The Whole In The Wall

No one liked going to Grandpa's house, only Joe. We would all regrettably clamber into the station wagon and complain until we got there. The drive was just long enough to make you need to use his one tiny bathroom with a line that was basically a ball game at the end of the 6th. His house was old, and it stunk of rotting wood, plaster and mud. But more than that, death. The same smell your family cat let off two days before they passed; or the way grandma smelt before the worst day. The day grandpa gave up. He was never the same. She was his fire, without her he was just a fly circling a cow pie; and with her; he filled the room with light.

She had left four years ago. The whole family felt her passing. She was the best. Not only did Nana make the most sacred, sweet and delicately firm lemon meringue pie, as she put it, she was also “the best shot this side of the Hudson.” She had the medals to back it. They just sat a bit too high on the shelf for her to reach. We all knew they were there. She would never lie to us.

It was fifteen years later, now everything she saved “for good” felt just as thick as the butter pats they used to scoop onto the open faced Turkey sandwiches. Completely unnecessary. Who needs 5 pounds of sugar, and 15 pounds of flour? Their voices too echoed the halls as we scraped the wallpaper and stood puzzled in their damp basement staring at the moldy cardboard and lost pieces of time. Everything else has changed.

Everything except this picture frame, it was too level to believe. The whole house had sunk 2 inches, but this picture remained level with the wall, a slanted view of life at sea. The sunrise was too blue. That was the moment things, well things started to change. It really wasn’t about what was supposed to happen; it was a short and sweet swivel of the cherry wood framed painting that revealed an unlocked safe. Inside laid a small dusty book. Joe reached his hand into this heavy casted steel safe, and after a shudder, he finally withdrew his hand clutching a thin black book. The time and dust had accumulated upon this book, but it did not weather. The cover was still elegantly soft, and the pages had maintained their form. What secrets the scribbles inside held were a world away for Joe. But they only led him deeper into the house.

“So you found it,” he heard his Grandmother’s voice emanate from the cursive lines. “Good for you honey”. His heart began to rise, for it had been so long since he heard her. “But don’t think this is easy, finding the book was the easy part, now you have to prove your worth.”

Nana’s ominous tone began to take shape as Joe turned the page. He sat and scratched his head as he read. “The pope has his, and I have mine.” Now while Nana was not overly religious, she was quite sentimental. She had kept every handmade item presented to her, and she would adorn her rooms by surrounding herself in these gifts, covering every square inch with love, as she put it. “Cardinals!” Joe exclaimed, as he ran upstairs and into the master bath. He was correct. The lopsided, misshaped, nearly unrecognizable molten form of two clay birds sat on a shelf beside her makeup mirror barely reflecting the light, a glazed cardinal red beneath a thick layer of dust. He gently picked up the grade school art project and began to wipe the crud. Taped neatly on the bottom was a small folded note. “My favorite spot for a cup of tea, and knowing you are with me,” it read. Joe was puzzled momentarily. He kept thinking of when he saw Nana drink tea and his mind was blank. That was her moment of solitude, but what would she want, where would she go? Frustrated, he stormed through the bedroom and sat in her old rocking chair, needing something to do to unoccupy his anger.

He rocked gently, scanning the walls adorned with photograph after photograph mosaically plastered on the walls. He smirked, and stood up. The coffee table next to her chair was a liar. The small diameter rings along the right hand side were not from a coffee mug, but a teacup. Joe gently turned over Nana’s creaky throne. To his dismay, no note. He turned the chair back over and fell defeatedly into the chair. He could hear Nana saying “Peace of mind is really worth something.” At least he made it this far, for the first time in too long Joe was reconnected with her and the love the house held inside. Until his father’s voice boomed up from the basement, “Get back down here lolligagger! This has all got to go!”

Joe took a deep sigh and struck the chair twice with his right hand. Justas he stood up he heard a faint click. Was it? Or more likely, it was someone throwing an old pan across the basement. He paused and examined the chair. Everything felt intact, but one spindle appeared loose. He turned it three times to the right, and another click reverberated from deep inside the chair. As he began to spin the chair, the right side fell off, nearly smashing his face and then falling to the floor. Panicked, Joe lifted the chair up, and held the arm attempting to re-attach the severed limb. After several failed attempts he stopped, andthe chair slid onto him as he let the arm go. Just as he had begun to lose all faith, something slid out from a cavity in the seat and dropped onto the floor. A bulging manilla envelope embellished with his Nana’s cursive, “It was nice bonding with you.” Joe gently unfastened the brass brad, lifted open the lid and slid out a stack of orange odd shaped bills. His thumb flicked gently through the edges, all of these were marked 100. There were more than he could even count, must be at least two hundred. His heart rose, and tears began to form in his eyes. All those moments Nana had slipped a five dollar bill to him and told him to buy a coke, or the moments in college when he received a $20 bill in a card telling him to buy a 6-pack of cokes. She had been doing the same thing for the whole family her entire life; saving things for good. Now her care would be used to help lift the family back up onto their feet. It took a while, but Nana had prepared for the absolute worst with a beacon of light. Joe ran downstairs and yelled: “We don’t have to sell the house!”