back porch of the house, where Gramps was sitting, refreshed from his shower.
“You’re havin’ a rough time, are ya?” Gramps asked.
I feebly shook my head up and down.
“Deena told me she talked to you at the cemetery,” Gramps shared. “My brother’s wife is a smart lady. She told me to keep you in my prayers. You suffered a loss that’s hard for me to understand, given I didn’t approve of your relationship with Jed.” He paused and then asked, “Did you love him?”
“Very much, Gramps,” I replied, “…very much.”
“From what Deena said, he loved you more than anything,” Gramps told me. “He decided to study at Jesper to be close to you and he told Deena that he planned on marrying you one day.” Gramps pointed to the spot next to him on the large kindling box. I took a seat.
“You’re not going to want to hear what I’ve got to say right now,” he started. “But, you need to listen anyway. Jed wouldn’t want you mopin’ around. Not if he loved you. He’d want you to smile and have fun. He’d want you to enjoy what sixteen-year-old girls enjoy.”
Gramps put his head down, a little ashamed of himself. “Listen,” he commanded, “I don’t want you to be mad at your grandmother for Corey’s family taking you to church. That was my doin’. I thought maybe Corey could help get your mind off Jed.”
“It’s too soon,” I said.
“That may be,” he agreed. “But, you need to promise that you won’t wait too long to get back to school activities, dances, and the like.”
“I’ll try,” I surrendered.
“Good girl. Your dad tells me you have a dance coming up next week- a spring fling,” Gramps said. “You need to ask a boy to go with you.”
“No way,” I argued.
“I’ve never asked you for anything,” he said. “Please do this for me.”
How dare he use such tactics against me! My anger was difficult to hide, and Gramps noticed it bubbling to the surface. He put his hand over mine.
“Don’t misunderstand me,” he said. “Every time we love, it’s different. You’ll never share the same love with anyone else that you’ve shared with Jed.”
My anger was immediately stifled after that comment because what he said rang of truth.
“In the same vein,” he continued, “you will only start to heal from your heartbreak when you are able to love again. This doesn’t mean you have to immediately start searching for another man. It means you must open your heart to a friend, a pet…a doddering old fool on a kindling box.”
“You’re a lot of things, Gramps,” I smiled, “but a fool is not one of them. Thank you for the talk.”
He nodded, picking up a piece of wood to inspect. He must have been whittling as he waited to talk.
The hours of the day winded down. Grammy and Gramps had gone off to bed not long after supper. Because there was nothing of interest on television, I kept nodding off. A vision was coming to me over and over again.
In this very spot two years ago, I was crying over a boy named Douglas. The pain easily came through in the vision. It was gut-wrenching. I feared that I’d never get over the heartbreak. But, I did. The vision also flashed forward to me laughing at an older age, feeling loved and cherished. I feared that I’d never be in such a relationship. But, I might.
When I laid my head on the pillow that evening, there was something solid on it. After fumbling for the bedside flashlight, I was able to turn it on without rousing Grammy. It was a piece of wood that had been whittled into a fish. Gramps did a fine job. On the tail was a little tag, with a saying on it. It read: Telling a teenager the facts of life is like giving a fish a bath – A. Glasow.
The quote was mildly insulting, but I had to defer to Gramps’ wisdom. He hadn’t been wrong yet.
And then I reme
mbered something I’d planned on doing. Quietly making my way to the living room, I took a book off one of the shelves, rifling through it.
“Cathartic,” I whispered, “an agent for purging or evacuating the bowels, a laxative. As of or pertaining to catharsis…to eliminate.” The word still made no sense until reading further down. It also defined cathartic as emotionally purging, releasing, psychotherapeutic, etc.
If something was cathartic, it meant becoming free from emotional or physical crap. I put the dictionary away and made my way back to the bedroom. What a great word to add to my vocabulary, especially because it seemed that purging crap might be a lifelong struggle.
Chapter 23- First Council Meeting
Clio didn’t return to the castle until the following evening after our training. We were all eating supper, when Clio and Tracy walked into the dining hall. Pleasantries were exchanged.
“Muriel, may I see you after dinner?” Clio asked.
“Sure,” I said nonchalantly.
It had taken some time, but the laid-back scheduling was starting to grow on me. It left me open to different possibilities and lowered my stress levels. It wasn’t until last week that it dawned on me how unhappy my former life had been.
When the meal was over, everyone else went in separate directions, while Clio asked me to go join her in the ballroom. I hadn’t been in that room since Bruce showed me the stars. It had changed since my last visit. There was now a huge piano, beautiful artwork and a bar installed.
“Wow,” I exclaimed. “This place has changed. It looks much nicer than I remember.”
Clio looked around quickly, and agreed, “Yes, we have started to prepare the castle for the court that will be arriving in spring. Also, Deidra’s suitors will be coming for a visit soon, too.” She redirected herself to her original purpose, saying, “We’re going to have our first complete council meeting at the end of this week.”