Quilts and Flowers
I’m a kid. As far as I can remember there’s been one car or another parked in the barn half covered in a heavy canvas tarp. Endless summer days were spent learning how to tool on an engine, change a tire, swap spark plugs. This time though, I’m around 8 years old and I’ve wandered out to the barn to see what sort of help I can be today.
Today it’s bleeding brake lines and changing rotors. My dad is infinitely more patient when teaching than when he’s just doing it himself. We spend a few hours crawling on the dirt floor under the car, and I’ve got grease and dust smeared on my face. My dad finds this amusing.
We’re standing back, admiring our hard work when he lifts me up to sit on the tailgate of his truck. He rummages in the cab and comes out with two glass bottles of Coke and two packs of M&Ms. He must have known I’d come help or he saves them there for days like this. We sit in mostly silence, sharing a treat. He’s the toughest human being I know. I’ve watched this man walk into a burning house and rescue children my age.
When people ask me who my hero is, I always name him.
***
I’m sitting with my sister on the beach. We’ve been chatting, enjoying the cooler weather and talking about games. I get a bright idea. I pull up my phone and the game he gave to me, and I pass it to her. I imagine it probably didn’t look much different from when the controller was passed to me. She fucks around with how to move and steer and then she hits the first flower. “Oh!”
She’s laughing, completely engrossed within a minute. After ten, she’s bought the game. I tell her how I came to play it and she gives him her little half salute. A nod. About as close as she gets to gratitude over small things. She genuinely likes it and has already cleared most of it on her own phone.
Even here, even now, he’s here.
***
We’re standing on the beach with a few generations of his family around him, some friends and two women bearing a quilt. He expected something special for his grand-daughter for her birthday, so when he’s called up, he’s surprised. It’s a rare occurrence, so I soak it up.
They present him his quilt for his Navy service. He makes a couple of jokes, I suspect because he’s uncomfortable with the sudden spotlight about his service, but then he’s solemn and thankful. This meant something to him. This was deeper than he lets on.
Later, I help him take the things to his room where he lays the quilt out on the bed he shares with my mom and I hear him sniff. When he turns to take the certificate from me, I can see the tears. In all my years I’ve never seen him emotional like this. He’s always remained stoic when confronted with anything that moves him. I have caught him off guard.
He hugs me and says “thank you” quietly. When we go to carry on our work, I can hear him sniffing a few more times until his friends come to help with the truck. And then, just like that, he’s slipped into his usual demeanor. It’s only when they say he has a beautiful family that he looks right at me and agrees.
I don’t know how to reply, and so I just bow my head and try swallow the lump in my throat.
***
We’re driving down the back roads to my parent’s house. My dad and I have stolen away to prepare for a day of fixing paint chips in Big Red. He spots the picture taped to my dash and after a while he asks, “So, is that him?” I tell him yes. The picture of Matt and C has fallen under the dashboard before I realized I had to tape them in place. He offers to help me dig it out later.
“You’re a stronger girl than I think I ever gave you credit for.”
These were all moments I needed, and I pray this isn’t life giving me one last golden time before it’s gone. But if it is, if this is the last, then it was a damn good one and I couldn’t ask for more.
Hours later after we’ve sanded and painted and taken a break for his quilt, we reach the end of what we can do today. I pat the tailgate and tell him to have a seat, and then I go and get my last gift to him. When I come out with the bottles and candy, I smile. “They’re not glass bottles, but these will do.”
He laughs and I hop up to sit next to him. It’s just us right now, despite a cabin full. Everyone has given us space. He’s thoughtfully watching a squirrel gathering acorns and then he speaks. “I know it’s been hard for you, wanting family. I picked up on that for years from you, the want for children, for what you had with your brothers and sisters. You’d make a good mother, just like your mother did.”
For a moment I can’t talk. He’s hit the nail on the head and I don’t think I can talk without my voice breaking.
“That’s the funny thing about the world. You think the dreams you have will look a certain way, and then life completely changes that. But sometimes we’re lucky enough to find that happiness in new ways.” He pauses and eats another M&M. “All I ever wanted was to see you happy, and I’ve seen that since you’ve been with Matt. He brought you up out of that darkness that ate us all. And now I see you beaming. Whatever your family looks like, however they come together for you, it’s clear you love them and that’s all I could ever ask for.”
I choke back on tears and lean into his hug with my feet dangling off the tailgate. He lifts his drink to mine and says “To family” and I can’t see the label anymore for the blur of tears.
To family.
Today it’s bleeding brake lines and changing rotors. My dad is infinitely more patient when teaching than when he’s just doing it himself. We spend a few hours crawling on the dirt floor under the car, and I’ve got grease and dust smeared on my face. My dad finds this amusing.
We’re standing back, admiring our hard work when he lifts me up to sit on the tailgate of his truck. He rummages in the cab and comes out with two glass bottles of Coke and two packs of M&Ms. He must have known I’d come help or he saves them there for days like this. We sit in mostly silence, sharing a treat. He’s the toughest human being I know. I’ve watched this man walk into a burning house and rescue children my age.
When people ask me who my hero is, I always name him.
***
I’m sitting with my sister on the beach. We’ve been chatting, enjoying the cooler weather and talking about games. I get a bright idea. I pull up my phone and the game he gave to me, and I pass it to her. I imagine it probably didn’t look much different from when the controller was passed to me. She fucks around with how to move and steer and then she hits the first flower. “Oh!”
She’s laughing, completely engrossed within a minute. After ten, she’s bought the game. I tell her how I came to play it and she gives him her little half salute. A nod. About as close as she gets to gratitude over small things. She genuinely likes it and has already cleared most of it on her own phone.
Even here, even now, he’s here.
***
We’re standing on the beach with a few generations of his family around him, some friends and two women bearing a quilt. He expected something special for his grand-daughter for her birthday, so when he’s called up, he’s surprised. It’s a rare occurrence, so I soak it up.
They present him his quilt for his Navy service. He makes a couple of jokes, I suspect because he’s uncomfortable with the sudden spotlight about his service, but then he’s solemn and thankful. This meant something to him. This was deeper than he lets on.
Later, I help him take the things to his room where he lays the quilt out on the bed he shares with my mom and I hear him sniff. When he turns to take the certificate from me, I can see the tears. In all my years I’ve never seen him emotional like this. He’s always remained stoic when confronted with anything that moves him. I have caught him off guard.
He hugs me and says “thank you” quietly. When we go to carry on our work, I can hear him sniffing a few more times until his friends come to help with the truck. And then, just like that, he’s slipped into his usual demeanor. It’s only when they say he has a beautiful family that he looks right at me and agrees.
I don’t know how to reply, and so I just bow my head and try swallow the lump in my throat.
***
We’re driving down the back roads to my parent’s house. My dad and I have stolen away to prepare for a day of fixing paint chips in Big Red. He spots the picture taped to my dash and after a while he asks, “So, is that him?” I tell him yes. The picture of Matt and C has fallen under the dashboard before I realized I had to tape them in place. He offers to help me dig it out later.
“You’re a stronger girl than I think I ever gave you credit for.”
These were all moments I needed, and I pray this isn’t life giving me one last golden time before it’s gone. But if it is, if this is the last, then it was a damn good one and I couldn’t ask for more.
Hours later after we’ve sanded and painted and taken a break for his quilt, we reach the end of what we can do today. I pat the tailgate and tell him to have a seat, and then I go and get my last gift to him. When I come out with the bottles and candy, I smile. “They’re not glass bottles, but these will do.”
He laughs and I hop up to sit next to him. It’s just us right now, despite a cabin full. Everyone has given us space. He’s thoughtfully watching a squirrel gathering acorns and then he speaks. “I know it’s been hard for you, wanting family. I picked up on that for years from you, the want for children, for what you had with your brothers and sisters. You’d make a good mother, just like your mother did.”
For a moment I can’t talk. He’s hit the nail on the head and I don’t think I can talk without my voice breaking.
“That’s the funny thing about the world. You think the dreams you have will look a certain way, and then life completely changes that. But sometimes we’re lucky enough to find that happiness in new ways.” He pauses and eats another M&M. “All I ever wanted was to see you happy, and I’ve seen that since you’ve been with Matt. He brought you up out of that darkness that ate us all. And now I see you beaming. Whatever your family looks like, however they come together for you, it’s clear you love them and that’s all I could ever ask for.”
I choke back on tears and lean into his hug with my feet dangling off the tailgate. He lifts his drink to mine and says “To family” and I can’t see the label anymore for the blur of tears.
To family.
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