Weightless
My grandpa always used to tell me that you won’t know what love is until you’ve found it. Now he’s dead, and I’m starting to wonder if that was a riddle. He sometimes told us riddles, at least we thought they were riddles until the doctors told us his mind was going. Things started to melt together, the way he would describe something, something he was looking at right in front of him. It was usually incredibly poetic, but they turned out to be the thoughts of a dying and senile man. His hands were big, His palm itself seemed like it could cover my face, and so I felt safe around him, no matter how bad his mind got his body always seemed in perfect shape. My sister married young, I always thought too young and so in one of his better days, one of his more lucid less convoluted days we went out to dinner.
We never sat at a booth, ever, it was a golden rule or something. He loved to lean forward and to rock his chair back on two legs, I think he loved that small amount of freedom more than he loved my grandma, well, the memory of my grandma. We sat at the table and he waved a hand to the waitress, she brought us some water and we talked about his doctors visit; everything’s fine. He took a big gulp of water, sucking in an ice cube. He held it between his teeth, letting the squeak of slowly compacting ice reverberate through his jaw and down to his hands. They shook, and as I looked he said, You know, you won’t know what love is until you’ve found it. I told him I knew, and the ice cracked loud. He let his mouth stay closed for a moment and he just repeated himself. I know I told him, but this time there was no pause, he simply said, you don’t but someday I hope you will find out.
He never talked about his parents, and he never talked about my grandmother. When I was younger I asked him about his father, and he picked me up and put me in his lap. He breathed in and said he was the kind of man who would never take a child out for ice cream before dinner, and then he tickled me and we went to get ice cream. My mom said that he didn’t want to think about anything that had hurt him, but that his father was a brave man. Eventually I found out that he was a fireman who died in a building. It was a long time ago, when my mom was just a little girl, my grandfather a young man, and a building collapsed.
My grandfather never mentioned my father either, he would only say in passing that the man never knew love, only how to lose it. I’ve seen him a couple times, my mom would set up meetings saying that he was excited to see us but when me and my sister would see him he would always want to end things quick, he would take us to the zoo or something, ask us some questions about things we liked and disliked and then he would be gone. He always sent us presents, and when we got older money, but after the 4th visit he started just calling. I used to wonder if he had to call because he was so far away, but he lived within the same state, and so all that was left was disappointment. I don’t know what he is to me, but it isn’t a father and I know I don’t love him. That is why I never talk about my father, and it is the same and the opposite reason my grandpa never talked about his parents and his wife.
I didn’t say anything, and he let it all hang in the air. He took another sip of water and the waitress came back. Without looking at the menu he ordered and I had to make a hasty decision on what to eat. When she left he asked about my sister, I said she was fine and he asked about her husband and I told him I didn’t know. He leaned back and looked at the table, I don’t know if he was thinking about the next question or wondering where he was. He asked why I didn’t like him, his name was Christopher, why I didn’t like Christopher. I shrugged, because it was getting uncomfortable, but he didn’t care because he wanted to help and so he waited till I would give a more satisfying answer. They hardly know each other, or themselves, I just don’t think he’s right for her.
In truth they were and are perfect for each other. For three years in a row they bought each other the same present for Christmas, so they started a tradition of buying one gift together. He leaned forward, shifting weight onto his elbows. My grandpa was a big man, every part was proportionate to each other, but in near giant stature, and sitting there across the table I still felt like a small child in a booster seat. How have you been lately? I’d like to say my grandpa had eyes that became soft when he was being endearing, but instead of becoming soft they gained an intensity. He had the ability to use those eyes to protect and show dominance, they were lion’s eyes and they had a helluva roar.
I knew better, but you can’t lie to him, he won’t confront you, he will simply correct your lie in the next question. I’m fine, work is a little stressful and I’m really ready for a vacation. The problem with complaining to older people about work is that they’ve worked harder and longer than you, and they may say they understand but what they really mean, and what you know they mean is, That’s life. My grandpa was not the type of person to coddle, he wouldn’t try to comfort you in your delusions and so when his time came we wouldn’t comfort him in his. He didn’t want to know about work, he was old fashioned and when I took a desk job he saw it as a betrayal, but he wanted a better life for me and his aching body knew that his objections were irrational.
I think, I think its time for you to find a woman. He held up a hand, a signal that any objection would have to wait. You’re a good man, and there’s a lot you don’t want to say to another man and I understand that. When, when I first started dating your grandmother. He stopped and moved his elbows a couple of inches back toward his belly. Those were different times. When a man had something on his mind, he told his girl. Everyone had one back then, it wasn’t like today. We married young, we married in love, and we stayed that way. That was the last time I heard him talk about my grandma, but right before he stopped talking my mother saw him playing a game of checkers with her. By the time he wanted to continue the conversation our food had been brought out and was half eaten.
We started talking about my sister again, how she was too young, and he didn’t mind that. She was eighteen, almost nineteen and he was twenty. I never tried to talk her out of it, I always tried to seem happy for her, but she was too young. My grandpa told me he was always proud of us and that he wished I could be happy. We finished up eating and I drove him home. He always said that you wouldn’t know love until you found it, but I had found it, it just made things complicated. It felt like swimming in a great void, being completely weightless without any indication of direction. There was no way to know what to do, and I didn’t have a woman to talk about it with. While I may have found love, love had yet to find her,
We pulled into his driveway and I walked him inside. He’d kept the furniture in the same order, my grandmother had been the one who always wanted things moved around, I don’t think he minded as long as she was there with him and so when she died everything stayed its place. I sat down on the couch and he went to start making coffee for himself and boiling some water for me. He came back and sat in his usual chair, fabric warn from years of abrasion. We started telling stories, me about work and him about growing up on the farm. His life was so simple, he woke up, worked, went to bed. He never had to think about what he was doing, his body simply remembered what to do and did.
His voice created a slow drone in my ears, a pleasant tone that caused my mind to drift. When he was admitted into the hospital I remembered that he wasn’t speaking to me any longer, he wasn’t speaking to anyone, but he always stared at the window like he was waiting for something to break through it. I came in every Thursday after work and sat in the chair by the window as he looked right past me. Sometimes I read a book, sometimes I just stared back at him. Finally the doctors said he didn’t have much longer and so my cousins flew into town, my aunts and uncles met with my mother to start planning a funeral and on the last night they all went out to dinner and left me with him alone for the last time.
I pulled my chair right up next to his bed but at this point his eyes were closed. I told him thanks for everything, I told him that he was the best father I could have ever had, even though he was my grandfather. I wanted to tell him that’d I’d found love and that I was happy, but he hadn’t prepare me for the kind of love that makes you unhappy, that was something my father tried to teach me, so I didn’t tell him anything for awhile. When my mom and cousins and aunts and uncles came back they all hugged me and asked questions like “are you ok?” and “do you need to talk?”. The more they talked the farther I fell into the void, the less direction I had and the more I needed to know where to go. The farther and deeper I got the more I realized that love was a lot like drowning. Before my grandpa died I told him that I had found love, and I lied and told him that I was happy, that we were happy together and then his heart stopped a shrill constant tone rang and he knew that I was lying, but I loved him, so I lied.
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