And bless Kelly's soul. I can get so angry at that girl sometimes, but then she just comes through and does something just like an angel. When Mandy came in that night, she was wearing Verona's black jumper, the whole outfit, even the yellow belt. She took off her jacket and every one of the girls was just stunned. But she is a beautiful girl. I know I'm not to be trusted, being her grandmother, but I've got twelve and that makes me somewhat objective.
My Kelly's hair is dark and straight and cut short like that famous ice skater's. What hair Reg has left is thin and red. But Jeff has his mother's hair, blonde as beach sand and very thick —and so does Mandy. She wore it up that night, in a single braid.
And we sang. We could have done a whole lot better with Martha at the piano, but grandmas don't really care that much about their kids' fumbling. Mandy brought along her own book, a starter, so the melodies of the old favorites—"Silent Night," "Little Town of Bethlehem," "Come, All Ye Faithful," the only six she knew—came out slowly in one‑finger jabs.
And all of us, even Mandy, sat around the table afterwards, eating candy like none of us should. Twenty minutes, maybe, we sat there, when Martha said she had to leave.
"We haven't even played cards yet," I told her, but Martha got up from the table and went to the closet herself for her coat.
"I got big things to do," she said, "and tomorrow's Christmas dinner." It's the biggest meal of the year at school. But you just stay on here and have a good time, okay? Don't mind me."
See, they had it all arranged, the girls did. One by one they left— Anne had a brother over from Texas, Millie was worried about getting a call from her son in the service. They had it all arranged so that the three of us were left, Verona and Mandy and me. That was the plan. I finally figured it out.
"I suppose I ought to be going myself," Verona said, once Millie was up and at the door.
"You stay awhile," I told her. "It's still early."
Those were the first words I spoke to her in a whole week.
"Mandy," I said, "I bet Verona would like to hear those carols again. Whyn't you go over and play them—you two together. I got to do a little cleaning up here or Grandpa will have a fit."
I winked at my friend Verona, and she didn't have to say a word because what was in her was written over her face in spades like it always is. She looked liked a child again, with a face full of Christmas wonder. It was all Martha's idea. I just played along.
*
I took my time cleaning up afterward because what I saw on the piano bench, the way Verona touched that beautiful child for the very first time in her life, then hugged her when she'd make a little mistake somewhere, was just about the best gift I could ever have imagined. I love Mandy, maybe more than some of the other kids, the older ones sometimes for sure, but I got this great big joy in me from giving my darling granddaughter to Verona that night. It was Christmas joy, giving being the blessing it is. And that's something a human being never stops learning either, I'll tell you.
I let the two of them go for a long time, picked up all the food, did some of the dishes, even dumped the garbage, then I got out the present. I'd wrapped it up, complete with a bow, and I told Mandy I was giving it to her for playing for us, for all the cooks—for being our accompanist.
But it wasn't her eyes that I watched when Mandy’s fingers fumbled with the paper. When Verona saw the necklace she'd bought herself, I put my hand on her shoulder to shush her up—and because I wanted her to look at me right then, at that very moment, to see my own eyes, so that once she saw my tears she'd know she didn't have to cry.
"It's beautiful, Grandma, " Mandy said. "I love it. It's gorgeous. " She lifted it out of the little box with her fingers and let it dangle. "I want to wear it," she said, and she turned to Verona without even thinking. "Help me put it on."
That moment was Verona's whole Christmas, let me tell you. Nothing else, no present, could possibly come close. I can't tell you what I felt
I shooed Mandy out the door at 8:30, already a half‑hour too late, but her mother never once minded time in her whole life so she's not one to complain.
That left Verona and me.
She didn't say a thing. Her lips were shaking, and her eyes were glazed She hunched her shoulders as if there really were nothing at all to say and then she walked to the vestibule and pulled out her coat.
"Thanks for coming," I said.
Then she reached over and kissed me, hugged me too. I wonder how long it had been since she'd done that to anyone.
She had her hand on the knob when I remembered the jacket and the boots and the whole winter outfit. I could have let it go too, in the charm of that party and the blaze of joy in her eyes. But I know there's more to life than Christmas candy, and I figured if my Kelly could dress Mandy up for her ghost grandma that night, then Verona could learn to bend a bit herself.
"I got some stuff here that belongs to you, " I said. "I think you’d better take it along." I had it in a couple of shopping bags on the floor of the vestibule.
She had no idea what it was. I know she didn't. She was still in a dream. She looked at me strangely, then reached down to slip open a box. I don't think I can really describe exactly what happened right then to my friend's face. Maybe the best way to say it would be that her heart got moved from heaven back to earth—but not to hell. She took this deep breath, as if the whole time on that piano bench she hadn't even taken a minute for air. And then she bit her bottom lip, and smiled. I know very well it wasn't easy for her to say anything.
"It's something how easy it is to return items nowadays," she said. "It's so simple, don't you think?"
"Wasn't always that way," I told her.
"Sure wasn't," she said. She looked up at me almost as if she didn't want to leave, but she did. It's Christmas dinner at school tomorrow, after all.
Once she was out the door, I pulled out what was left of the chocolate-coated pretzels and ate all of them, every last one. Not once did I feel guilty either. I ate the whole works. It's no holiday at all, if you've got to watch yourself every last minute. What's a holiday for, I figure. Joy— that's what it is.
I let the two of them go for a long time, picked up all the food, did some of the dishes, even dumped the garbage, then I got out the present. I'd wrapped it up, complete with a bow, and I told Mandy I was giving it to her for playing for us, for all the cooks—for being our accompanist.
But it wasn't her eyes that I watched when Mandy’s fingers fumbled with the paper. When Verona saw the necklace she'd bought herself, I put my hand on her shoulder to shush her up—and because I wanted her to look at me right then, at that very moment, to see my own eyes, so that once she saw my tears she'd know she didn't have to cry.
"It's beautiful, Grandma, " Mandy said. "I love it. It's gorgeous. " She lifted it out of the little box with her fingers and let it dangle. "I want to wear it," she said, and she turned to Verona without even thinking. "Help me put it on."
That moment was Verona's whole Christmas, let me tell you. Nothing else, no present, could possibly come close. I can't tell you what I felt
I shooed Mandy out the door at 8:30, already a half‑hour too late, but her mother never once minded time in her whole life so she's not one to complain.
That left Verona and me.
She didn't say a thing. Her lips were shaking, and her eyes were glazed She hunched her shoulders as if there really were nothing at all to say and then she walked to the vestibule and pulled out her coat.
"Thanks for coming," I said.
Then she reached over and kissed me, hugged me too. I wonder how long it had been since she'd done that to anyone.
She had her hand on the knob when I remembered the jacket and the boots and the whole winter outfit. I could have let it go too, in the charm of that party and the blaze of joy in her eyes. But I know there's more to life than Christmas candy, and I figured if my Kelly could dress Mandy up for her ghost grandma that night, then Verona could learn to bend a bit herself.
"I got some stuff here that belongs to you, " I said. "I think you’d better take it along." I had it in a couple of shopping bags on the floor of the vestibule.
She had no idea what it was. I know she didn't. She was still in a dream. She looked at me strangely, then reached down to slip open a box. I don't think I can really describe exactly what happened right then to my friend's face. Maybe the best way to say it would be that her heart got moved from heaven back to earth—but not to hell. She took this deep breath, as if the whole time on that piano bench she hadn't even taken a minute for air. And then she bit her bottom lip, and smiled. I know very well it wasn't easy for her to say anything.
"It's something how easy it is to return items nowadays," she said. "It's so simple, don't you think?"
"Wasn't always that way," I told her.
"Sure wasn't," she said. She looked up at me almost as if she didn't want to leave, but she did. It's Christmas dinner at school tomorrow, after all.
Once she was out the door, I pulled out what was left of the chocolate-coated pretzels and ate all of them, every last one. Not once did I feel guilty either. I ate the whole works. It's no holiday at all, if you've got to watch yourself every last minute. What's a holiday for, I figure. Joy— that's what it is.
_______________
To all, don't eat too much, but have a wonderful Christmas!!
No comments:
Post a Comment