Planted...part one

Grandma taught Jacob to cheat at cards. Well, she didn’t really teach him so much as led by example. Growing up with her, he learned to watch his back, to use his elbows to make a space for himself in the world. He learned to take care of himself. Still, there he was…

The cool breeze funneling down from Canada blew Jacob’s sandy hair into his eyes again. Though it was a sunny Sunday morning in early June, that breeze caused a shiver to run through him. He ran his fingers up and down the strap of the duffle bag slung over his bony shoulder and turned to take a final look at the yellow pickup that had dropped him off. He could barely see it as it disappeared around the tree lined corner back onto Third Street. He couldn’t believe he was standing in front of this porch again. Back in Thief River Falls. He bent down and scratched the ears of lab-collie mix that sat leaning against his leg, then slowly led Gus up three concrete steps, opened the porch door, and confronted the white front door of the house he grew up in.

He looked down. “Well, here we go, Gus.” He stood, tied his hair back in a ponytail, took a breath and knocked.

He could hear shuffling inside. A pale, liver-spotted hand parted the white curtains on the door’s window, and he saw pale blue eyes peering through: eyes that looked at him unblinking for a few moments. He shuffled back and forth on his feet. He could hear a latch being drawn and the door was opened.

“Jacob! What the hell are you doing here?” Grandma asked, her hand resting on the doorknob.

She had a floral housecoat on and a Pall Mall trailed smoke between her fingers. From the smell of it, she had just permed her white hair. Jacob was not surprised to see her braless. It was early, after all. The sight of her ample bosom swaying used to bother him as a teenager. Now, he just kept his eyes above her neck.

“Nice to see you, too, Grandma.” He stood with his feet planted solidly. “Haven’t seen you in awhile, so I thought I’d pay a visit.” He looked down to pat Gus on the head

“With your clothes and your dog?” She looked at him, her brows slanted, a half-smile on her lips.

“Yeah, well, I’m starting out on a trip, of sorts,” he replied, his lips pursed. Never give away too much, too soon, right, Grandma? Remember, you taught me that.

“You look like hell.” She flicked ashes in a plant next to the door. “And that smell! Don’t they have showers down in Minneapolis?”

Gotta admit, she’s right. He hadn’t changed his clothes in two days. He was still wearing the jeans and gray t-shirt he had on when he slammed the door to his apartment Friday night. With his free hand, he smoothed his hair back. And then ran a hand over the sparse, unshaven facial hair on his chin and upper lip.

“Yeah, sorry about that. It took me awhile to hitch here. Spent the last few hours in the back of some farmer’s pickup.” He lifted his t-shirt from his thin stomach, catching the scent of manure that lingered there. “Hey, do I have to stand here on the porch all day?”

“I guess you might as well come in.” She turned and led the way into the house, her ample form balanced on small bare feet visible below her housecoat. He watched her short steps from behind and was reminded of a big mound of Jell-O quivering on top of a small plate. “Leave the dog outside,” she said over her shoulder. He turned around and, with a last pat on the head, left Gus on the enclosed porch. He watched him through the window immediately curl into a corner.

The house still looked the same as when he was a kid: the olive green, sandpaper-rough carpeting in the living room, the pressed wood television console in the corner, and the pale yellow color of the walls. On the right, they passed the narrow staircase that led up to his old bedroom. He smelled the ever-present bleach and potpourri. It was all familiar.

Most of his memories though, centered on the kitchen they were walking into now. He remembered Grandma telling him that Grandpa added it onto the back of the house after they bought it in 1948. His grandfather had also made the thin, pine cupboards and painted them a gleaming, spotless, glossy white. Grandma had said that Grandpa repainted them every year until he died in 1980, two years before Jacob’s birth. When Jacob got old enough, the painting was his job. The cupboards barely closed now, they were so coated. The floor was tiled in red and black with little flecks of gray that hid the dirt, so Grandma said, not that there ever was any.

“Between jobs?” she asked as she opened a window to the morning breeze.

“Yeah, as of two days ago.” Jacob dropped his bag in the corner. “You know me…never want to be stuck in anything too long.”

“Mm hmm.” She glanced at him. “Have a seat. I was just about to have a glass of Mogan David. Want a bit?” She stubbed out her cigarette in an ashtray on the linoleum counter. The morning sun coming through the lace curtains gleamed off the countless coats of varnish on the kitchen table. It was big enough to seat eight diners or, on Sunday nights, eight card players.

“Wine? Grandma, it’s only 10:00.” He pulled out one of the high backed wooden chairs and plopped down. He started massaging his left calf through his jeans. All of the miles of his trip converged on the cramp in his leg.

“And?” she challenged as she pulled a jug out of a brown paper bag and set it down on the table. “C’mon now, you know I’m no lush. One little glass never hurt anybody. Besides, this is the same stuff they just had at communion.”

“Brought home a bottle for yourself, did you?” He looked up smiling from his bent over position.

“You know, I put in hours and hours at St. Mathews, and they don’t pay me a red cent. They won’t miss a little bottle of wine. Besides,” she continued with a wink, “I’m the one who orders it.”

“Well, thanks, but I’ll just have some coffee. I’ve been up all night.” Yawning, he stretched his arms up over his head, but, noticing the large sweat stains in his armpits, put them down again.

“Suit yourself. You know where to find it.” She got a small, chunky wine glass down from the cupboard above the sink.

Jacob got up and got a mug from another cupboard, filled it with water from the tap, and put it in the microwave. He leaned back against the counter, crossed his arms and rested his chin on his chest. There was classical music coming from the radio on the countertop and a scent of lilacs coming through the screened windows. He almost dozed off. The sound of a chair scraping against the floor snapped his head up. Grandma was settling her large buttocks into the chair at the head of the table. Her chair. She took a sip of wine and stared up at him. He stared back for a few moments in silence. The ding of the microwave tore his eyes away. He fixed himself a cup of instant coffee and sat back down in the chair adjacent to hers.

He stirred his coffee, sipped it, got up to add some milk from the refrigerator, sat back down, stirred some more. His grandmother just sat and watched, one hand on her wine glass, the other on her thigh. He glanced up at her once, then back down at his coffee.

Finally, she reached over and lifted his chin to meet her gaze.

“So I’m sitting here waiting… What’s up?” she asked letting go of his chin. “I don’t hear from you in six months and then you show up at my door looking like crap and smelling worse. Something’s going on. What is it?” She leaned towards him.

He held his gaze level with hers, both hands grasping the coffee mug. “I left Travis,” he said loudly, swallowing back the coffee that rose in his throat.

She collapsed back against the chair and threw one hand up in the air. “Now, what the hell am I supposed to say to that?”

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End Part One