story time
In lieu of a real post here is the rough draft of the story I wrote for class on Thursday.
My sister sent me five dollars for my birthday again this year. The card was beautiful. The front bore one of my favourite photographs, “Moonrise Hernendez”. The inside had a poem about aging and the passage of time. She had signed it, of course. There in bright blue ink she had scrawled in her doctor’s hand “Happy birthday, I look forward to seeing you for the holidays this year. Michelle”.
I took the card and set it upright on the mantle alongside the overly ornate one from my mother, who would be hosting our reunion for the holidays. Next to hers was a simple paper card from my Uncle who went to Cambodia to get blown up. He said he’d rather go work with wars of ideology than whatever brewed in our family continually. His card read the same every year for every holiday. “Hope this made it on time. I’m still alive and kicking hearts back into gear. Enjoy yourself. Chuck.” The front bore the words “Happy Birthday” in a slightly different ink. We always joked that Uncle Chuck just made up a bunch at one go which all say the same thing and sent them out at the appropriate times without a second thought. I never thought it was funny.
I picked the five dollar bill up off the table where I had laid it to read my sister’s card. It was worn. The edges of the linen paper were folded and creased but the whole of the thing had been pressed very flat. Letting it run through my fingers reminded me.
Grandpa had died in 1984. This had been the beginning. We all remembered clearly the day. He had been diagnosed with a rare brain cancer. Luckily this meant that Grandpa knew he was going. He took his remaining life by the coat and dragged it wherever it would take him. He went on cruises, he flew to obscure places, he quite nearly went sky diving. So the day that his number came up he was ready and at peace. The tremors started the morning of Boxing Day stronger than ever. We were all at the house because of Christmas. Shortly after dinner he was gone. The trouble with taking over one’s life like that is that it costs a lot of money. No one had the heart to tell Grandpa that his final bash at living was beyond his means. He left behind him a debt which I still marvel to think about. The only thing I can figure is that he must have thought that insurance would pay for all the medical bills. He hadn’t had insurance for years.
By the time 1986 rolled around the toll was showing. We’d all vowed to pay back the debt Grandpa had left. It wouldn’t be fair to leave it to Grandma. We valued Grandma as our last thread to that generation since Dad’s parents didn’t get to count as grandparents. Disowning one’s son will do that. Uncle Chuck was working three jobs and trying to settle down with his new wife. Mom was trying to figure out how to get Michelle and I through college. What made it all worse was Grandma’s deteriorating health.
After two years Grandma had tried everything to pay off Grandpa’s debt. She’d put mortgages on the house, taken loans out on every piece of property she could sign as collateral and even played the stock market. If her efforts had done anything it had made things worse. The stocks fell through and she owed the bank for interest into the bargain. It was an absolute mess all around.
On October 23 though things changed. It was my birthday. Mom never told me the details only that Grandma had died in the night. She had left me a card though. The card was a floral printed pink one. The inside had no pre-printed message. Instead, in Grandma’s faltering hand, the card read. “Enjoy yourself and share this with your sister”. Inside the card had been set, with what I know to have been the utmost care and love, a five dollar bill. It was creased and weathered and I know now that it was precious beyond its worth.
Mom had kept something from me. We figured it out, of course. That’s why I never spent the money. Grandma, after two years of scraping and misery, had taken care of it all in one fell swoop. She had been found, according to Uncle Chuck who said it was only fair that we be informed, in a bare house. She had cleaned out the whole place. Some research told us that McGilicutty’s moving had taken care of the actual physical activity but nonetheless it was all gone. Everything she had ever owned had been moved out that very day.
The bank would later tell us that she had sold them the house. Her other possessions had been purchased by three shops in the city depending on whether it was furniture, antiques or collectables. The rest had apparently gone to the salvation army. The money from the sales had gone to settle the remaining debts with the bank. Everything had gone and in exchange she had taken care of everything. All of the debt was settled. It was a masterstroke.
Grandma was clearly a genius because she managed to pull it all off without us hearing anything about it and it all came off without a hitch. The only things left were Grandma and a white envelope which lay next to her when she was found in the cavernous empty front hall.
I wish it had been a note. Something to tell us what had happened. Instead it was a card to me. Which said inside “Enjoy yourself and share this with your sister”. It was the last five dollars. After all of that work. After a lifetime of graft and thrift all that was left was this five and a card.
Now I turn the linen paper artifact over in my hand. After twenty years we still enacted this tradition. When we still lived together at home we could just keep it in the old cookbook Grandma had given us one Christmas. It was always available to look at and handle then. When we left for college though I got the cookbook. She was a year behind me. Her birthday is in April, right around Easter. After having it for the better part of a year I sent it to her in a card. I also sent her some fuzzy socks. Ever since we have exchanged this bill, a relic of another time and place. Our birthdays falling almost exactly half a year apart was happy circumstance. We fairly share it between us. I have it for the winter, during which it resides in the battered copy of “The Joy of Cooking” and midway through spring give it to her. She keeps it, I’ve been told, in a copy of the Physician’s Desk Reference. Things have gotten better. Obviously we don’t stress about debt anymore. Everyone had been working so hard that when the next round of paychecks came in with no Grandma to hand it to things changed. Chuck, for example left for Cambodia. Mom, dropped a job and has since retired from her long career at the bakery. Michelle is a Doctor now. I guess we did what she said. We may have argued about it and hated each other and fought but eventually we did her bidding. “Enjoy yourself and share this with your sister”.
My sister sent me five dollars for my birthday again this year. The card was beautiful. The front bore one of my favourite photographs, “Moonrise Hernendez”. The inside had a poem about aging and the passage of time. She had signed it, of course. There in bright blue ink she had scrawled in her doctor’s hand “Happy birthday, I look forward to seeing you for the holidays this year. Michelle”.
I took the card and set it upright on the mantle alongside the overly ornate one from my mother, who would be hosting our reunion for the holidays. Next to hers was a simple paper card from my Uncle who went to Cambodia to get blown up. He said he’d rather go work with wars of ideology than whatever brewed in our family continually. His card read the same every year for every holiday. “Hope this made it on time. I’m still alive and kicking hearts back into gear. Enjoy yourself. Chuck.” The front bore the words “Happy Birthday” in a slightly different ink. We always joked that Uncle Chuck just made up a bunch at one go which all say the same thing and sent them out at the appropriate times without a second thought. I never thought it was funny.
I picked the five dollar bill up off the table where I had laid it to read my sister’s card. It was worn. The edges of the linen paper were folded and creased but the whole of the thing had been pressed very flat. Letting it run through my fingers reminded me.
Grandpa had died in 1984. This had been the beginning. We all remembered clearly the day. He had been diagnosed with a rare brain cancer. Luckily this meant that Grandpa knew he was going. He took his remaining life by the coat and dragged it wherever it would take him. He went on cruises, he flew to obscure places, he quite nearly went sky diving. So the day that his number came up he was ready and at peace. The tremors started the morning of Boxing Day stronger than ever. We were all at the house because of Christmas. Shortly after dinner he was gone. The trouble with taking over one’s life like that is that it costs a lot of money. No one had the heart to tell Grandpa that his final bash at living was beyond his means. He left behind him a debt which I still marvel to think about. The only thing I can figure is that he must have thought that insurance would pay for all the medical bills. He hadn’t had insurance for years.
By the time 1986 rolled around the toll was showing. We’d all vowed to pay back the debt Grandpa had left. It wouldn’t be fair to leave it to Grandma. We valued Grandma as our last thread to that generation since Dad’s parents didn’t get to count as grandparents. Disowning one’s son will do that. Uncle Chuck was working three jobs and trying to settle down with his new wife. Mom was trying to figure out how to get Michelle and I through college. What made it all worse was Grandma’s deteriorating health.
After two years Grandma had tried everything to pay off Grandpa’s debt. She’d put mortgages on the house, taken loans out on every piece of property she could sign as collateral and even played the stock market. If her efforts had done anything it had made things worse. The stocks fell through and she owed the bank for interest into the bargain. It was an absolute mess all around.
On October 23 though things changed. It was my birthday. Mom never told me the details only that Grandma had died in the night. She had left me a card though. The card was a floral printed pink one. The inside had no pre-printed message. Instead, in Grandma’s faltering hand, the card read. “Enjoy yourself and share this with your sister”. Inside the card had been set, with what I know to have been the utmost care and love, a five dollar bill. It was creased and weathered and I know now that it was precious beyond its worth.
Mom had kept something from me. We figured it out, of course. That’s why I never spent the money. Grandma, after two years of scraping and misery, had taken care of it all in one fell swoop. She had been found, according to Uncle Chuck who said it was only fair that we be informed, in a bare house. She had cleaned out the whole place. Some research told us that McGilicutty’s moving had taken care of the actual physical activity but nonetheless it was all gone. Everything she had ever owned had been moved out that very day.
The bank would later tell us that she had sold them the house. Her other possessions had been purchased by three shops in the city depending on whether it was furniture, antiques or collectables. The rest had apparently gone to the salvation army. The money from the sales had gone to settle the remaining debts with the bank. Everything had gone and in exchange she had taken care of everything. All of the debt was settled. It was a masterstroke.
Grandma was clearly a genius because she managed to pull it all off without us hearing anything about it and it all came off without a hitch. The only things left were Grandma and a white envelope which lay next to her when she was found in the cavernous empty front hall.
I wish it had been a note. Something to tell us what had happened. Instead it was a card to me. Which said inside “Enjoy yourself and share this with your sister”. It was the last five dollars. After all of that work. After a lifetime of graft and thrift all that was left was this five and a card.
Now I turn the linen paper artifact over in my hand. After twenty years we still enacted this tradition. When we still lived together at home we could just keep it in the old cookbook Grandma had given us one Christmas. It was always available to look at and handle then. When we left for college though I got the cookbook. She was a year behind me. Her birthday is in April, right around Easter. After having it for the better part of a year I sent it to her in a card. I also sent her some fuzzy socks. Ever since we have exchanged this bill, a relic of another time and place. Our birthdays falling almost exactly half a year apart was happy circumstance. We fairly share it between us. I have it for the winter, during which it resides in the battered copy of “The Joy of Cooking” and midway through spring give it to her. She keeps it, I’ve been told, in a copy of the Physician’s Desk Reference. Things have gotten better. Obviously we don’t stress about debt anymore. Everyone had been working so hard that when the next round of paychecks came in with no Grandma to hand it to things changed. Chuck, for example left for Cambodia. Mom, dropped a job and has since retired from her long career at the bakery. Michelle is a Doctor now. I guess we did what she said. We may have argued about it and hated each other and fought but eventually we did her bidding. “Enjoy yourself and share this with your sister”.