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By Seth Blackledge
Published in the 2023 journal.
Grandma stumbled over her words in the doorway. “Are you ready? We may be late if
you keep trying to get your tie perfect.”
I confidentially snap, “Well, my dad taught me to tie them perfect, so I’ll be done in just
a second.” I admire my dad.
I am preparing for a funeral–all black-tie event–which is new to me. Usually, I am stuck in a routine with my family. I have been spending a lot of time with my grandma, who is just about a stranger to me. She is sweet, like a Bible Belt grandma, giving out little candies at church, but she’s slow to catch onto my lingo. Since I have been staying with my grandma, sadness has filled her eyes. Whenever she looks at me, a tear forms.
“Thomas... we need to go!” Grandma yells up to my room. Her yell cracks.
“I am already on my way out the door,” I respond. I playfully smile, like I beat her there.
“Thomas, it is not a race. We just have to make it,” she tells me.
I would normally be at school today talking with my friends, eating in the cafeteria,
playing at recess. I am not sure of the last time I was taken out of school for any occasion. My family is pretty strict when it comes to a routine. I always try to convince my dad to pull me out early so we can spend the day together, but he ends up saying, “You know what your mom will say, boy.”
I would have to admit my dad and I are fairly close, like a foot goes in a shoe. Everyone
says I have a hard time listening and understanding. It is like my mind is in another world while everything around me continues to whip by. I am not sure what that even means. There have been times when I get in a little trouble due to my attention span, slacking off and daydreaming about other lands when I am supposed to be learning in class. My parents have always teased me, saying I am a Martian child from another world because I never understand the world around me and the world around me never understands me.
I ask Grandma if we can listen to The Beatles, specifically the song “Yesterday.”
“Why that song, Thomas?” she asks me without reason.
“Well, it’s one of my mom’s favorites, and I miss her. I haven’t seen her in a while.” I
tell her this with an innocence in my eyes. I don’t even realize what I just told her or how it
affected her.
“Oh honey, that is so sweet. Of course, we can.” She tells me. I can feel that she lifted her foot off the gas a little, with the car sputtering down to pick up speed again.
I am not used to wearing dress clothes, having a shirt tucked in that I grew out of ages
ago. I feel like I am suffocating in the car, especially with the windows shut tight. I tell myself to focus on the music or the world outside the window. I pick out buildings that we drive by, trying to think of their purposes. I see a few of my favorite places that I like to eat at. My stomach starts to growl, which makes me laugh a little, with a grin that no one could steal from me. Grandma gives me a look with her confused grandma eyes in the rearview mirror since I am in the backseat. The look makes me burst into a jolting laugh.
I have never been in a funeral home before and did not understand why it was called a
home. As Grandma and I walk through the front doors, I realize the building reeks of flowers and old man cologne. Just about everyone in the building was dressed like us, helping us to blend in. The funeral home reminds me of church. Grandma holds me close to her side as we maneuver through the crowd to a reserved spot for us up front. Everyone was facing the front of the room, like a classroom. I honestly felt like I was at school, which was the last thing I wanted.
I lean over and tug on my grandma’s pant leg to ask. “What now?
Grandma replies. “Be patient, Thomas, you’ll understand soon.” She barely budges,
reminding me of a frozen statue. A fly could land on her.
I reply, “I doubt it. No one tells me anything in this family.”
I could tell my grandma was giving me a look, even though I was not looking at her
myself. I decided to continue my curiosity elsewhere, trying to understand the funeral and why I was there. I know my grandma tried to explain it to me before we left, but I did not necessarily understand. We kept getting approached by my cousins, friends, and strangers saying, “My condolences” and “I am sorry for your loss.” Every time someone new walked up to my grandma and I, she lurched over a little more, like she aged another year. I kept tapping my feet together and looking down at the ground, like I was not there. In front of Grandma and me stood two large rectangle boxes that were a light brown color, like the grandfather clock I was not allowed to touch at home. My mom would always yell at me whenever I went near it, so I hated them; I hated the boxes.
After I walk through Grandma’s house doors, I realize I still did not know anything about funerals, which was alright with me. My parents will try to explain what they were for when I see them. I ask grandma if I could go play at the neighbor’s house for a little bit, until dinner.
She replies, “How about we give it some time and play on your mother’s old piano
together, Thomas?” She said it in a way that made it clear that it was not a question.
I sat on the bench beside Grandma and sighed. My grandma looks like another woman,
since this morning. I think she may be the Martian in the family after all.
I shrug my shoulders and tell her, “I have never even played before Grandma. What’s the point of this?”
She answers me fast, almost cutting me off. “When your mom had a dad a long time ago and he died, she found this same piano and learned how to play it to feel better. I thought you would like to give it a try?”
I tell her, “I am not sure I would find the same interest in it as my mom did. I don’t really see where you are going with this either.” My feet barely reach the ground from the bench, so they are dangling and kicking while we talk.
I can see a look in my grandma’s eyes that even hurts me. I have never been the best at
paying attention, but I can tell something is off. We went to this weird place, everyone said they were sorry, and Grandma seems to want to help me, yet she is the one who is sad all the time.
I lean over and nudge grandma to tell her, “Hey Grandma, do you want to play piano
with me? Maybe you can be my teacher.” I have a smile that lights up my grandma’s face.
She smiles and replies. “I would love that.”
I turn towards the piano and rest my hands on the keys, like I am a master of music. I think I would like to learn “Yesterday,” by The Beatles.
I ask Grandma, “Are you ready?”