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White Christmas
Grandpa Lars was God to me. When I was a little girl and naughty, he made me sit on the white chair, my little legs dangling. "If you move," he said, "even one little wiggle, God will see." I didn't move. Not even one little wiggle. "Good girl," Grandpa Lars would say, when my punishment time was up. He'd hoist me from the chair high into the air. "Such a good girl!" He'd nuzzle me with his raspy beard until I squealed.
Grandpa Lars died yesterday afternoon. Christmas Eve. I was home from school, baking cookies, white chocolate chip. Mom and I had tried to call Grandpa earlier but couldn't get through. Then the phone rang. "That's probably Papa now," Mom said. But it was the nursing home saying he'd died. Right away she got a plane ticket for this morning. She was worried about Grandma Moo. Grandma's name isn't really Moo; it's something French that sounds like moo. While Mom was on the phone making arrangements I ate all the cookies.
In the morning I drove Mom to the airport. Back home I went for a run. It was cold and my breath plumed. I jogged to the high school track, which is four blocks from the house, and I ran three miles around the track, and I jogged home. I stood in the shower a long time. After I was dry I put on the white silk shorts Mom had given me for Christmas. I went down to the basement and found the old white chair. I brought it up to Grandpa's old room. I stared at it awhile and then I sat in it, wrong way around.
The metal felt cool on my skin. I had the thought that I should have taken off my shorts first. I wondered if I could take off my shorts without getting off the chair. Without moving.
I knew it was ridiculous, but I couldn't shake the feeling that Grandpa Lars was watching me from up in heaven. I lifted my legs slightly so my feet were off the ground. I swayed back and forth, just a small amount, seeing if I could rock the chair. Maybe I could make myself topple over. When the chair started rocking I stopped. "You're not really trying," said a voice inside me. "You're chicken."
I got off the chair. I found my cell phone. I took off the white pants and sat on the chair again. I phoned Hecker, my boyfriend from high school. We'd broken up because I wouldn't go all the way. "Can you come over?" I said. "I need a fuck in the worst way."
"What about your mom?" he said.
"Just come," I said. "Just get your ass over here and fuck me."
It hurt, but not as much as I thought it would. While Hecker was fucking me, I didn't think of Grandpa Lars at all.
story and illustrations by Mat Twassel |
