dream fiction
When I heard my grandpa fell in their backyard, I thought, dumbfuck. Then my mom said, and he was out there for 3 hours alone. Her voice was a bit muffled through the phone. I imagined an old person falling while trying to do their gardening and lying on the ground for 3 hours, unable to get up. It made me sad. But that imaginary scenario was distant, far off. Like you’re imagining yourself flying or fighting a dragon. It was make-believe. The person feeling bad for their grandpa falling was make-believe. I was watching someone else’s feelings from above.
When I think of my grandpa, I think of red hot anger. I think of yelling. Of being scared. Of not understanding why. Of confusion. And I also think of my sister. How she protected me. I don’t really know how, looking back on it. Probably because I don’t remember the specifics. Little pinholes in my memories. But I know she was there and she was my shield.
As a child, I was always wrong. Holding the golf club wrong. Sitting wrong. Standing wrong. If he ever loved me, I never felt it.
So when I see him, all I see is pain. And when I think of him falling, some part of me smiles. Retribution. Karma.
But all I can say back into the phone to my mom is, oh no, poor Papa!
I can’t imagine I’ll cry when he dies. I’ve thought of it before. How I always cry at funerals. And if I don’t, people will then understand my utter lack of care for him. But why do I care about that? (Because some part of you is still performing for them.)Â
He’s older now. Losing it. My mom is sad, I can see it in her eyes. She rushes off to help my grandpa at the drop of a hat. Papa’s computer wasn’t working, so your dad and I went over to help. He accidentally deleted the files from his folder. His printer was malfunctioning. I don’t care.
His presence is just a reminder that people simply get old. And that it’s an ugly thing to see. And I wonder if there’s just a chunk of ice residing in my chest. It makes me worry about seeing my grandma lose it. Or my mom. Will they turn ugly too?
When I came out to my extended family (or rather my mom came out for me), my grandpa emailed me to tell me he loves me but will never accept me. That isn’t love. How can it be? I took that email, every single letter and re-wrote it so it said something nice. I turned him into a grandpa who was proud of me. But that person isn’t real. He's my fictional grandpa, made of dreams.
At least that email really let me let go. He was never going to be the person I wanted or needed him to be. And after that, I could just hate him freely. Plus, I had a concrete reason.
I know how people act is a projection of how they feel. And that my grandpa must have had something happen to him to make him that ornery and mad. But I don’t care. Taking it out on my sister and me as kids was not okay.
I don’t know how to end this nicely. I feel as if there needs to be a lesson here or a nice anecdote. But I think sometimes pain is just pain. And there’s nothing beautiful about it.
