by Conn, Claudy
“Do you believe in God?” he asks.
Yikes! The last time I was asked that was when a group of guys wearing pressed, white shirts and skinny black ties came to my door. Being asked that question before he even knows my last name makes me want to bail out of here.
Thing is, that little thing about Chris that keeps me interested isn’t so little right now. I actually feel like I can talk to this guy, so I risk judgment and state what my heart tells me is right. “You know, the jury was out on that one for a long time. But events over the years have shown me that thinking we are superior beings who get their lights snuffed out upon death is arrogant on a huge number of levels.”
“That’s an interesting way of looking at it.”
I shrug. “If we are so great, then how can we possibly be destroyed so easily? But if a part of us lives on, there is something more outside of life. Thus, we are not that great after all.”
“Huh.” Chris looks to the stars. There is depth to his voice that goes beyond physical tone. “That might be the only view on religion that hasn’t scared the crap out of me.”
“That’s a relief. When you hit me with the God question, I thought I might be in for a sermon.”
“Quite the opposite,” he says, insistently. “Do you have any tattoos?”
What a weird non sequitur. To say this man has my curiosity up is an understatement. Where is this going? “Just one cluster of daisies.”
“That’s quite the coincidence. Can I ask why you got it?”
After all these years, the mention of GranGran still makes my heart sag. Still, I would not trade a second of the time we shared for anything. I have to wonder when, if ever, I will tell anyone the full meaning behind my affection for daisies and the woman who tells me to follow them. “They are a symbol of the most influential person that I will ever have in my life. I miss her, and the tattoo on my ankle is my way of showing her I am still listening, even though she is long gone.”
“So, in a way, you can say that tattoo marks a testament to the beauty God brought into your life.”
“Absolutely.”
Chris pushes out a long sigh. Maybe it has more to do with thinking about GranGran than anything else, but I feel like I am about to get whammied. “My devout, Southern Baptist family sees any markings or piercings as a sin that is certain to doom you to an eternity of fire and brimstone. Heaven forbid you pierce your ears and wear cross earrings. The thought of defiling your body and then showing any respect for the Lord makes you a Satanist in their eyes. In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’ve led a sheltered life that I have been trying to rebel against for years. Not only is my family unforgiving and judgmental, they are hypocritical. If Mom really felt defiling her body was a sin, she wouldn’t weight three hundred pounds and pull dinner out of the deep fryer every night. I may be a firm believer, but my family’s hypocrisy makes it hard for me to define what those beliefs are.”
“Wow,” is all that I can think to say. Chris’s mystery may be unraveling, yet it gets more fascinating by the second. There are so many pieces to this puzzle—pieces that maybe even he hasn’t been able to find.
Chris pulls out his iPhone and shows me a picture of a guy with a strong family resemblance. The guy could be his twin, except his hair is combed tight to his head. Also, the glasses and suit he is wearing make him look kinda dorky. Surrounding him are women in skirts and sensible shoes, along with men whose bland appearance make them look like they have been forged from the same mold. “Thanksgiving dinner with my family,” he tells me. “That guy with the glasses is the me they know.”
He can’t be serious. He seems so different yet …
Yet so did he on our last date.
And now it all makes sense. No wonder why GranGran made a point of contacting me. Chris needs her kind of understanding. His only way to find it may be through someone who gets what it is like to be different. Someone who had guidance and encouragement when it was needed. Someone like me.
Suddenly I have so many questions. Each of them is more personal than I should ask someone I hardly know. Still, he is opening up to me, so I narrow it down to one question that covers the depths of my curiosity. “Chris, who are you really?”
He doesn’t look offended by my nosiness. In fact, his features soften like I have become a long-needed friend. “I’m still figuring that out. I can tell you that I am a guy who loves noisy music that my parents call the work of the Devil. I love bikes—all kinds of them. And old cars that drive like boats. Piercings and tattoos are cool, yet I can’t bring myself to get one for the fear of God that was put in me. Yeah, I wasn’t exactly struck down when I lost my virginity before marriage, but I was serious about my intentions of being with only one woman.”
Chris stares off. He seems to be talking to whatever lies within, searching for answers. “She wanted what she had been told was taboo. I just wanted to be me. The night I screwed up my date with you, I finally saw those are two different things.”
It’s hard to even begin to know what to say, but he is starting to make a lot more sense now. “I guess this explains why the man who wields a tattoo gun for a living doesn’t have any himself.” He turns to me with knotted brows of confusion. “Your friend said you created his tattoo.”
He seems to search his brain until it hones in on something. His head drops, and he chuckles. “I’m not a tattoo artist; I am a graphic artist. I only designed that for him.” He puts his hand out in a stopping motion. “I know I’ve said and implied a lot of things that make me sound like someone other than I am. In the interest of full disclosure, I’ll tell you now. Carole and I met in jail because an animal rights demonstration went awry.”
The mysteries of Chris just keep springing up. I’m so glad he asked me for another chance to get to know him. “Carole? The walking refrigerator’s name is Carole?”
“Yes, Carole Kelly, and if you make fun of his name, humanitarian or not, he will shred and barbecue you. Anyway, a lot of people who should not have gotten arrested did. We were two of those unlucky ones. But I’d like to think that someone was watching over me when we wound up in the same cell. As different as we are, we are exactly the same.” Chris snickers. “The one thing I stood up to my family about at Thanksgiving was not touching the turkey. You should have seen the look on Mom’s face when I told her I went vegetarian. She actually called me a hippie!”
I’ve always known how lucky I am, but now it is driven home so hard that I feel it in the recesses of my gut. What would it have been like to grow up without support for my quirks? Would I have still become the person I am now, or would I be like Chris? A grown man who is struggling to find himself as if he were a teenager. He’s not a bad boy, or a jerk, or a wannabe rebel. He’s just a puppy learning to use his paws.
The last time I saw GranGran she asked me a question that now rings in my head. “What rebellion would you have gone through to find yourself?” I don’t have an answer to that, because I never needed to rebel.
“What’s your family like?” he asks.
It’s sort of a trick question, because I am fortunate in that pretty much everyone in my life is like family. “My family are my friends, and my friends are family. Each and every one of them is everything that people like us need those in our lives to be.”
Chris’s eyes get misty, and he doesn’t try to hide it. “Do you have any idea how lucky you are?”
The question strikes a chord that lays in the pit of my soul. I’ve always known I was blessed, but now I see my blessings through a new set of eyes. “I do now.”
I have so many questions, but he is putting the past away, and he doesn’t have all the answers yet about his future. During my age of discovery, the last thing I needed was people asking me the same questions I was asking myself. What I needed was for them to let me fall. Chris has more than earned that respect. He didn’t have to level with me about so much, but I am grateful that he did. We are kindred spirits, and in seeing that, I feel my heart sli
p out of my chest and land on my sleeve—not because I am losing my defenses, but because I am growing stronger.
Suddenly my world seems magical. Now I notice music tinkling in the air. The snow-covered trees enrobe me in the scent of pine, and the mounds of snow that surround us remind me of marshmallows. My world has always been a wonderland. Now I appreciate it as such.
Chris leads me onto the ice. Naturally it is not long until I fall, but the challenge is a reminder that there is much in the world to discover. Besides, maybe in his seeing me fall, I can help Chris stand.
Super Sunny Christmas
This year, the day before Christmas Eve holds nearly as much excitement as the big day itself. I’m so psyched that I squeal when I grab my suitcase.
A squeal? Who am I? Rox? She squeals. I—I—
Well, I guess now I squeal too.
It seems silly that I have packed for a few days away when I am only headed across town to stay with my parents. Bailey comes home today, and we want to keep embracing the holidays with as many of the old traditions as we can. That includes falling asleep under the tree together on Christmas Eve while waiting for Santa to bring us our haul.
I lock my apartment door and start to head down the stairs, only to be blinded when I step out of the shade. The sun is so bright that I shy my head and then fumble through my purse in search of my sunglasses.
A pair of boots race up to meet me. My heart begins to sprint in hope, but my mind tells it to relax. The sun is too blinding for me to see who it is, but there is no way it could possibly be him.
I slip on my sunglasses and regain my vision enough to see Chris grab my bag. My words follow my gasp. “What are you doing here? I thought you were off to see your family?”
The sweetness of his kiss on my cheek isn’t enough, so I tug him to race me down the stairs where we turn it into something much more romantic. I don’t care why he is here, I am just glad that he is. I know he needs to get to the airport, so this will have to be brief. Damn, why haven’t I mastered halting time? Or better yet, being in two places at once. Then we could stay in this state of bliss forever while still going on about our daily lives.
When we come up for air, he sounds as breathless as I feel. “I am so glad I caught you before you left.”
Dear Lord, me too. I go in for another kiss.
Wait, he is talking about before I leave? The words were normal, but something about the implication sounded weird. “Is everything okay? Doesn’t your flight leave any minute now?”
“Yes, and I am sure it will be happy to leave without me.”
Without him? “Hey, I know you are not crazy about your family, but they are going to be heartbroken when you bail on Christmas.”
“As soon as they get done screaming about how I have sold my soul to Satan, my family will be fine. Also, I’m not bailing on Christmas,” he says, taking my hands. “I love Christmas, and that is exactly the reason why I will spend it talking to the one person we are all supposed to talk to on that day but rarely do. I’m headed up north to stare at snow-covered trees and find that part of me that has all the answers about who he is and what he wants to be. But first, I came to give you this.”
Chris hands me a little box that is wrapped in gold paper and dabbed with a red bow. This is so sweet, but also so unfair. “Hey, you made a big deal out of saying no gifts.”
“No, I made a big deal out of saying no Christmas gifts. Think of this as a thank you present.”
“For what?” It’s been weeks since our do-over date, and while we are, obviously, both glad that I gave him another chance, that was hardly gift worthy.
“For being who you are.” He cups my cheeks with his hands, and everything about the moment—his tender yet insistent touch, the earnestness in his eyes, and the conviction in his voice—drives home a new reality. In a very short period of time, this man stopped flailing and found strength. How much it moves me shows in the water welling in my eyes. “When I’m with you,” he says, “I don’t think about who I am supposed to be, I just exist. I’ve found my relationship with myself. Now I need to find it with whoever is driving us all. That is why I am not at the airport.”
All other amazing things aside, I’m so honored to be a part of his growth. Thank God GranGran intervened.
He brushes away my tears with his thumbs before kissing my forehead. “Go on. Open it,” he whispers.
My emotions have me so dazed that all I can think to do is stare at the box and marvel at the gift I’ve been given—the gift of helping someone else find his way.
“Go on.” He nudges my arm and winks. “I’m betting that you are someone who loves to rip into paper.”
He already knows me so well that I am forced back into the moment. “Damn right I am.” I start digging in.
Excitement rings in his voice like he is the one blessed with unexpected joy. “I found it on accident. I heard there was some stuff for the Vespa in an antique shop up the coast. That was a bust, but I did find this.”
I open the box, and my hand flies to my mouth to cover my gasp. It’s a pin—one that is the perfect match to the hair clips GranGran gave me. They could have been made from the same mold.
Oh, GranGran, I miss you so much. Though you are so far away, you are always right next to me. Chris finding this is your way of showing me that all is going exactly as it should. “Thank you,” I utter to Chris while also holding GranGran in my heart.
His eyes lock into mine. “No, thank you for giving me that do-over. It kick started my life. Darla, I’d like to think I know what the future holds for us, but that is a fool’s game. What I do know is that every day you give me more clay, more incentive, to shape myself. That is making me whole, and that is exactly how it should be.”
He wishes me happiness and heads off with the promise of a perfect New Year’s Eve ahead. I truly hope he finds what he is looking for. Something tells me that I have.
Getting In The Mood (For Christmas)
The swinging sounds of a big band waft through my parent’s house while I put away the last glass from lunch. In the distance, Dad’s laughter erupts. Ever since GranGran died all those years ago, Bailey and I have been on a mission to spice up the day. While we have created new traditions that bring joy, such as her Swing dancing with Dad, we’ve never been able to fill the void that losing GranGran put in our hearts.
As I pass the family room, I pause to look at the admiration in my father’s eyes for his eldest daughter. The parent/child relationship is always a love story of its own. I hope to have several of those someday. I’m even allowing myself to think that maybe the first one will start sooner than anyone expects, even me. Love happens every day, and now it is finally happening to me.
Chris was mostly right with his reasoning for no gifts, but he forgot something key: he is a gift to me as well. Chris is a reminder of the wonderful people I have in my life and the support with which they have embraced me. When you are used to something, it is easy to lose sight of its importance.
Speaking of which, my own tradition is calling me. The most important person in the world waits in my room. She is also in my heart, my spirit, and in a photograph.
I grab GranGran’s picture from where I set it on my old nightstand. Her eyes fill me with just as much love as if she were here. She will be soon.
As I head for my suitcase, azure haze slinks in front of me. My body tingles as if the arms of an angel have embraced me.
“Looking for someone?”
My breath locks when I turn and set my eyes on GranGran. “How did you get here? I haven’t even pulled the board out of my suitcase.”
GranGran nudges me to take a seat with her on the bed, just like we always did. “Do you really think a silly, little trinket connects us? Your heart is what holds the secret to being with me. For us, that board is insignificant. However, there is something very important that I need you to do with it.”
Her eyes lock onto mine. As much as I have always seen her ghost as a p
erson, I’ve also been aware that her image is composed of energy that appears as mist. But now, deep in the recesses of her eyes, I see something more. Is it a reflection? A light? A window into where she now lives? The glow of God?
Maybe it is my imagination, but for the life of me I sense something different in her voice. Her words are almost too clear, as if someone is speaking them for her. “That special planchette I gave you was the last thing I painted. Please, never let it go. However, the first chance you get, I want you to take that board and the plastic planchette it came with over to Rox. Don’t actually give it to her. Just slip it into the closet along with her board games. She will find it when the time is right. What you have experienced with me may be sweet, but the adventure that awaits her is nothing short of fantastic.”
Goosebumps coat my skin. Each one holds hope for the dreams of my friend. With GranGran behind the scenes, I can only begin to imagine where life can take us.
She double pats my knee. “I am so very proud of you. If you ever need me, just wish me here. Even if you don’t see me, I will always be near. Goodbye, darling. I love you, and Merry Christmas.”
“I love you, too.”
GranGran’s haze fades without leaving a physical trace. She may be gone from this earth, yet every day she creates beauty here because of the love she left behind. This year, that beauty taught me that Christmas isn’t about opening presents; it is about opening our hearts. For that reason, and for some many others, Christmas itself, just like the love we share, is magic.
Joy To The World
Chris is barely inside my door before he sweeps me off my feet and flies me into a spin. His happiness is so powerful that it causes me to laugh with joy. “I sure missed you,” he tells me.
As much as the newness of this relationship has me feeling the need to keep reality in check, a bigger part of me believes in admitting what I know to be true. “I missed you, too. Did you find what you were looking for?”