Date: Thu, 19 Dec 2002 08:31:38 -0500
From: Taylor Siluwe <taylorsiluwe@earthlink.net>
Subject: "Grandma's Hands" Part One (of 7)

     "Grandma's Hands"
      Copyright 2001 by Taylor Siluwe

      Part One


      Sonny was young, so young that he couldn't see straight.
      Crash, bang! The chrome walker never saw it coming.
      "Why don't you look where you goin, Sonny boy?" His voice was thin
and brittle, almost as if it hurt to talk.
      "I'm sorry, Grandpa," Sonny appeased respectfully. He righted the
walker, and then went on his way, already forgetting about the incident. In
a moment or two, he rushed past once again, being chronically in a hurry,
and dashed out into the street to rejoin his friend. The boys' excited
voices tore through the air, arriving in muted tones at the ancient ears of
Ezekiel Sinclair.
      The old man sat at the window, watching and listening as best he
could. Sonny had apparently retrieved a magazine from the house, which
contained something of interest. More of his friends gathered around in a
wild circle as Ezekiel's exuberant grandson clutched the `mag' with an air
of importance. He resembled a minister about to announce the exact date of
the coming of the Lord.
      As he watched them with his tired old eyes, he sighed. The weight on
his chest, the one that seemed to get heavier with each passing day,
announced impending doom. Any day now, they would come to take him away. A
feeble old man was not a suitable guardian for a seventeen-year old
boy. Ezekiel knew this, though he could not imagine letting Sonny go.
      The sun gleamed brightly, but barely penetrated his thick
glasses. The lenses were dark, shielding his eyes from their sensitivity to
light. But he could see the young men, the ringleader especially; the flesh
of his own withered loins, doing whatever it was that they were
doing. Sonny was his only grandchild, and his dominating nature made
Ezekiel proud. The other kids in the neighborhood could not seem to do
anything without his approval. They all converged from the other tenement
buildings to this one, running away from the poverty and misery at home,
gathering with compliant faces, while Sonny held court. It was their realm
away from the ghastly realities of living in the war zone. They were foot
soldiers, and Sonny was a General.
      One of the minions, a mousy boy named Malcolm, whose teeth seemed to
belong to someone much older, apparently displeased the General and was
pushed away. He immediately resumed his position at Sonny's side though,
like every dutiful sidekick should.
      In his day, Malcolm would have been called a `Sissy-boy', Ezekiel
thought.
      The others in the group ignored his impertinence, too wrapped up in
their own eagerness to please; each caught up in their own inner struggle
for self-esteem. Malcolm smiled at him; his eyes filled with awe. Sonny was
young, but he had a special charm.
      Ezekiel giggled a dry sound at the sight, "That's my boy," he said.
      It seemed to the old man that he had been sitting at this window for
a lifetime. Scrutinizing the goings on in the courtyard below. The ground
sparkled with broken glass like New Years Eve's glitter, adding a certain
festive quality to the area. It took your mind off the pungent mountain of
garbage bags that seemed to materialize the day after the trash people
removed the previous one.
      He had seen it all, having sat in that spot for so long that he had
developed sores on his posterior. Good people going about their days with
twisted faces filled with pain. They went and they came. The young and the
old, ... and the old that used to be young all traversed his line of
sight. He had seen pregnant women evolve into mothers and children. He had
even seen couples trying to manufacture a child, on those summer nights
when no one wanted their shades to interfere with the almost nonexistent
breeze. He had seen it all from that chair, and while he watched ... he
longed.
      As he sat there now, with his wisps' of white hair hovering over his
black head, he still longed. As he watched Malcolm play up to his grandson,
his deepest thoughts, which for decades had been a source of confusion and
anger, were clear to him. Rheumy old eyes ironically saw with remarkable
clarity ... seeing things that youthful ones could not. Ezekiel knew what
Malcolm was going through. He could remember a time when he was that
confused little boy, overcome by fantasies that defied explanation.
      The other boys soon left, leaving Sonny and Malcolm together, sitting
on a broken down blue Cadillac. Ezekiel's eyes moved from Malcolm to his
grandson. He looked so much like his father did at that age that it was
almost unsettling. The deep-set serious stare was the same, as was his
lanky muscular frame. Ezekiel grieved for his son everyday from that
chair. He also mourned the fact that his son had taken his beloved Rachel
with him. A kind heart just can't go on once it's been broken too badly.
      All they had were each other and that would have to suffice. Sonny
was young, and he had his father's soul.
      "Yaahhh!" the two boys screamed in unison, before dashing off to some
clandestine destination, with Sonny orchestrating their flow. His long
youthful legs had taken on a manly flavor during the past year or so, and
he could run with the wind. Ezekiel did not worry though, for the kid was
not totally like his father. He knew his grandson would be responsible. He
was a good boy; he wouldn't get his fool self killed like ...
      His son's name caught in his throat like a fisherman's hook. He
hadn't spoken it aloud since the day they laid him to rest. Rachel had died
that day too; not physically (that came 3 months later), but
psychologically she passed over to some dark and inescapable placeoa dank
spot in the corner of her soul, where she would pound her breasts in agony,
and howl like the dying. On the day that they threw moist red earth on
their only child's simple bronze casket, Ezekiel lost her too.
      As he manned his post like an aged sentinel, watching the beautiful
ethnic features, he longed again for the days when he would rip and run
until his nose ran. Those baby-powder scented years when his limbs where
invincible, and his loins throbbed with blood. Those were the days; he
thought ... yes, those were the days.
      The two boys returned to the car and seated themselves on it
again. It was unseasonably warm, and Malcolm removed his black Tupac tee
shirt and playfully tossed it over Sonny's head. The youthful muscles
tensed on his bird-like chest as he attempted to smother Sonny with his
musty garment.
      Sonny pushed him off the car and the two began to tussle. Like two
bulls locked in battle for dominance, they grunted and perspired until they
fell down behind the car out of sight.
      Ezekiel recalled that age too, when his blossoming sexual fruit was
at its sweetest.
      He put his hand to his crotch and massaged his sleeping organ. It had
been asleep for too many years now and Ezekiel knew that it must have
passed away also. His best friend was dead. As he poked and prodded
Archibald( its playful nickname( his mind also mourned the passing of his
desire. He would give anything to have a `woody' again. After all these
years, he would finally know what to do with it.
      The boys were off the ground, but they were no longer
playing. Malcolm had Sonny from behind, pinning his arms down and crushing
the air out of him. Sonny grunted and groaned until with one swift move, he
was able to spin around and deliver a right cross to the chin of
Malcolm. The smaller boy went down again.
      Sonny looked down at him, admiring his handy work. The sight did not
upset Ezekiel, for he knew that it was the only way to remain the `king of
the mountain'. The leader had to instill a perception of power in the
hearts of those around him in order to achieve it. Malcolm had obviously
overstepped his bounds.
      Then Sonny extended a strong hand, and with a smile on his lips he
lifted the humbled little Malcolm to his feet. He showed his seldom seen
soft side by brushing away errant bits of glass and dirt from the bare back
of the smaller boy. All was well again.
      "Is you playin' with yourself again, Zeke?"
      The sudden voice startled the old man and he turned his head away
from the window to see Rachel coming toward him from the kitchen. Her
cherubic face beamed unnaturally and her silver hair was wrapped up in a
tight bun atop her head. She was a large woman, though her buxom did not
swish up and down as she walked anymore. Ezekiel shook his head and
concluded that they must have much better bras in Heaven.
      "Good," she said with a smile in her voice, " ... `cause you know
that thing don't work no `mo'."
      "It does, too!" he replied with indignation. It was a very sensitive
subject.
      She came over to his side, smelling like fried chicken and collard
greens, and said, "How you gonna lie to me, Zeke? I've gone on to glory,
remember? I knows what's goin' on. Archibald is up dere wit me, keepin' my
company," she laughed. It was a hearty sound, from deep within her ample
chest.
      "Well, anyways, what you doin' here spying on me? Cain't a ol' man
scratch his nuts in peace?" Although there was certain crankiness in his
tone, he was actually pleased when she came to bother him. Her visits had
been the highlight of his days for the past year.
      She rubbed his bald-spot with wifely affection. Her touch was warm
and full of life, gone were the calluses that had adorned her palms from
all of her years of working like a slave. They were soft now, soft as
Sonny's cheek, and exuded a power that tingled from the top of his head all
the way down to the slumbering Archibald. It even stirred a bit; though she
removed her hand and the little guy went back to snoring.
      "I come to give ya sumthin'," Rachel said with a sly grin.
      "What?"
      "Whatcha' been asking fo'."
      His hand went to his crotch unconsciously, "Uh, ... what's that?"
      "Zeke, what you been thinkin' `bout sittin' in this here window?"
      He stared blankly at his dead wife, then said, " ... Nothin'."
      "There you go tryin' to lie to me again ol' man, and I dun told you
ya cain't. I'm here on a mission today. I come to give ya whatcha' been
cravin'."
      Ezekiel's puckered cheeks almost blushed. "What you talkin' `bout,
woman?"
      Her demeanor was heavy today. She was hardly her jolly-ol' self. As
soft as her face appeared to be, he could see that beneath the smooth
surface hid a mask of iron( one that contorted to control her features, and
made her seem real. And her eyes glowed from within; they seemed to quiver
with energy. She was loaded with deadly power, but he knew that she was an
Angel.
      "I'm talkin' `bout whatcha been cravin', Zeke. I'm fixin' to give ya
whatcha been askin' fo'."
      "And that is?" he prompted the apparition.
      She leaned forward smiling like a wolf, which had previously gorged
itself and therefore had no desire to rip the flesh from one's bones, but
was comfortable with the knowledge that it could if it chose to. She looked
so deeply into Ezekiel's eyes that he was unnerved again. There was
something vaguely malignant about that grin.
      Then as her eyes narrowed knowingly and her hands reached out to him
she said, "Sonny will know."
      He flinched, backing away slightly from her touch. But she was
insistent, and grasped his face with her luminescent hands. Ezekiel could
feel the power surge through his cheeks, and rush down his spinal cord
sending out electrical charges along the way. His arteries, those slow
moving rivers of blood, expanded and increased their flow
dramatically. Like red rapids the life-giving liquid gushed through his
body, splashing into his brain and making his head spin.
      "Uhhhhh!" was all he managed to say as his eyes closed and he slumped
back into the chair.
      `I'm dying,' he thought through the drug-like haze, ` ... I always
knew death would feel this good.'

:hd: