Preppy: The Life & Death of Samuel Clearwater, Part One
Page 17
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“There you are!” Mirna exclaimed as she came out on the front porch where I was fixing the third step, setting it back in place. The top had warped and arched under the harsh Florida weather, and the nail had rusted out from the bottom, making it the perfect height to trip anyone coming to the house. A few well placed screws would keep Mirna from tripping over it like she had the day before, but luckily I’d been there to soften her fall. I’d also rehung a cabinet that had fallen from its hinge in the kitchen. Tacked the falling gutter back to the side of the house. And then tackled the pesky step. Mirna had told me that keeping busy was good for a healing soul, and I think she was right because I’d began to feel lighter. Like my old self again. She clapped her hands together. “I was just looking for you.”
“What’s up?” I asked. Mirna followed me as I carried my grandfather’s old fashioned toolbox over to the one car garage, placing it safely back onto his old workbench like he was going to be home any minute and would be mad if I misplaced it. He might have been long gone, but his anger over his tools being mistreated lived on.
“You’ve always been good at fixing things,” Mirna pointed out. “And speaking of fixing, you seem to be doing much better.”
“I’ve only been up and about for a week,” I pointed out. “But thank you. Dad taught me how to do this.” I held up the drill.
“I know he did,” Mirna said, glancing around the garage at my grandfather’s half finished projects. She never even pretended like she wanted to get rid of them. “Did I ever tell you that when your dad married your mom that it was your grandfather who showed him how to be handy around the house?”
“Really?” I asked. It sounded pretty unbelievable. There wasn’t anything my dad couldn’t fix.
“Yep, your Grandpa Rick wanted to make sure your dad could take care of your mom, so he taught him everything he knew.” She smiled as she recalled the memory which was obviously a happy one. “When Becky first brought him home, your poor dad couldn’t so much hang a picture on the wall.”
Of course I believed her, but the entire scenario was pretty hard to imagine when my dad’s workshop at home looked like something out of a handyman’s dream. My heart fell when the memory of my dad fixing the roof of my dollhouse came to mind. It was then he taught me how to use an electric drill. He’d always been my hero. There was nothing he couldn’t fix.
Until me.
“I wrote him a letter you know,” Mirna said, breaking the spell.
“I appreciate that Mirna, I do. But you know Dad, once he decides something, he doesn’t change his mind. Maybe someday I’ll reach out and try again, but it’s probably for the best that I leave him be for a while. I’ll try to fix things when I can back up my promises with some good old fashioned proof.”
I wondered what my father would think when he read her letter, or if he’d even read it. My money was in the middle, him reading a few sentences, realizing what the letter was about, and tearing it into a million pieces. I’m sure he wouldn’t be putting that one in my old blue shoe box, where I’d kept all Mirna’s letters in my room back home.
But you don’t have a room back home anymore.
One step at a time, I reminded myself.
“If nothing else, at least my letter will let him know that you’re safe.”
If you’re not on that bus, then we’re not family anymore… My fathers voice rang in my ears.
“Now, come, come!” Mirna said, the excitement back in her voice and the spring back in her step. She grabbed my hand. “I want to show you something.” She was practically bouncing as she dragged me back up the newly fixed porch steps.
Mirna didn’t do casual. Her mental state might have been slipping, but her style was as strong and bold as ever. Looking very much like an older pinup, her white hair fell right above her shoulders in large barrel curls. Heavy bangs with a slight bend on the ends stopped right above her perfectly symmetrical eyebrows. Her eyes were always lined, but just on the top with a dramatic cat-flare on the ends, making her already large gray eyes appear doll-like. Dramatic Red was the color of lipstick she wore daily, regardless if that day only consisted of gardening at home.
Many times in my early teens I tried to copy Mirna’s style. Many times I ended up looking like a child who colored outside the lines, where as Mirna was a walking piece of fine art.
Mirna yanked me down the hallway to her bedroom. Much to my surprise, she led me to her closet and opened the double bi-fold doors in dramatic fashion. “Ta da!” she exclaimed, taking a step back and waving me forward.
Mirna’s closet itself wasn’t anything special. A small walk-in with a few rows of shelving. It was what was IN IT that had me gasping and holding my hand over my rapidly beating heart. Dresses. Not just ANY dresses, but dresses from an era long forgotten. Halter necks with flared skirts. Floppy hats. Platform heels that had me falling to my knees in the center of the room.
“Where did you get all this?” I asked, clutching the most perfect high-heeled, black, platform pump to my chest. It was complete with a large white bow across the rounded toe and the heel. Holy hell, the HEEL was incredible. Laced up from the bottom like a corset. “I don’t remember you ever wearing any of this.”
“Some things I’ve worn only once. Some I’ve never worn at all.”
“Why?” If I had a closet with these dresses in it I’d make every occasion a special occasion. Laundry. Getting gas. Watering the marijuana.
“Your grandfather loved it when I dressed up, so I wore something nice for him every single day. When he was overseas he sent back some of the european styles that were trendy at the time. Sometimes as many as a dress a week. When he came home I was pregnant almost immediately.” When I gave her a knowing smile, she simply stated, “There was no television in the bedrooms back then, dear,” before continuing on. “I still planned to wear them, even three babies later, even after you were born, but when Rick died I couldn’t bare the thought of putting them on ever again. However, I also couldn’t bring myself to throw them away.” Mirna laughed. “Of course, there is no way on God’s green earth that these would ever fit me now.” She sighed and plucked a hanger from the rack, shoving it into my hands over the perfect shoe I was still cradling.
“What’s up?” I asked. Mirna followed me as I carried my grandfather’s old fashioned toolbox over to the one car garage, placing it safely back onto his old workbench like he was going to be home any minute and would be mad if I misplaced it. He might have been long gone, but his anger over his tools being mistreated lived on.
“You’ve always been good at fixing things,” Mirna pointed out. “And speaking of fixing, you seem to be doing much better.”
“I’ve only been up and about for a week,” I pointed out. “But thank you. Dad taught me how to do this.” I held up the drill.
“I know he did,” Mirna said, glancing around the garage at my grandfather’s half finished projects. She never even pretended like she wanted to get rid of them. “Did I ever tell you that when your dad married your mom that it was your grandfather who showed him how to be handy around the house?”
“Really?” I asked. It sounded pretty unbelievable. There wasn’t anything my dad couldn’t fix.
“Yep, your Grandpa Rick wanted to make sure your dad could take care of your mom, so he taught him everything he knew.” She smiled as she recalled the memory which was obviously a happy one. “When Becky first brought him home, your poor dad couldn’t so much hang a picture on the wall.”
Of course I believed her, but the entire scenario was pretty hard to imagine when my dad’s workshop at home looked like something out of a handyman’s dream. My heart fell when the memory of my dad fixing the roof of my dollhouse came to mind. It was then he taught me how to use an electric drill. He’d always been my hero. There was nothing he couldn’t fix.
Until me.
“I wrote him a letter you know,” Mirna said, breaking the spell.
“I appreciate that Mirna, I do. But you know Dad, once he decides something, he doesn’t change his mind. Maybe someday I’ll reach out and try again, but it’s probably for the best that I leave him be for a while. I’ll try to fix things when I can back up my promises with some good old fashioned proof.”
I wondered what my father would think when he read her letter, or if he’d even read it. My money was in the middle, him reading a few sentences, realizing what the letter was about, and tearing it into a million pieces. I’m sure he wouldn’t be putting that one in my old blue shoe box, where I’d kept all Mirna’s letters in my room back home.
But you don’t have a room back home anymore.
One step at a time, I reminded myself.
“If nothing else, at least my letter will let him know that you’re safe.”
If you’re not on that bus, then we’re not family anymore… My fathers voice rang in my ears.
“Now, come, come!” Mirna said, the excitement back in her voice and the spring back in her step. She grabbed my hand. “I want to show you something.” She was practically bouncing as she dragged me back up the newly fixed porch steps.
Mirna didn’t do casual. Her mental state might have been slipping, but her style was as strong and bold as ever. Looking very much like an older pinup, her white hair fell right above her shoulders in large barrel curls. Heavy bangs with a slight bend on the ends stopped right above her perfectly symmetrical eyebrows. Her eyes were always lined, but just on the top with a dramatic cat-flare on the ends, making her already large gray eyes appear doll-like. Dramatic Red was the color of lipstick she wore daily, regardless if that day only consisted of gardening at home.
Many times in my early teens I tried to copy Mirna’s style. Many times I ended up looking like a child who colored outside the lines, where as Mirna was a walking piece of fine art.
Mirna yanked me down the hallway to her bedroom. Much to my surprise, she led me to her closet and opened the double bi-fold doors in dramatic fashion. “Ta da!” she exclaimed, taking a step back and waving me forward.
Mirna’s closet itself wasn’t anything special. A small walk-in with a few rows of shelving. It was what was IN IT that had me gasping and holding my hand over my rapidly beating heart. Dresses. Not just ANY dresses, but dresses from an era long forgotten. Halter necks with flared skirts. Floppy hats. Platform heels that had me falling to my knees in the center of the room.
“Where did you get all this?” I asked, clutching the most perfect high-heeled, black, platform pump to my chest. It was complete with a large white bow across the rounded toe and the heel. Holy hell, the HEEL was incredible. Laced up from the bottom like a corset. “I don’t remember you ever wearing any of this.”
“Some things I’ve worn only once. Some I’ve never worn at all.”
“Why?” If I had a closet with these dresses in it I’d make every occasion a special occasion. Laundry. Getting gas. Watering the marijuana.
“Your grandfather loved it when I dressed up, so I wore something nice for him every single day. When he was overseas he sent back some of the european styles that were trendy at the time. Sometimes as many as a dress a week. When he came home I was pregnant almost immediately.” When I gave her a knowing smile, she simply stated, “There was no television in the bedrooms back then, dear,” before continuing on. “I still planned to wear them, even three babies later, even after you were born, but when Rick died I couldn’t bare the thought of putting them on ever again. However, I also couldn’t bring myself to throw them away.” Mirna laughed. “Of course, there is no way on God’s green earth that these would ever fit me now.” She sighed and plucked a hanger from the rack, shoving it into my hands over the perfect shoe I was still cradling.
