Read Online Charms for the Easy Life by Kaye Gibbons - Free Book Online
Authors: Kaye Gibbons
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a particularly lonesome anniversary of my grandmother’s death I decided the frame was mine, and I crawled up among the milk shake machines and juice presses, took it down, and carried it home. The sympathetic old pharmacist, full of memory as he was, let me go without a word. I marched home down Glenwood Avenue with it underneath my arm, in a frenzy of relentless grief.
My grandmother had been with us for two years when her life changed. One afternoon she, my mother, and I were hanging out laundry in our backyard. The week before, Maveen had told us, “I feel too old to work,” and had gone to the next county to live with her sister. It was a perfect day for drying laundry, a day with a hot, stern wind. That was as much as we were discussing. For some reason, I felt compelled to look across the wide cotton field by our house. It meant looking directly into the sun, but I did it anyway. And there, on the edge of the field, was an old man, suitcase in hand. I knew in my heart he had not been there two seconds before. He had appeared to me perfectly at once, as if he had been dropped standing upright from the clouds. I told my mother and grandmother to look at him. He was so still, staring at us. My grandmother looked up from the clothes basket, and without a word she started to run for him. At fifty-six, she ran to him like a young girl. He had given her nothing except sadness for so many years, but as I watched her fly into his arms, my thought was this: Oh, how she loves him is untelling.
He acted like the stranger he was. He was cordial to my mother, cordial to me, and one would’ve thought he’d have brought us presents, but he didn’t. He drank our coffee and ate everything in the house while my mother stood by the kitchen sink, regarding him and the way he ate without stopping. He looked to be all gristle, and he smelled—to be blunt—of bourbon and urine. My grandmother began pouring on the coffee and the charm. She seemed to have come completely out of herself. It was startling. After he swore on the Holy Bible that he could not eat another bite, he asked my mother what time the next bus for Raleigh drove by our house. She told him, and my grandmother said, “In that case, I’d better get ready.”
She packed all her necessities with great speed, standing at the dresser and tossing garments into the open satchel on her bed. My mother asked her in a thousand different ways if she knew what she was doing. My grandmother kept saying she was in a hurry and could not talk. I went back into the kitchen and watched this man, this grayed and stinking man, and convinced myself that he looked like the sort of man who wouldn’t mind answering a personal question.
I said, “Excuse me, but you know, my mother is pretty shaken up by all this. Can you please tell me what you’re doing here?”
He said, “She doesn’t look upset to me. She looks fine. I just came back to get Charlie Kate.”
I told him my mother didn’t show these things, but I knew her well enough to know how she felt.
He said, “You can get in a world of trouble reading minds. It is a truly hazardous hobby.” Then he wanted to know if I could wrap up the rest of our delicious pineapple cake in some wax paper for him and his bride to enjoy at the hotel.
A few minutes before the bus was due to pass by, we all went outside, and when we saw the top of it in the distance, shining like a new dime, my grandfather walked into the middle of the road and stood there, looking ready to be run over. He glanced back over his shoulder at my mother, who was jiggled up tight with alarm and fury, and he said, “Sugar, I mean not to miss this bus.”
My grandmother wasn’t a hugger, so the fact that she boarded the bus to Raleigh without so much as giving us a peck on the cheek did not hurt our feelings. The bus hissed and pulled away and left my mother and me standing in our front yard, not knowing whether we were supposed to wave them off, or stand there
My grandmother had been with us for two years when her life changed. One afternoon she, my mother, and I were hanging out laundry in our backyard. The week before, Maveen had told us, “I feel too old to work,” and had gone to the next county to live with her sister. It was a perfect day for drying laundry, a day with a hot, stern wind. That was as much as we were discussing. For some reason, I felt compelled to look across the wide cotton field by our house. It meant looking directly into the sun, but I did it anyway. And there, on the edge of the field, was an old man, suitcase in hand. I knew in my heart he had not been there two seconds before. He had appeared to me perfectly at once, as if he had been dropped standing upright from the clouds. I told my mother and grandmother to look at him. He was so still, staring at us. My grandmother looked up from the clothes basket, and without a word she started to run for him. At fifty-six, she ran to him like a young girl. He had given her nothing except sadness for so many years, but as I watched her fly into his arms, my thought was this: Oh, how she loves him is untelling.
He acted like the stranger he was. He was cordial to my mother, cordial to me, and one would’ve thought he’d have brought us presents, but he didn’t. He drank our coffee and ate everything in the house while my mother stood by the kitchen sink, regarding him and the way he ate without stopping. He looked to be all gristle, and he smelled—to be blunt—of bourbon and urine. My grandmother began pouring on the coffee and the charm. She seemed to have come completely out of herself. It was startling. After he swore on the Holy Bible that he could not eat another bite, he asked my mother what time the next bus for Raleigh drove by our house. She told him, and my grandmother said, “In that case, I’d better get ready.”
She packed all her necessities with great speed, standing at the dresser and tossing garments into the open satchel on her bed. My mother asked her in a thousand different ways if she knew what she was doing. My grandmother kept saying she was in a hurry and could not talk. I went back into the kitchen and watched this man, this grayed and stinking man, and convinced myself that he looked like the sort of man who wouldn’t mind answering a personal question.
I said, “Excuse me, but you know, my mother is pretty shaken up by all this. Can you please tell me what you’re doing here?”
He said, “She doesn’t look upset to me. She looks fine. I just came back to get Charlie Kate.”
I told him my mother didn’t show these things, but I knew her well enough to know how she felt.
He said, “You can get in a world of trouble reading minds. It is a truly hazardous hobby.” Then he wanted to know if I could wrap up the rest of our delicious pineapple cake in some wax paper for him and his bride to enjoy at the hotel.
A few minutes before the bus was due to pass by, we all went outside, and when we saw the top of it in the distance, shining like a new dime, my grandfather walked into the middle of the road and stood there, looking ready to be run over. He glanced back over his shoulder at my mother, who was jiggled up tight with alarm and fury, and he said, “Sugar, I mean not to miss this bus.”
My grandmother wasn’t a hugger, so the fact that she boarded the bus to Raleigh without so much as giving us a peck on the cheek did not hurt our feelings. The bus hissed and pulled away and left my mother and me standing in our front yard, not knowing whether we were supposed to wave them off, or stand there
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