A rough draft of a night's work...
I stumbled out into the morning and ate sand. It strangled my tongue and scraped my throat when I swallowed. I got up running and I could feel the tiny crystals of earth tumbling over in my stomach. That day I dropped to my knees and an avalanche came up from my insides along with blood and a few tears. The taste has stayed with me all this time and to this day, I find myself burdened with an unquenchable thirst. I can no longer eat bread, the grains bear too much resemblance, or roots for the dirt from whence they came always lingers.
I spend afternoons and evenings lying in a porcelain bath, submerged to my chin in warm water. Every few hours, when it cools, I drain the water and fill it again. By nightfall, my skin is pink and puckered. To pass the time I make up little songs or submerge my head to see how long I can hold my breath. My only window to the outside world is just that, a small pane of glass where I can see trees on grass and a lake bordered by a ring of sand. I try not to look out but up at the sky where I can see birds flying and clouds, the stars at night.
When I was a little boy, my grandfather would sit with me in the twilight and teach me the stories of the stars. My favorite has always been the myth of Aquarius. I remember it just as he told it. A very long time ago, a little boy named Ganymede was out tending his sheep. The mighty Zeus sent his eagle Aquila after him. The great bird snatched Ganymede up and he became the cupbearer for the Olympian Gods. The stars draw a picture of Ganymede being whisked away by that bird, holding a cup of water. When the sun rises in Aquarius, the rains flood the land.
I do love it when it rains. On those rare times, I sit out on the porch and wait for the droplets to come. Only then do I step bare foot on the earth. I tilt my head back and open my mouth to catch the rain, the untouched water as it falls from the sky. It’s a bittersweet feeling in its beauty but also I can’t help but feel as if it’s the whole world’s tears falling down on me. The world weeps and I with it.
The night of my mother’s passing my grandfather took me up a path to the top of the great hill overlooking the lake. He took my hand up with his and pointed at a lone bright star. He told me that that was where my mother had gone and she would always be there shining down on me and that I’d never be alone as long as I remembered that. I looked up at him, quizzically and asked him why my mother was part of Cassiopeia. He laughed and after a moment explained that my mother went there to help hold Cassiopeia up, that her beauty and wisdom would strengthen that star. Then I asked him which star I would go to when I died. He thought for a minute and smiled. “Perseus,” he said. We buried my mother on that spot at the top of the hill.
The last story that my grandfather told me was that of Perseus. There was a prophecy that a man named Acrisius would be murdered by his grandson. Hearing that he locked Danae, his only daughter, away in a prison. Zeus fooled Acrisius and entered the prison disguised as a shower of gold. When Acrisius discovered that Danae had given birth to Perseus he had them both locked in a wooden trunk and thrown out into the sea. They came upon an island and were welcomed. Perseus grew to be handsome and strong and was a celebrated hunter. He was honored by an invitation to participate in the funeral games for a fallen king. During an event, Perseus threw a discus that happened to strike Acrisius, who was there to watch the games, and killed him.
That night my grandfather went to sleep and didn’t wake up. When the birds stirred me from my dreams I went to him and saw how still he lay. I felt how cold his skin had grown. On his face was peace and a trace of a smile. But he had left me alone. More than anything I wanted to know which one he had gone to. Which star would he cling to in the night sky so that I could find him and be comforted? He left me alone without that answer.
I felt my body repel from his. Outside I fell to my knees before the lake and dug my hands into the sand. I grabbed handfuls and watched it filter through my fingers. One of these handfuls I chucked at the water and saw how the lake swallowed the tiny grains. With both hands I scooped up a great mound and hesitated before putting it past my lips. I ran. I followed the path up to the top of the hill to where my mother was buried and fell to my knees upon her. I buried my grandfather next to her that day.
The years have passed by slowly and I am old now but I have remained here. I regurgitate his stories over each night but only to myself, for there is no one but the wind to listen. The day I laid my grandfather to rest was the last time I set foot upon that hill and over the years my boundaries shrunk. I still wonder. I see so many stars that have no names to me and there is no one left to give me answers. I sit and breath and wait for the day when I will be up there with them, resting in the stars.
I stumbled out into the morning and ate sand. It strangled my tongue and scraped my throat when I swallowed. I got up running and I could feel the tiny crystals of earth tumbling over in my stomach. That day I dropped to my knees and an avalanche came up from my insides along with blood and a few tears. The taste has stayed with me all this time and to this day, I find myself burdened with an unquenchable thirst. I can no longer eat bread, the grains bear too much resemblance, or roots for the dirt from whence they came always lingers.
I spend afternoons and evenings lying in a porcelain bath, submerged to my chin in warm water. Every few hours, when it cools, I drain the water and fill it again. By nightfall, my skin is pink and puckered. To pass the time I make up little songs or submerge my head to see how long I can hold my breath. My only window to the outside world is just that, a small pane of glass where I can see trees on grass and a lake bordered by a ring of sand. I try not to look out but up at the sky where I can see birds flying and clouds, the stars at night.
When I was a little boy, my grandfather would sit with me in the twilight and teach me the stories of the stars. My favorite has always been the myth of Aquarius. I remember it just as he told it. A very long time ago, a little boy named Ganymede was out tending his sheep. The mighty Zeus sent his eagle Aquila after him. The great bird snatched Ganymede up and he became the cupbearer for the Olympian Gods. The stars draw a picture of Ganymede being whisked away by that bird, holding a cup of water. When the sun rises in Aquarius, the rains flood the land.
I do love it when it rains. On those rare times, I sit out on the porch and wait for the droplets to come. Only then do I step bare foot on the earth. I tilt my head back and open my mouth to catch the rain, the untouched water as it falls from the sky. It’s a bittersweet feeling in its beauty but also I can’t help but feel as if it’s the whole world’s tears falling down on me. The world weeps and I with it.
The night of my mother’s passing my grandfather took me up a path to the top of the great hill overlooking the lake. He took my hand up with his and pointed at a lone bright star. He told me that that was where my mother had gone and she would always be there shining down on me and that I’d never be alone as long as I remembered that. I looked up at him, quizzically and asked him why my mother was part of Cassiopeia. He laughed and after a moment explained that my mother went there to help hold Cassiopeia up, that her beauty and wisdom would strengthen that star. Then I asked him which star I would go to when I died. He thought for a minute and smiled. “Perseus,” he said. We buried my mother on that spot at the top of the hill.
The last story that my grandfather told me was that of Perseus. There was a prophecy that a man named Acrisius would be murdered by his grandson. Hearing that he locked Danae, his only daughter, away in a prison. Zeus fooled Acrisius and entered the prison disguised as a shower of gold. When Acrisius discovered that Danae had given birth to Perseus he had them both locked in a wooden trunk and thrown out into the sea. They came upon an island and were welcomed. Perseus grew to be handsome and strong and was a celebrated hunter. He was honored by an invitation to participate in the funeral games for a fallen king. During an event, Perseus threw a discus that happened to strike Acrisius, who was there to watch the games, and killed him.
That night my grandfather went to sleep and didn’t wake up. When the birds stirred me from my dreams I went to him and saw how still he lay. I felt how cold his skin had grown. On his face was peace and a trace of a smile. But he had left me alone. More than anything I wanted to know which one he had gone to. Which star would he cling to in the night sky so that I could find him and be comforted? He left me alone without that answer.
I felt my body repel from his. Outside I fell to my knees before the lake and dug my hands into the sand. I grabbed handfuls and watched it filter through my fingers. One of these handfuls I chucked at the water and saw how the lake swallowed the tiny grains. With both hands I scooped up a great mound and hesitated before putting it past my lips. I ran. I followed the path up to the top of the hill to where my mother was buried and fell to my knees upon her. I buried my grandfather next to her that day.
The years have passed by slowly and I am old now but I have remained here. I regurgitate his stories over each night but only to myself, for there is no one but the wind to listen. The day I laid my grandfather to rest was the last time I set foot upon that hill and over the years my boundaries shrunk. I still wonder. I see so many stars that have no names to me and there is no one left to give me answers. I sit and breath and wait for the day when I will be up there with them, resting in the stars.
1 Comments:
I miss my grandpa.
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