His grandmother eloped with her lover, they said. And perhaps they were right. But why should he be angry with her? He might be her favorite grandchild, she might be the most caring, loving, and loyal person he knew–well, he thought he knew–but isn’t loyalty a present to be given first to oneself?
“I just want her to be happy,” he said, listening to Bon Iver’s Wash.
Amongst all the people fuming in that house; the uncles fuming/brooding about the late rebellion of their mother, giving each other silent looks for fear of sound revealing to their own families that they felt like little kids once again, ones abandoned by mommy; the wives and sons and daughters discussing the possible reasons the oldest member of the family left without even leaving as little as a goodbye post-it note; amongst all of them, only he understood.
Amongst all, only he never betrayed the memory of his grandmother. How she cared for him and his cousins when their own parents were scared out of their wits, too much of children themselves to be responsible progenitors. How she shoved her own pleasures under the dusty old carpet so they can have a little more time to be scared, unsure, shaky-legged, angry, accusing little brats…at least, that’s what he thought.
The intro to Minnesota, WI syncs with the own beating of his annoyed yet happily skipping heart. He goes to the moon riding a shark covered with hair. To him, hair is the ultimate comedy/tragedy tool. Depends on where and how much of it you decide to use…or not to use.
Somewhere, mommy is having some “me” time now.
He hopes she would never come back.