(And here I always thought marble only served the purpose of making me slip and suffer nasty falls)I no longer need to lay on the floor in order to answer a phone call... but it saved my ass on Friday.
I was given phone-duty by Mom (she left to Mexico at 5 PM Friday) since my little sister would lose control even before answering (I'd only lose it after someone would say something nice... like that they were sorry). Dad wasn't available until 12 AM... so I had to answer the phone from 5 PM till around 11 PM, when people stopped calling.
At first I had no idea what to do... I'd burst into sobs each time someone would get to the "We just want you to know that..." part of their speech. I'd have to whisper back my reply each time.
The idea of lying on the floor came by accident.
Since I was alone, and had just gotten off my running binge (for some reason, I run when upset...), I got out of the shower and was walking around in a wife beater and boy shorts. I held my iPod in my left hand, phone on the right... just lying on the floor, waiting for the next phone call.
The cold floor would keep me from sobbing... I think my body was just confused as to what it should have been doing. Sobbing... or shivering?
From there on, I was able to answer the phone without getting choked up or letting a sob go. I was good.
I did shed a ton of tears though...
I'd cry each time a Spanish song came on during the shuffle (and we all know I have around 370 Spanish songs out of a possible 494... I'd basically be praying for No Doubt or The Killers to come on) because I'd remember how much my grandpa loved music.
"Hey, Mija, sing me a song," he'd tell me EACH and EVERY summer.
"Who the hell told you I could sing? Birds are gonna start dropping dead mid-flight once I open my mouth... haven't you heard me talk? My voice doesn't get much better than that," I'd answer back.
That or...
"Are you kidding me? Quit being an ass."
The latter was one of the main reasons I was crying so badly. I was such an asshole to him... not just behind his back... but mainly to his face.
Sure, he wasn't a terrific, perfect man... he's the main reason behind so many of my traumas... but he was still my grandpa. Plus, I never knew the full extent of his... craziness until I was like... 7. Those previous 6 years were amazing... even the years between 8-14... he had some pretty cool things to show me. His war stories were my favorite... embellished often... but he was such a great story teller. I could see myself in the rainy forests, standing alongside him in the holes he'd have to dig in order to get some shut eye. He had this one story of a giant frog that once got in his trench... and how it scared the shit out of him... that one cracked me up every time... just how he described the frog would have me heaving with laughter.
I just got older and let the bad times overpower the good... and I turned mean... and rude towards the old man.
Fuck... I was a monster. Who likes making an old man feel bad?
I'm ok now... I still haven't accepted the fact that when I go back to Mexico in July... he won't be there. I've fooled myself into believing he's just on a trip. I'd only see him about 5 times during my vacation in the first place. I usually showed up during times he'd be out "en el monte," at his various ranches... feeding the cattle... herding his horses... tending his lands. That, or he'd be in the city, "grocery shopping" or getting his hair cut... or his "truck repaired"... or eating some menudo at a specific "restaurant" that he craved around ten times a month.
I think I'll just tell myself "Oh well, he's out grocery shopping today... guess I won't see him today," or "I guess his truck broke down AGAIN and he had to travel to the next town to get it fixed."
I'll remember his mischievous smile... how his sky-blue eyes would light up each time we told him a good joke... how he would let us run in his huge corn fields while playing tag, and how he showed us the difference between a good snake and a bad one (eww... snakes).
I just don't want to answer any more phone calls... they burst my bubble. They let me know that hey, the chick getting the condolences is ME... it's MY grandpa that died.
He's gone. No more.
No comments:
Post a Comment