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By Lori T. Strongin
This is an original work, please do not steal. Every year it’s the same-- a soft voice on the wind calling to him. Often in his dreams, Nathan hears that soft voice humming. He’s not sure whose it is, only that it’s not Mimi’s or PopPop’s. He’s heard every lullaby they know and besides, this voice is different. Still, it’s soft and gentle, and Nathan feels at peace. Like when he’s held in his grandparents’ arms. Safe and warm, and comforted. But every year it’s still the same. When they go to visit Them on the anniversary of that day, Nathan always thinks he can just make out the voice on the wind, singing a lullaby. The tune is so familiar by now he thinks he can sing it. So, this year, while they stand staring down at the graves, silent and still, Nathan starts to hum. At first it’s just to himself, quiet and barely there. But, something in his chest urges him, and he hums louder. On either side of him, Mimi and PopPop freeze. Nathan can feel them staring, so he looks up. “Where did you hear that?” asks PopPop, his voice is a bit rough, as if the words hurt to say. Nathan shrugs. “I don’t know. From my sleep, I guess.” “Your sleep?” PopPop echoes. He nods. “In my dreams, I think…” Mimi places a hand on his shoulder, and he looks up at her. “Do you know the words?” “No, it’s just the song.” “You mean the tune.” “Yeah, that.” “Would you like to know the words?” “There are words?” Nathan asks, blinking up at her, bewildered. “Of course, Sweetie. All lullabies have words.” “But…I’ve heard all your lullabies.” Nathan looks back to PopPop, who has his eyes closed and is standing very, very still. He takes a breath and exhales slowly. “It’s not one of ours, Nate.” “Whose is it then?” “Your mom’s. She used to sing it to you every night. You wouldn’t go to sleep without it.” Nathan doesn’t remember his Mom. Or his dad. He can’t remember very much before Mimi and PopPop. In fact, all his memories are of Mimi and PopPop. Every last one of them. He only knows so much about his real parents because Mimi and PopPop have so many of their things. Photographs, clothes, school books, stories. Because of those things, Nathan knows what his parents looked like, and even how they smelled. He knows the meaning behind every certificate and trophy, every school report, and every detention slip. He knows that they loved him and would hug him and kiss his temples. And he knows that they died in a car crash when he was only two. But more than that, Nathan knows PopPop and Mimi. He knows their habits and their moods. He knows what every sigh means and that when they do that different kind of sideways glance, they’re wondering how to answer one of his questions. He knows that when one of them is mad, PopPop usually leaves. And when he comes back, they’re usually kissing in the kitchen and everything’s all right. He knows their every tone and gesture; knows that PopPop can’t cook, but that Mimi loves to. He knows that Mimi likes to teach him things he’ll need to know for school; knows that PopPop likes to say mischief is a part of school-- especially when Mimi is listening. Nathan knows the meaning of every smile and remembers every vacation. They have lots of pictures and he can pull any one out of a stack and tell you what happened, where, plus why and when. He can tell you what Mimi and PopPop like and what they don’t like, and when they’re being really serious and when they’re only teasing. He can tell you how they met and how they fell in love and what their favorite colors are. He knows that Mimi doesn’t like it when PopPop watches football all day on Sundays and that PopPop gets annoyed when Mimi reminds him about cleaning out the rain gutters… for the third time that hour. Nathan can tell you all this about his mom and dad too, but with a lot less enthusiasm. He knows their names and he knows their stories, but he’s never put much thought into it. They’ve simply never been real before. They don’t tuck him in at night and read him stories. They don’t play games with him and make sure his bath has lots of bubbles-- just how he likes it. They don’t ruffle his hair the way PopPop does or kiss his owwies like Mimi. They don’t buy him chocolate bars and take him to baseball games or allow him to stay up late to watch the TV just because they’re up too. They don’t zip up his jacket when it’s windy outside or sigh when he dirties his clothes. They don’t smile when he does something right or hug him real tight, sometimes for no reason at all. His parents don’t fix his toys when they break or wipe away his tears. They don’t let him snuggle between them in bed when he can’t sleep or dance with him at midnight after the nightmares come, holding him close and swaying softly until he falls asleep, feeling safe. He tries to tell himself that they don’t do all of this because they can’t. And they can’t because they’re dead. But dead means gone, and gone means never coming back. Yet now, they become something more as PopPop picks him up and starts to sing the words to a lullabye Nathan only half-remembers, as Mimi leans into PopPop’s side and strokes Nathan’s back. “May the road rise up to meet you. May the wind be always at your back.” They hold him closer when PopPop starts to cry and Mimi wipes the tears away with the tips of her fingers while her own are still sliding down the sides of her round, pink cheeks. And again, even more alive, when PopPop holds him extra, extra tight and whispers something at the ground. All Nathan can make out is “…I promise, son.” They’re a little more real then. PopPop sniffs and wipes hard at his eyes. Then, stroking Nathan’s sandy brown hair, he kisses his forehead and smiles. “How about an ice cream?” Nathan brightens. “I want a triple chocolate sundae. With lots of fudge sauce!” PopPop rubs noses and with a playful toss, readjusts him in his arms. Mimi strokes PopPop’s back one last time, and PopPop’s other arm goes around her. “Triple chocolate sundae?” says Mimi in her soft, warm voice. “Are you sure you can eat it all by yourself?” “Uh huh!” Nathan nods. PopPop laughs and hugs them both close. “Of course he will, because I’ll be there to finish it for him.” Nathan grins before bursting into giggles. Mimi has reached across PopPop to tickle him. His sides are very ticklish. He clings to PopPop, who pats his thigh and teases him about ordering too much sundae for a too little tummy. And as they walk back to the car, the white flowers upon the hill sway in the wind, marking the graves of Nathan’s parents. Who grow a little less real as the years pass away. Fin |