The Orb, Monica Gillespie [bookreader TXT] 📗

The Orb
By Monica Gillespie
 

My grandparents never played the role of traditional grandparents. Little shocked them and they were open to letting us figure out life’s lessons without interference. It wasn’t until I was married that I experienced a vacation without all the extended family in tow. Growing up, vacations were memories of us all traveling to our destination caravan style and coexisting in the tightest of quarters once we arrived. During the prime of my teenage years granddaddy and grandma had settled the family into two campers at a campground surrounded by a lake. They even welcomed all of mine and my cousin’s friends. It wasn’t unusual to have a group of 6-10 teenagers on any given weekend the summer before my graduation.

Those vacations and the welcoming spirit of my family is what I feel defines us. It took me a long time to understand the dynamics of nuclear and extended family in school – I only knew the fellowship of many. To define family meant my grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles – not just my mom, dad and me. I found it bizarre that people made distinctions between the members of their families.

Granddaddy has had diabetes his entire adult life, and now his body is too weak to fight the effects of the disease. When I visit on Sunday he is in good spirits, but it is clear there is little fuel left in his body. Grandma says in the past three days he’s only gotten up to go to the bathroom. I don’t want to remember him like that, I want to remember his spirit. The one that always seemed to know what we crazy teenagers were up to when we thought we pulled the wool firmly over all adults’ eyes. Yet, in his knowing he never revealed or placed shame or guilt upon us.

A couple of months ago my cousins, Mary, Dori and I met for lunch and drinks on a quiet fall Saturday afternoon. In the midst of children and husbands we find it difficult to stay connected and share time together. As children and teenagers we were inseparable and traveled in all the same circles. None of us would have ever imagined that our adult lives would be so disconnected. On these rare opportunities to unite it is often me who prompts stories of days past. While they both seemed to enjoy them, I am the one who clings to the memories for a deeper understanding of myself and my life.

“Did ya’ll know granddaddy had an affair?” Dori asked, as calmly as if she were asking if we had seen a recent blockbuster.

Gulping down the swallow of beer I had just taken I stared at her blankly. We all knew that grandma had an affair and her youngest son was the tangible result. As far as family secrets go, that is our biggest. The family is divided by those that know and those who don’t. No one really knows if our youngest uncle Jake knows the truth about his biological father. It isn’t talked about beyond closed doors. But there has never been mention of granddaddy being unfaithful to the woman who stood by his side through decades of violent drinking, a raging temper and fleeting employment.

“What?!?” Mary gasped.

“Yep, he and I were drinking one night in Alabama at the reunion and he told me about it. He had a 7 year affair with a woman and grandma’s affair was to get back at him. He loved her. He would have left grandma, but the woman wouldn’t leave her husband, who was rich.”

Grandma’s affair had always been discussed in terms of our uncle being a lifelong reminder of the deception. Maybe it was because of that I viewed this news differently, more romantically. At this point in my life, at 34 years old, I have begun to have a deep appreciation for those who find the ability to live their lives full of passion. Not just romantic passion, but a zest for life that enables one to face the challenges more gracefully than those who don’t. Part of me knows this appreciation is rooted in the heart of my family. Who am I to question how anyone gives way to the passion they feel for any person, place or object? I can’t.

“Really. Well, I guess that isn’t surprising. I mean think about it, they got married when they were 16, weren’t they bound to meet companions who would challenge that young love. The important thing is that they were able to stay together and build such a strong family. In fact, I would love for Granddaddy to tell me the whole story of his affair. I think it would open up a connection to him I would appreciate.” I answered.

They both looked at me, absorbing the perspective I had shared. I assumed they agreed. We didn’t say anything else about it and moved on to the next story, the next memory. But later that week I called my mom and asked her if she knew about it. She didn’t. It suddenly struck me that the secrecy of his affair with this woman in the midst of a family who never held back said something about what it had meant to him. Without question, I knew that he had loved her and always held a place in his heart for her. Mentioning her to Dori after so many years signaled to me that she still entered his thoughts. But I also knew he loved grandma. Recently I had learned that a person’s heart is capable of many romantic loves, but each of them different. Hearing of granddaddy’s affair confirmed my suspicion that those who only loved one person their entire lives were an anomaly, not the norm.

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Most events in life occur when you least expect them. So I am unprepared when I receive a Facebook request from a childhood friend I haven’t seen in over 13 years, Christian Blake.

“Christian Blake” (Westbend, GA) Confirm or Accept?

His name has not entered my consciousness since marrying Joseph. I am eager to read his profile and see how time and life had changed him, if at all. I clicked confirm.

Feeling the internal pull to know about his life, I Look at his online pictures and am left with mixed emotions. It is strange to see him with a wife and daughter. To me he should still be the way I remember him. I want to know more about his life and to also see what he remembered of the one we shared. I compose him a simple email telling him that I was doing well and hoped he was too and that the years since we last spoke had treated him well.

What I find in his response and those that follow is how he has grown into a tremendous man, has beat the odds and found success. Still, I long for deeper connection and dialogue with this person who was such a part of my life for so many years.

Perhaps my greatest motivation in talking with Christian in the midst of also trying to work on a marriage on life support, is to set the story straight. I want and need Christian to know how bad he hurt me, how his coldness towards me had frozen my ability to walk away. How I had cared so deeply and never felt that return of affection. How his betrayal and abandonment had shaped who I had become as an adult, more than I ever realized before.

As we begin to email regularly I learn that his feelings for me as we were growing up were not the same as mine for him. His love for me was more platonic, and became complicated by the internal pull that made it physical. Christian has very different memories of our relationship.

His apology comes one night as we are exchanging emails and I relive the darker side of our memories. I don’t think it’s was fair that he remembers a fairytale and I remember a nightmare. Yes, we and all of our friends had great times and learned what it meant to be part of an orb. Many would be envious of the childhood we shared. But behind the curtain of the moon that shone upon our naked bodies so many nights, there was also the demon of our past.

Christian admits his selfishness and self-absorbed nature during that time and apologizes deeply for being so cold to me. As I have imagined, he didn’t know the demon was there. Or at least he says he didn’t. He says that he loved me but that he didn’t know how to treat anyone back then or how to express himself. That much I believe.

The words are comforting, yet vacant. I want more, to look into his eyes and see if I find the accompanying feelings there. In his presence will I still be hypnotized by his hand upon me? Will we still dance around the chemistry between us in the light of day only to succumb to it in the shadows of the night? Will I finally find compassion in his embrace?

More than the boy next door and the object of my affection, Christian was also a part of our family in many ways. Because he was also best friends with my cousin, James, he often was part of the scenery at family dinners, vacations and there were few time he wasn’t present at the communal campground we inhibited that summer before graduation.

I find myself leaning on Christian to remember with me the spirited man I knew granddaddy was. As granddaddy continues to become less of the strength of a man I knew, I write to Christian and urge him to remember funny stories of times at the lake and through the years.

Granddaddy had once caught us smoking pot. He walked around the corner of the camper, witnessed our circle of indiscretion and looked us each in the eye. He walked past. Words were not necessary, the authority and warning in his eyes were all we needed to put it away and head back into the water.

Two days later, Granddaddy rode with Christian and me to the store.

“I know what you kids are doing. I’ve tried pot, didn’t like it.”

I was driving and exchanged a knowing glance with Christian through the rear view mirror.

“I’d much rather have my whisky here, but if it’s what you kids like, I can’t judge. But be careful, don’t let it get you in trouble. It will get you in trouble if you aren’t careful.”

Again, Christian and I exchanged glances and a smile. It was as close to a lecture as we were going to get from Granddaddy. Or so we thought.

“And, Christian, if you get this here girl pregnant, I’m gonna cut off your dick.”

Then the glance we shared didn’t have any hints of laughter, simply fear and shame – we were exposed. Our physical relationship that we thought was so private, such a mystery to even us, was crystal clear to my wise grandfather.

Christian remembers Granddaddy’s warning just as I do. I want to remember Granddaddy just as he had been that summer, not as just a host to his feeble