Jacob was a tall good-looking young man. His sandy blond hair was a little on the shaggy side but it complemented his carefree demeanor. It looked like he was wearing a costume, like a farmhand from the olden days. Even though Jake’s fashion sense was questionable, he seemed trustworthy so when he told me my name was Clair Swanson I believed him. He told me that the white farmhouse I had followed the little dog to belonged to my grandparents before they past away and I believed that too. However, when he told me I was dead, well that I refused to accept.
Jacob told me that I would be safe if I stayed near the house. According to him it was sacred ground, whatever that meant, and that I could stay as long as I liked. Jake told me that my grandparent’s house would be a good place for me to recover my memories, but he couldn’t stay. He had things he needed to tend to. I thought about asking him if I could go with him but that might have appeared needy, plus I felt at home and safe. I even remembered playing on the same front porch when I was little. The sun had set and I watched Jake disappear into the darkness.
The night sang with the sound crickets and tiny tree frogs. Fireflies danced and flashed in time with the chorus. I leaned out over the porch rail to look up at the stars but was surprised to find none, instead, the dark night sky rolled like the surface of the ocean. Ripples of misty white light floated across the undulating sky. I began to feel a little woozy. The strange phenomenon, though fascinating, had given me motion sickness. That’s what I thought at first but when I looked away everything continued to sway. Then a sharp pain at the base of my skull made me wince. The pain progressed to my temples like huge fingers encircling and crashing my head. I couldn’t stand it. Between the pain and the queasiness, I thought I was going to hurl. I closed my eyes. I felt like I was falling, falling in to darkness.
* * *
Suddenly, I was sitting on a swing that hung from a branch of the big oak tree in front of the old farm house. Everything was back to normal, but it wasn’t night anymore. Golden sunlight shown across the fields from the east. The long grasses drooped, leaden with glistening dew. Blankets of early morning mist laid in the ditches and gullies. I heard someone whistling a tune. I looked out over the field and saw a white-haired man walking toward the house accompanied by a fat old beagle. The dog and the man looked old but they both had the spring of youth in their step. The man was carrying a fishing pole over one shoulder and a stringer of full of large fish in his free hand. As the two drew closer, I realized that I recognized the white-haired gentleman, it was Grandpa Harvard. I also recognized the dog from the old photo albums my grandmother used to show me; it was Grandpa’s favorite old hunting dog, Clyde.
The man and his dog stepped out of the long grass into the front yard. Clyde was the first to notice me sitting on the swing; he stopped and stared at me. Grandpa paused and was surprised to see what Clyde had found.
“ Hey there, little mouse.” He greeted me with the same nickname he used for all us grandchildren.
“Hi, Grandpa.” I said meekly, staring at him, with my mouth gaping.
I had a lump in my throat as though I was about to cry, because it had only been a year since my grandfather had past away and I had yet to get over it. However, this was not the bewildered, frail wisp of a man I remembered, it was Grandpa the way he was when I was very young.
Grandpa didn’t seem to notice my awkwardness. He was just delighted to see me. With a big grin he proudly held up the stringer of fish.
“ We’re going to have fish for breakfast.” He said with a hardy laugh and started up the front steps, “ Come on in when you’re ready.”
My grandpa went inside the house. The creaky screen swung closed behind him with a bang. Clyde had lost interest in me and had retired to the shade of the porch for a nap. From my spot on the swing I could hear the clang of pots and pans and Grandpa’s strong, baritone, singing voice.
“ A peanut sat on the railroad track, his heart was all a flutter.” He sang.
The next verse I sang along under my breath and out of tune. “Along came a train and smashed the little peanut, now they call him peanut butter.”
I got up from the swing and decided to have better look around real quick. The peach tree that had to be cut down because of a blight when I was five was back with a subtle improvement. Not only did it yield peaches, there were red and green apples, pears, and plums; all of grandpa’s favorites. The red raspberry bushes that grew near the garden shed also held blackberries and blueberries, as well.
I had to step over the sleeping beagle before going to the house. Clyde never even flinched, which made me smile. Once I was inside I realized that I remembered everything about the house. From the foyer Grandpa was in the kitchen to the right. Ahead, next to the stairs leading to the second floor, there was a hall that lead to the back door. To the left was the living room and beyond that there was a doorway to the backroom that Grandma used as the piano room. I walked into the kitchen and was surprised to find my grandpa taking the last fish filet out of the frying pan. There wasn’t enough time for him to clean all those fish much less cook them.
“Oh, look you made it just in time.” Grandpa said with a chuckle. “Grab a seat.”
I didn’t really care for fish, but it smelled so good I decided to give it a try. I sat at the place Grandpa had set for me. He loaded my plate up with fish before sitting down across the table. I didn’t think there was any way I was going to finish all the fish Grandpa had given me. I took a few dubious bites and was surprisingly delighted. It was better than any fish I had ever had, and I ate piece after piece. In no time at all the fish on my plate was gone.
“That was really good, Grandpa.” I patted my mouth with a napkin and got up to take my plate to the sink. “Do you need help with the dishes?’ I asked.
“No, I’ll do them later. Clyde and I are going to do some rabbit hunting.” he said.
Grandpa pushed himself away from the table and went off into the mudroom, near the back door, where he kept his hunting gear. Moments later Grandpa came out wearing his hunting hat and jacket and toting his shotgun. I walked out on to the porch with him as he left.
“Make yourself at home.” Grandpa said and patted me on the head. “Come on Clyde, let’s go get those rabbits.’
Clyde couldn’t get up fast enough. He jumped and yipped with excitement. I watched the two hunting buddies tromp away through the field. Grandpa turn and waved and I waved back. Once they disappeared over a knoll I turned and went inside.
I wasn’t looking forward to cleaning the kitchen, but I wanted to do something nice for Grandpa. I went straight to the table to pick up Grandpa’s dishes, but they were gone. All the crumbs and dirty napkins were cleared away, and a vase full of fresh cut lilacs adorned the table. I looked at the stove; there was no oily spatter or dirty pans. The counter space where Grandpa had left a toppled bag of flour, broken eggshells, and sloppy mixing bowls were spotless and clutter free. Even the sink where I had left my plate was empty and the fixtures sparkled. It was possible that the kitchen was the cleanest I had ever seen it in all the times I had visited. I went to the refrigerator near the stove and looked inside. It was empty except for a six-pack of diet cola. I realized, just then, that I was dying for a cola. However, Grandpa would never drink a diet cola in a million years, and would never even think to keep it in his fridge. I shrugged, and grabbed a can.
The farm house filled with the sound of piano music, one of the many hymns my grandmother used to play. The music didn’t start all of a sudden. Instead, it faded in like someone slowly turn up the volume. I followed the sound through the living room. I noticed that everything was neat as a pin but the television was missing. Grandpa never really cared for TV, he’d rather hunt or fish. He’d even choose puttering in the garden over sit in front of, what he called, the boob-tube. Grandma wasn’t a TV fan either, her favorite pass time was playing the piano. She was good at it too. She even made a little money playing for weddings at her church. I cautiously approached the backroom, I didn’t want to startle my grandma , but no one as in the piano room.
I was disappointed. It would have been nice to see Grandma again. She had passed away three or four years before Grandpa. It had taken the family longer to recover because she was taken by a sudden accident. It was winter and she slipped and hit her head while getting the mail.
The music continued to play but it wasn’t actually coming from the piano, it seemed to be coming from every part of the room. The melody was light and cheerful and in my heart I knew that where ever Grandma was she was happy just like her music.
Jake had been right this was a good place to remember. The top of my grandmother’s upright piano was covered with family photos. As I looked at all the faces of my aunts, and uncles, and all my cousins I began to remember each one. I took down a group portrait for a closer look. It was my family, my mother and father with my sister and myself on either side. My sister had straight jet black hair like her father. I, on the other hand, had wavy light blond hair like my mother.
I remember.
The walls in the piano room were covered it bookshelves. Besides an extensive collection of field guides on wild flowers and bird, Grandma stored all her photo albums on those shelves. It was like an archive of the Swanson family history.. I must have spent hours looking over wedding photos, baby pictures, and snap shots of holiday parties. I found my cheerleading photos and pictures of my little sister in her third grade school play. There were thousands of pictures of my Dad on hunting and fishing trips with his three brothers, and Grandpa Harvard. I noticed that the light in the room had begun to fade; it was well into late afternoon. The screen door squealed open and I heard Grandpa’s heavy boots. I went out to greet him.
“Hi, Grandpa.” I said. “Did you get any rabbits?’
‘Oh, we got lots of rabbits.” Grandpa said cheerfully. “Didn’t we boy?” He asked, Clyde. Good old Clyde waged his tail like a pup.
Grandpa went the refrigerator which was now full of cold beer instead of diet cola.
“Me and Clyde are going to sit out on the porch. You can join us if you want.” Grandpa said.
“Thanks Grandpa, but I’m not feeling well. I think I need to lie down.” After look through all the albums my heart was heavy and my head swam with even more questions.
Grandpa smile a sweet understanding smile and said, “Once you find your light you’ll feel better.” He gave me a pat on the head and went outside with Clyde close behind.
I went upstairs to the guestroom. Grandma always kept it made up for company just in case. I laid down on the creaky old bed; it was older than me, but it was still comfy. I was feeling sentimental and blue. I had regained my memories of my family and childhood, for that I was grateful. However, I was afraid that Jake had been right and I wasn’t ever going to see them again. I began to feel woozy again, like I had the other night and that horrible headache started to come back. I closed my eyes tight and prayed for it to go away. I just wanted to sleep and dream, but dreams never came.
The man and his dog stepped out of the long grass into the front yard. Clyde was the first to notice me sitting on the swing; he stopped and stared at me. Grandpa paused and was surprised to see what Clyde had found.
“ Hey there, little mouse.” He greeted me with the same nickname he used for all us grandchildren.
“Hi, Grandpa.” I said meekly, staring at him, with my mouth gaping.
I had a lump in my throat as though I was about to cry, because it had only been a year since my grandfather had past away and I had yet to get over it. However, this was not the bewildered, frail wisp of a man I remembered, it was Grandpa the way he was when I was very young.
Grandpa didn’t seem to notice my awkwardness. He was just delighted to see me. With a big grin he proudly held up the stringer of fish.
“ We’re going to have fish for breakfast.” He said with a hardy laugh and started up the front steps, “ Come on in when you’re ready.”
My grandpa went inside the house. The creaky screen swung closed behind him with a bang. Clyde had lost interest in me and had retired to the shade of the porch for a nap. From my spot on the swing I could hear the clang of pots and pans and Grandpa’s strong, baritone, singing voice.
“ A peanut sat on the railroad track, his heart was all a flutter.” He sang.
The next verse I sang along under my breath and out of tune. “Along came a train and smashed the little peanut, now they call him peanut butter.”
I got up from the swing and decided to have better look around real quick. The peach tree that had to be cut down because of a blight when I was five was back with a subtle improvement. Not only did it yield peaches, there were red and green apples, pears, and plums; all of grandpa’s favorites. The red raspberry bushes that grew near the garden shed also held blackberries and blueberries, as well.
I had to step over the sleeping beagle before going to the house. Clyde never even flinched, which made me smile. Once I was inside I realized that I remembered everything about the house. From the foyer Grandpa was in the kitchen to the right. Ahead, next to the stairs leading to the second floor, there was a hall that lead to the back door. To the left was the living room and beyond that there was a doorway to the backroom that Grandma used as the piano room. I walked into the kitchen and was surprised to find my grandpa taking the last fish filet out of the frying pan. There wasn’t enough time for him to clean all those fish much less cook them.
“Oh, look you made it just in time.” Grandpa said with a chuckle. “Grab a seat.”
I didn’t really care for fish, but it smelled so good I decided to give it a try. I sat at the place Grandpa had set for me. He loaded my plate up with fish before sitting down across the table. I didn’t think there was any way I was going to finish all the fish Grandpa had given me. I took a few dubious bites and was surprisingly delighted. It was better than any fish I had ever had, and I ate piece after piece. In no time at all the fish on my plate was gone.
“That was really good, Grandpa.” I patted my mouth with a napkin and got up to take my plate to the sink. “Do you need help with the dishes?’ I asked.
“No, I’ll do them later. Clyde and I are going to do some rabbit hunting.” he said.
Grandpa pushed himself away from the table and went off into the mudroom, near the back door, where he kept his hunting gear. Moments later Grandpa came out wearing his hunting hat and jacket and toting his shotgun. I walked out on to the porch with him as he left.
“Make yourself at home.” Grandpa said and patted me on the head. “Come on Clyde, let’s go get those rabbits.’
Clyde couldn’t get up fast enough. He jumped and yipped with excitement. I watched the two hunting buddies tromp away through the field. Grandpa turn and waved and I waved back. Once they disappeared over a knoll I turned and went inside.
I wasn’t looking forward to cleaning the kitchen, but I wanted to do something nice for Grandpa. I went straight to the table to pick up Grandpa’s dishes, but they were gone. All the crumbs and dirty napkins were cleared away, and a vase full of fresh cut lilacs adorned the table. I looked at the stove; there was no oily spatter or dirty pans. The counter space where Grandpa had left a toppled bag of flour, broken eggshells, and sloppy mixing bowls were spotless and clutter free. Even the sink where I had left my plate was empty and the fixtures sparkled. It was possible that the kitchen was the cleanest I had ever seen it in all the times I had visited. I went to the refrigerator near the stove and looked inside. It was empty except for a six-pack of diet cola. I realized, just then, that I was dying for a cola. However, Grandpa would never drink a diet cola in a million years, and would never even think to keep it in his fridge. I shrugged, and grabbed a can.
The farm house filled with the sound of piano music, one of the many hymns my grandmother used to play. The music didn’t start all of a sudden. Instead, it faded in like someone slowly turn up the volume. I followed the sound through the living room. I noticed that everything was neat as a pin but the television was missing. Grandpa never really cared for TV, he’d rather hunt or fish. He’d even choose puttering in the garden over sit in front of, what he called, the boob-tube. Grandma wasn’t a TV fan either, her favorite pass time was playing the piano. She was good at it too. She even made a little money playing for weddings at her church. I cautiously approached the backroom, I didn’t want to startle my grandma , but no one as in the piano room.
I was disappointed. It would have been nice to see Grandma again. She had passed away three or four years before Grandpa. It had taken the family longer to recover because she was taken by a sudden accident. It was winter and she slipped and hit her head while getting the mail.
The music continued to play but it wasn’t actually coming from the piano, it seemed to be coming from every part of the room. The melody was light and cheerful and in my heart I knew that where ever Grandma was she was happy just like her music.
Jake had been right this was a good place to remember. The top of my grandmother’s upright piano was covered with family photos. As I looked at all the faces of my aunts, and uncles, and all my cousins I began to remember each one. I took down a group portrait for a closer look. It was my family, my mother and father with my sister and myself on either side. My sister had straight jet black hair like her father. I, on the other hand, had wavy light blond hair like my mother.
I remember.
The walls in the piano room were covered it bookshelves. Besides an extensive collection of field guides on wild flowers and bird, Grandma stored all her photo albums on those shelves. It was like an archive of the Swanson family history.. I must have spent hours looking over wedding photos, baby pictures, and snap shots of holiday parties. I found my cheerleading photos and pictures of my little sister in her third grade school play. There were thousands of pictures of my Dad on hunting and fishing trips with his three brothers, and Grandpa Harvard. I noticed that the light in the room had begun to fade; it was well into late afternoon. The screen door squealed open and I heard Grandpa’s heavy boots. I went out to greet him.
“Hi, Grandpa.” I said. “Did you get any rabbits?’
‘Oh, we got lots of rabbits.” Grandpa said cheerfully. “Didn’t we boy?” He asked, Clyde. Good old Clyde waged his tail like a pup.
Grandpa went the refrigerator which was now full of cold beer instead of diet cola.
“Me and Clyde are going to sit out on the porch. You can join us if you want.” Grandpa said.
“Thanks Grandpa, but I’m not feeling well. I think I need to lie down.” After look through all the albums my heart was heavy and my head swam with even more questions.
Grandpa smile a sweet understanding smile and said, “Once you find your light you’ll feel better.” He gave me a pat on the head and went outside with Clyde close behind.
I went upstairs to the guestroom. Grandma always kept it made up for company just in case. I laid down on the creaky old bed; it was older than me, but it was still comfy. I was feeling sentimental and blue. I had regained my memories of my family and childhood, for that I was grateful. However, I was afraid that Jake had been right and I wasn’t ever going to see them again. I began to feel woozy again, like I had the other night and that horrible headache started to come back. I closed my eyes tight and prayed for it to go away. I just wanted to sleep and dream, but dreams never came.
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