short story

Green House1

Hobbling around this warm, insulated space she hummed Ella Fitzgerald songs to herself.  She took out the Asian inspired water can and began to water her plants.  Although gardening was something her mother and grandmother had prided themselves on, it was only in her late 40’s that she began to take an interest in it.  She was far from one to let life happen to her; she was the one to make it happen.  I don’t think she ever even wore pajamas.  She would get dressed the night before so she was ready for the next day.  She didn’t trust long life and never cared for the idea of being considered old.  She told me about flying to the castle in the sky, the year she spent living inside the gingerbread man and had to eat her way out, and how our bed take us to all the places we dream about, but bring us back every morning so we aren’t frightened of waking up in a new place.  It was always more about the story then the ending.  She felt things never really ended.  2

I once asked her “Grandma, why do the pirates get the gold at the end.  They are supposed to be the bad guys and they win.  That’s not right!”  3

“The point is that they had an adventure.  Wouldn’t you want to have an adventure like that?  I’m sure you life will be filled with many.”4

My worst memory of her was the day before Thanksgiving.  I walked into her greenhouse.  She turned around, unaware of my presence, and she wasn’t herself.  Her eyes seemed almost glazed over and her knees wobbled a little when stepping over the crack in the pavement.  These eyes didn’t have all the answers that they had seemed to have every since a was a little kid.  When no one was looking, she wasn’t perfect. 5

She still gave me money every Christmas and birthday with a message on card always the same, have an adventure.  The Christmas after my twenty third birthday my grandma could no longer make the holiday meals herself.  Almost the entire family came to her house because everyone figured it would be her last Christmas.  We finished finner and headed into the living room.  She would begin her stories for us and we would have to end them.  We all knew every word and would continue her stories with the bright eyes of a child who has just learned how to read their favorite book aloud to their parents and the pride and conviction of tenth grade English teacher asked by a student for an aphorism from Emerson.  Spence, who was only 2 1/2, had the bright child eyes and excitement, but lacked all the words he needed to tell these stories.  6

Tommy went skateboarding in grandma’s greenhouse because it’s the only place with a cleared cement area.  Although, it may also be possible that he just likes making trouble.  The next morning we all got up excited to open presents.  Grandma had gone out to her greenhouse to water her plants for the morning.  7

She opened up the glass down and her eyes were focused on her orchid that were finally coming into bloom along the back wall by her ferns and the pointsetias she had brought in especially for us during Christmas time.  Her foot slipped on the skateboard that Tommy had left in there earlier that morning.  The knees which tried to hold her up shook violently as the board wobbled beneath her she fell backward-straight through the glass wall.  We all ran out to find her lying in the grass with small cuts everywhere. We were worried she would black out.  I ran to  sit by her and picked up her head, placing it in my lap.   She picked the glass from her scraggly gray hair, smiled as a woman after a hard day's labor easing into a bubble bath, and said, “Thank God I won’t die in my sleep.”8