Chapter 41-42

                                                                   41.

“Just how close to the bone and the skin and the eyes
And the lips you can get
And still feel so alone
And still feel related
Like stations in some relay
You're not a hit and run driver, no, no
Racing away
You just picked up a hitcher
A prisoner of the white lines on the freeway”

Joni Mitchell

 

Her mother had made bean soup, another step in her mother’s new health conscious life. First it was no more alcohol, then the cigarettes and now it was no more meat. After the dinner they had sat down on the couch, Kristin sat and looked at the pictures of the grandchildren. Jonas’ two oldest and Anna and Jack. Infants in their parents’ arms, toddlers with ice cream smeared all over their faces and all four of them on the stoop of her mother’s house. Jonas’ children with reddish blonde hair and hers with dark blonde.  Her mother was a far better grandmother than she ever was a mother. Perhaps it was easier without the constant responsibility.

Her mother had asked questions about Robert and Kristin had answered and eventually said that she felt like a fool for believing him.   

“This is your gift; despite all the odds you still believe that people are good. And you still believe that the world at its core is good.”

Kristin smirked and moved away from her mother, curled up in the corner of the couch and looked at her. Almost surprised by the gray hair and the wrinkles around her mother’s eyes.

“I don’t think like that.”

“I believe you do. You trusted this man that you hardly know because you saw good in him.”

Kristin smirked again.

“Yeah, and that did me no good. Only children think like that.”

“If we all were more like children the world would be a better place.”

Kristin wanted to argue against this but she couldn’t really find an argument that suited.

They both sat absorbed in their own thoughts until her mother spoke again.

“And to lose Jimmy was nothing compared to losing Emma,” her mother’s voice faded.

The grief was still there, in her mother’s eyes, her mother’s hands. The emptiness a dead child leaves behind. The hollow that never can be filled. The longing for the smell, the touch, the presences of the one lost.

 Her mother sat quiet for a long time, looking at her hands. Then she lifted her head and looked at Kristin.

“It was good that he left so I could become my own person. When I was strong enough, he came back and he never left again.”

“But ten years!”

Her mother laughed again.

“It was all worth it.”

“But in ten years I will be almost fifty.”

Kristin sighed but her mother laughed.

“Fifty can be pretty hot,” she said, “trust me, I just lived through it”

Kristin blushed; she didn’t even want to consider what that meant.

“Sometimes I think,” she stopped and searched for the right words, “that he thought I was like his ex-wife.”

Her mother looked at her questioning.

“That I would only take and never give and that he would have to sacrifice himself for me.”

Her mother smiled tenderly again.

“Sweetheart, in a relationship both have to be allowed to give and take. One can’t only take and never give. And we all have to sacrifice some.”

Her mother stood up and stretched.

“I really have to get ready for bed.”

She took the two water glasses and the small bowl with nuts and turned around to go to the kitchen.

“I was so angry when I was small.” Kristin blurted out and her mother stopped. She turned around and looked at her, tilted her head to the side and looked sad again.

“I know, rightfully so sweetheart. We put too much responsibility on you. We were not very good parents.”

Kristin felt suddenly hot, she blushed and stuttered.

“You were ok.”

Her mother laughed.

“Sweetheart, I know we weren’t and you don’t have to try to make me feel better.”

 Her mother turned around and walked out in the kitchen.

The extra bed room was cramped with boxes and things in every empty space.

“Sorry about this,” her mother said and moved some of the things away. “I decided to start to go through some of the boxes from papa. I f I had known you would come…”

“It’s ok.”

Kristin dropped the sheets on the bed next to a stack of red notebooks with black backs.

“Your grandmother’s diaries.”

Kristin picked one up and opened it. On the front page was the year 1952 written in black.

“Have you read them?”

Her mother shook her head. 

“No, not yet.” she yawned big, “I’m going to bed. Good night.”

 Her mother left and Kristin moved some more boxes to the other side of the room, opened the window an inch and pulled down the shade. Put on the sheets on the bed and sat down.  She didn’t feel ready to sleep just yet. Looked around the room for something to read and her eyes landed on the notebooks she had moved to the dresser.

She started to look for 1956, the year her grandmother was pregnant with her mother.

1956 started on January 10th.

Dear Diary,

Almost 4 months this time but on New Year’s Eve I started to bleed a little. I didn’t tell Albert, didn’t want to worry him before I was sure. We had dinner guests and everybody was having a jolly time. The Anderson’s and the Vogt’s were here, there was an abundance of snow but they had left the cars at home and simply taken the one horse open sleighs.

What a beautiful evening we had, but when I went to the WC ,I saw a few blood stains. Cranberry red against the white.

I was hoping that it was the excitement of the evening, I took it a little slower after that but the next morning I had a horrible stomach ache. The New Year had to start so sadly.  Albert called the doctor and he told him that I should be on bed rest. But no use; we lost this baby too.

What kind of woman am I who can’t even carry a child to full term? Others have one child after another but I can’t even keep them until they are strong enough to live by themselves.

I know Albert is upset but he won’t show me. He is a God given man and I wish I could give him the child he yearns for.

Yours Truly Kristin

Kristin starred at the name, of course she knew she was named after her grandmother but she had never felt that this woman was real until now.

And now I am almost the exact age she was when she had my mother and I already have two of my own.  

She read up until April, read about the life on the farm, the love between her grandparents and her grandmother’s desperate wish, longing, struggle for a child. Didn’t even remember the sleeping pill, turned off the light and fell asleep immediately.

She laid so close, her face pressed against his neck. Her hand on his naked shoulder. Her body fit perfectly next to his. Her toes touched his. Flawless ease! The light that came in through the curtains was summer light, northern light. Light as a feather! She could smell the cold water from the sea and heard the seagulls cawing. She moved carefully away from him to not wake him. Pulled on his sweater and tiptoed out in the kitchen.

The pony stood outside the kitchen window and looked at her under his brown mane. She stepped out in the wild grass and walked up to the horse. He looked at her, didn’t move at all when she reached out her hand. Gently she scratched him under the mane.

She woke up, stared out in the dimly lit room, the early morning sunlight found its way around the shade.

Fuck! Only a dream!

                                                                         42.

“I am alone; I am always alone, no matter what.”

Marilyn Monroe

 

Jonas and Mrs. Henke were watching TV. Kristin sat on the porch with Mrs. Henke’s cat in her lap. The cat had curled up and slept deeply, she absentmindedly caressed the shiny fur. The evening grew darker by the minute and there was a slight chill in the air. School had started yesterday but Kristin and Jonas didn’t go. Too soon, too early, you need time to rest, the grown-ups had said. Kristin hadn’t seen Karen since before grandpa’s funeral, and she missed her.  Mrs. Henke had kept them busy with chores, outings and games. She had asked her grandchildren to come and play; they had been playing stick ball on the field behind the house for hours until Jonas and Kristin fell into bed and slept like logs. Kristin had never been surrounded by many people and never had this much adult attention and supervision in her whole life.

But now she was finally alone, her fingers moved over the cat’s back, felt the tiny vertebrae in the spine and the fine ribs, thin as a thick sewing needle. The cat moved a little and started to purr, she felt it through her pants into the flesh. It felt good, a friendly motor produced by content.

Mommy had come over for dinner the last two days, she looked tired and pale and only stayed for a few hours. Kristin kept her distance, when she came too close to mommy she got angry. She wanted to go up to her and hit her in the face, and you don’t do those things.

A car turned the corner and came driving up the street, the street lights caught the blue glimmer from the hood and Kristin’s heart jumped in her chest. She craned her neck and looked at the blue Buick.

Grandpa! Grandpa! Grandpa!

The car passed the house and she felt foolish and alone. She pushed the cat down from her lap. Surprised the cat woke up half way down, looked at her with contempt and walked into the house.

She leaned her forehead against the window panes that stood half open to let the air in, pressed harder and harder until it hurt. Then she pressed some more. The pain was warm and sharp.

“What are you doing?”

Jonas sounded confused.

She turned her head and looked at him; he had on his pajamas and had his stuffed tiger in his hand.  

“Nothing!”

“Mrs. Henke wanted to know if you want some hot chocolate.”

You can take your fucking hot chocolate and flush it down the toilet.

“Ok,” she said and stood up.

“Kristin wants one too,” Jonas called out as he walked back into the house. “We are going to watch Dukes of Hazzard.”

Mrs. Henke put a tray on the coffee table with three cups of hot chocolate and a plate of cinnamon rolls. Jonas curled up on the couch next to Mrs. Henke. Kristin stared at the TV, saw the red car flying across the screen, sipped her hot chocolate and wished she wasn’t there.

She wasn’t sure where she wanted to be. There was nowhere to long for anymore. No one to long for, either. No one who would come driving in the middle of the night. No horses on the farm anymore. No dogs. No grandpa.  She was all alone!

She sniffled and Mrs. Henke looked over at her. Kristin stared at the TV, stared and stared until her eyes hurt. Kept them wide open, not even blinking, until they had dried out.