Rocking Chair
He looked around the wallpapered room. The pattern was dated, like something his own grandmother would have had on her walls. The whole idea of papering walls seemed ancient. Still, he liked the room, as it was. The oldness made him feel comfortable.
He’d been here before, with Monica. She was his girlfriend and fiancé then. Now she was his wife, and this was the living
room of her grandmother’s house.
This was the first time Lloyd had ever come here
alone. On his first visit, with Monica
holding his hand in hers, he felt scrutinized.
He knew he didn’t belong. He and
Monica, theirs were two worlds with conflicting histories.
The coffee table in front of him, which might have
pre-dated his parents, was decorated with matching tea cups, a bouquet of fresh
cut flowers and a Bible. The furniture
wasn’t new, but it was in very good condition.
The floral pattern reminded him of the plates he and Monica used at
dinner time.
Grandmother Wilson entered the room with the flowered
pot of steaming water. The pattern on
the teapot matched the two dainty looking cups set out on the table. Grandmother Wilson stooped over and poured
the water over the tea bags. She picked
up one of the cups and sat in a rocking chair across from Lloyd. She sipped her tea while it steeped and
studied her visitor with her deep brown eyes.
“Wisdom.”
Her two syllabled word was spoken at random. Lloyd looked up. He dipped his tea bag into the hot
water. The tag on the end of the bag read
Chamomile.
“It’s why young people should sit with elders. It’s why you should listen to what they
say. Wisdom.”
After she spoke her words, Lloyd took his first sip
of tea. He wondered why he was here
without his wife of three months.
“Gram,” he said, echoing Monica. He waited to be chastised for using a title
of familiarity. He was not her
grandson. One look and that was obvious.
“You and my granddaughter are deeply in love,” the
old woman began. “She is as dark as night, and you are as pale as they
come. It is good that you both love
beyond color. Ebony and Ivory, didn’t
Michael Jackson sing that song?”
“With Paul McCartney,” Lloyd responded.
“One of the Beatles,” Grandmother Wilson added.
Lloyd nodded.
“Have you ever played any of their music on the
piano?” She asked.
“I have.”
“But you are fond of classical.”
It wasn’t a question, but he still responded with,
“Yes.”
“I should like sometime to hear you play.”
“Monica would love to have you come to our condo some
evening for dinner. We have an upright
in the living room. My parents have a grand
piano. It’s what I learned on.”
“Tell me about your parents.”
“Not much to tell,” Lloyd replied. “My father teaches
music at Trinity. My mother is an
elementary school principal.”
“Are they happy in their work?”
“I suppose so,” Lloyd answered.
“It is good to be happy with one’s chosen profession,
be it as a doctor or a bus driver.”
She sipped her tea again and offered a smile as she
placed the cup on the table. When he and
Monica decided to marry, he was concerned about the reaction of his own grandmother. He was surprised when he broke the news and
his grandmother latched on to Monica with an all-encompassing hug. Grandmother Wilson had been just as
accepting, although not as inclined to embrace.
“My husband, the Lord rest his soul, he did just that. He drove a bus for thirty-eight years. He would tell me all kinds of stories about
the people he’d meet. Carl loved
people. Skin color didn’t matter. He used to say, ‘Verna, there ain’t no
difference in people’s skin. It’s all
about their heart. Some people is good,
some is bad’. That’s a quote, word for
word.”
“Monica has shared a little about her
grandfather. He was a good man.”
“Monica, her mother and brother, lived with us for a
time.”
“After her father’s death?”
“For a parent it is hard to bury a child, but the
Lord gave me a son, and when the Lord was ready, He welcomed him home.”
“Monica shared that story… about her father, on our
second date. It was hard for her. There were such heavy tears in her eyes.”
“She does have beautiful eyes.”
Lloyd gave another nod of his head. He saw beauty when he looked into the eyes of
the woman he chose to spend his life with.
“Tell me Lloyd, are you a person who knows the Lord?”
“I go to church?” He answered.
“With my granddaughter no doubt.”
“Yes.”
“What do you pray for? What do you find yourself asking God for?”
“I don’t know.
I guess I pray that he blesses our marriage. I pray that I always do right by my wife.”
Grandmother Wilson smiled and said, “Thank Him for
what He has given you. There is no need
to ask. The Lord knows what you need…
and if I am correct, you need my grandson Jimmy’s acceptance.”
Lloyd took another sip from his cup. He hesitated, as if weighing his response. “I
thought my grandmother, my mother’s mom, would be the issue. She is very set in the ways of, I hate to
say, my grandfather. He didn’t like
anyone who was different from him. I
don’t think he ever accepted my father.”
“And why would that be?”
“Wojcinski,” Lloyd replied. “I’ve given Monica a very
polish name. My mother is Italian.”
“Nationality is almost as divisive as skin color.”
“Sometimes.”
“It’s easier to hate, than it is to love. That’s why we need the Lord so badly. He brings us love.”
copyright 2024 - Donald P James Jr
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