Unexpected Visit - Short Story

“What in the hell are you doing, here, son?” Grandpa said in his old Arkansas drawl, concern scrawled on his face like graffiti.

He looked the same as he had the last time I saw him, about twenty years ago. He was still tall and thin, but not as thin as he was when he had cancer. It looked as if he had recovered well. His eyes were the deepest blue I can imagine, like the pools in the tropical islands you sometimes see pictures of. He looked like if he smiled it would light up the whole world. But he was not smiling. I stopped smiling, too. The contrast was so great between what I felt his smile could be and what it was that I was immediately uncomfortable. This was going to be bad.     

“Well, uh…I…uh…” There was a long pause as I looked at him helplessly.

“Not much of an answer, there, son,” Grandpa said through pursed lips. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Well Grandpa, I was tired. I mean, you don’t understand!” I was embarrassed and exasperated. This wasn’t going the way I had hoped. I thought he’d be glad to see me. Twenty years, after all.

“I don’t understand what?” he countered, one eyebrow raised, as if he knew what I was going to say.

“Things are different now,” I said with false confidence. “Houses cost $350,000! My kids’ educations run about $80,000 each. If you don’t have real good luck at business or if you’re not a doctor, you can’t afford to give your family the nice things you see around you all the time. I mean, we spent almost $1,000 on Christmas presents last year, and my kids were disappointed that it wasn’t as good as the year before.”

Grandpa looked down at the ground. I continued, unfortunately.

“You know what else?” Grandpa looked up slowly, with wise, tired, disappointed eyes that seemed simultaneously eternally patient and seriously pissed. One of those traits was about to wear out.

“It was easier when you were raising a family.”

The air, had there been any, felt as if it were sucked out of the room. Grandpa’s expression remained the same, but it was as if there was something unseen walked into the room and glared at me from behind his face. Grandpa’s eyes lit from within. 

“Son,” Grandpa said, slowly, if not warmly, “I lived through the dust bowl, then I saw my own mother die of an infected foot in a camp in Bakersfield. Eventually I went to college, after I fought in the War, and made enough of a living to buy the home your father still owns in Yuba. I lost my twins when they were eleven to influenza.” And then he added something that would have made my heart, if I had one, jump. “And I’d say that my life was a wonderful experience. It ended too early to suit me.”

He looked past my shoulder at something behind me. I turned.

A man stood there, beautiful, radiant. His eyes were the color of mahogany and looked backlit from within, with flecks of gold that seemed small universes in themselves. His skin seemed white- not in color but in the way it transmitted light. Oddly, he looked faintly like me; a perfect version of my best self. He held out his hand, and I wordlessly extended mine into his warm, forgiving palm.

Noise, discomfort and pain – so much pain! My body compressed. My chest felt tired, it felt damaged, seriously injured. A woman shouted shrilly, over and over, “Oh my god, oh my god, o my god!”

“Get her out of here!” a gruff voice shouted.  

I realized at some level that the screaming woman was my wife. Her voice trailed off as someone obeyed.

“He’s coming back! Turn his head!”

Technically, my stomach vomited, but more came out than the pills. All my anger, all the frustration of three failed businesses, a marriage that was on the verge of ending, a teenager in rehab all came streaming out of my mouth, my nose, my eyes. Through my closed eyes I saw my grandfather standing in a warm light with that same expression he had while we spoke, watching me as the scene of him retreated backwards and leaving me cold as granite inside. The vomiting was now punctuated not only by shivers but by a throaty demarcation – a yell from something deeper than I knew I had…full of the pain of being left, full of the anguish of one chastised by the only force that could give any vindication…and it continued, and continued and continued.