Grandma's Best Day

DIGITAL EVIDENCE LOT 489

IN THE CASE OF JAMES P. ROBERTS’ ESTATE v. MARYANNE LEVITT.

NOTE THE MINOR CHILD IN THE TRANSCRIPT HAS BEEN REDACTED TO PROTECT HER IDENTITY.

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Listen here, little girl. Come here, you can sit on my lap. I know, I know you think you’re too big for it. Okay, now your mama’s out of the room, are you ready for a story? A very special story, one you can’t tell your mama you know. Or anyone else for that matter. I see you nodding your head, so let’s keep quiet while I tell you about the best day of my life.

Up until 1978, I thought the best day of my life was September 22, 1962, when your mama was born. She was the most beautiful little girl that ever existed, with long straight blonde hair, wide grins, and the biggest, bluest eyes like her father’s. You know grandpa died when mama was a little girl. He got drafted, but that is beside the point.

Hey, take your hands out of your sleeves!

As I was saying, 1978, I am sitting in my car watching crinkling leaves drift by on a slow breeze in front of a nondescript suburban home. The two-story was stately and well cared for next to several other similar homes filled with families going about their lives. On that evening, it had been over three years since I’d last seen your mama. She’d been stolen from me while riding her bike home from school. I eventually lost my taste for milk after seeing her face smiling in the pictures plastered across all the cartons. In fact, I left our town and hadn’t stepped a foot back there for over a year when the notebook had shown up in my mail.

You see, I lived in a one-bedroom apartment far from anyone who’d heard of your mama and her pitiful mother. I’d changed my name back to the maiden name so I wouldn’t draw suspicion, not that I was ashamed of your mama, just couldn’t handle the looks folks give to mothers of missing children. Seeing my married name on the package had been jarring. I jumped out of my skin then put myself together curiosity getting the better of me. I peeled open the parcel, revealing a black moleskin notebook. Opening the book, I saw beautifully drawn vines growing and framing your mother’s name -- vines she’d drawn on our kitchen table that caused her to be late to her first day of 7th grade. Lifting the book to my chest, a piece of paper drifted to the ground from the special notebook. The page said ‘1784 W. Maple St. 10 PM October 24’. It was obviously an invitation, a meeting. Admiring the looping chicken scrawl with terror, I couldn’t help but wonder if the directive was for me or your mama before she’d disappeared in early October ’75. I went to Maple St. anyways, drove all the way back to our hometown. Sitting in my car twitching my hands, her notebook burning a black hole into the passenger seat next to me, I stared at the house for hours; I’d gotten there early to stake it out. I saw no one go in or leave, but there were lights on and a man’s shadow moving before the closed drapes.

Shhhhh is your mama coming back out? No? Okay, phew. Like I said, she can never know this story.

What do you mean your mama was never kidnapped?! She was. I lived it and so did she. Now listen here.

The front door was a little ajar. How had I not noticed that during my stakeout? I pushed it open slowly ready to face the nimrod who was psychologically torturing me. Sending me my daughter’s diary, diabolical. I was ready to throttle them because they knew where my baby was. In my hand, I held the notebook even though I wanted to throw it into a fire. I heard a thump to my left and turned quicker than ever before. And in the center of the living room, before a small TV and a gigantic, glowing fish tank sat a man. I stepped closer into the darkened room, the only unlit room in the house -- my eyes adjusting. I flicked on the overhead light. He was tied to the chair motionless. The scene unnerved me to my core, so I left him alone with the slowly bobbing fish.

I’d like to say I was brave searching the house for my baby, but at that moment the world caught up with me. Someone bigger and scarier than me had tied him up and was still in the house. Once I was back in the hallway with the fish staring at me utterly unseeing, bubbles leaking out of their gaping mouths. I started throwing a fit that rivaled a toddler's spinning a frustrated circle crying out, “Where is she?! Where’s my baby?” And a loud wind started blowing through the house from the still open front door. A screaming kind of wind that makes trees claw at windows and children call out for their mothers. I ran to the front door slamming it shut, catching from the corner of my eye a door tucked under the stairs that I hadn’t seen before. It appeared out of nowhere.

Hey, are you listening to me, put your G-D phone away! You’re the same age your mama was on this very night. Now look me in the eyes and listen, this is your family history.

With shaking hands, I turned the knob and descended the impossibly long, thin staircase like a cool damp pool. Realization washed over me that I had nothing to defend myself except the notebook which I still clutched. Lifting it like a weapon over my shoulder ready to slap anyone who jumped out of the shadows, I kept up my pace.

I saw that smirk, baby girl, you are listening.

I reached the bottom step, solid ground after a long flight. Searching the darkness, frantically throwing my eyes every direction, I saw faint light seeping out from under a door a few feet to my left. With shaking hands, I clutched the handle. It was securely locked with several twisting knobs all from the outside. Whatever was behind that door was not supposed to be let out. But I’d gone too far to be intimidated by the mystery behind the door.

Light flooded out the doorway casting a naked bulb as bright and unforgiving as our sun. Then there was a scream, a begging scream, that sliced through my chest, jump starting my heart. The scream stopped as quickly as it had started replaced by sobs and laughter. A shape began to form at my feet, curled up on the floor with long blonde hair and spindly limbs too skinny to be my daughter’s. The girl lifted her head and I saw her bloodshot biggest, bluest eyes, your grandfather’s eyes looking at me. I fell to the ground too and began to sob holding her so tightly. You wouldn’t believe how I squeezed her. She was back in my arms. One day baby girl, you’ll have a child of your own and be able to comprehend the horror and joy I felt. Even talking about it my heart is racing, and I desperately want to hold your mama to my chest. We practically flooded the basement for a few minutes, or years, or hours down there. After we’d had more than our fill of hiccups and sobs, we ascended leaving everything but the notebook and each other behind.

As we reached the top step, I dragged your mama out of the basement. Her legs were weak and her body frail. She nearly fell like an anchor with a singular, atmosphere-dropping gasp. She lifted her leaden hand revealing the unconscious man. On his lap sat a cardboard placard “finish the job”, and beside him were two canisters of gasoline with a canvas bag. I pushed your mama behind me and ran forward, looking around the house for the mystery person. They were nowhere to be seen. That wind began to howl again, pulling against the world making me imagine the whole house tearing away in a tornado like the start of The Wizard of Oz. I opened the canvas bag and found a mountain of cash, more cash than I’d ever seen outside a movie screen.

You don’t want to hear the end? Shhh, come here I’ll hug you when I tell you the end. It’s a happy ending, baby girl.

Handing the canvas bag to your mama, I looked into her eyes so full of tears, her lip quivering. She whispered she was ready to go before I kissed her forehead. We’ll go, baby. I just have something I need to do.’ I said before leaving her in the hall. In the kitchen, I turned all the gas burners on full blast and paused to look out the window. The branches all stood still, not even litter rolled in a breeze. I went about doing my other preparations before herding your mama outside. I lit the black diary on fire, finally, letting it drop to the floor before closing the front door and walking away. We could feel the warmth from my homemade sun on our backs.

Your mama and I drove back to my apartment far away from our hometown in silence. The space was too vast for words. In fact, I think neither of us uttered a syllable until we were kneeling on the kitchen floor counting the cash from the black bag by hand. Twenty thousand dollars! Can you believe it? Back in those days, 20K was enough to start a new life! So, your mama and I drove to California and have never looked back.

Stop your tears, little girl. And you better not tell your mama or another living soul you know this. Your mama and I did what had to be done, and every single day I thank whoever or whatever sent me the diary. I love you, little girl.

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