Let's Go Bowling
By
Henriette Pruger
I drove up to the grave site. The day was beautiful and warm. The sun was high in the sky, hidden only when a few clouds covered it. The wind was warm and light. Singing sparrows were flying between the trees. I got out of my car and stopped to smell the freshly cut grass. One thing for sure, the caretakers took good care of the property. They cared for the people and the families of the interned. I walked to a row of tomb stones that belonged to my family. Mom had died recently and dad over 35 years. Mom and I got along but I could never agree with my father.
Who am I? I am not important. I'm a sixty-three year old woman who NOW has grown up. Dad I never got along because we one in the same. He really didn't die. I became him.
You see, I am going through exactly the same thing he went through and am/are responding the same way. We both had/have depression because of job age harassment. It killed him with a broken heart, as it is doing me.
I came to his grave site to apologize to him. I was much younger when it happened to him and didn't understand. I was too young and selfish. It's too late to tell him face to face; but, maybe his soul will be able to hear me.
I turned around quietly and picked up a small pebble and put it on his stone. It's a Jewish tradition. I don't know where it started but we all do it. I sat on one knee and cleaned the dirt from his name and began to speak. I looked at my clock and it read 12:05 p.m... I took one last breath of the grass and looked at the stone again. The next part I can't remember. I got lost in a dream.
….
I found myself walking into a bowling alley. It was OUR bowling house. Dad and I were always on the same league. I guess that makes me a bowling-alley brat. I was very good until my recent panic attacks began. Now I can't do it anymore. I have a fear of falling.
I looked at the house. It was cool, clean and well-maintained. I recognized the staff. They were all doing their jobs. The walls were blue and white. The lanes were long and well oiled. Several people were bowling. That's when I saw him. It was my father.
We were a generation apart in age, so when I knew him, he was a frail old man. He sat there watching with his Cubs baseball hat on. He knew nothing about baseball. He just liked the hat. We came to this country not knowing any English. He had to change his name. All we knew about was Walt Disney. He took the name of Donald, after the duck. Everyone called him Mr. Donald.
I walked next to him and sat next to him. He didn't notice me and just kept watching the bowlers. He had a sad and lonely face. His eyes were tired. He looked like he lost his best friend. I have that same look. It's called depression. I could give you the clinical definition of the word; but, I can summarize it in one word, dead. You feel empty. You feel very numb. But, most of all, you feel worthless. Your ability to self-love is gone.
We were both the same. I sat there for a few minutes wondering how I would start the conversation. This was my only chance to tell him how I felt. I don't know how I ended up in the bowling alley. The last thing that I remember I was by his grave. I took a deep quiet breath and began.
"Hello, Mr. Donald."
He turned and looked at me for the first time. Apparently, I looked different for he didn't recognize me. I was glad of that at least.
"Do I know you?" he asked with a strong French accent.
"No, but I know you. Everyone knows Mr. Donald. You're famous." I replied.
He looked at me very confused.
"I know all about you. I know you and your family came from Egypt in 1958 after the Suez Canal Crisis. You live in the area. Your apartment is on the third floor. You work at Columbus Hospital in back of your building. You have a wife and daughter."
He began to panic.
"Who told you this?''
"I know the people you work with. Because you speak multiple languages, you were head of housekeeping. They are all immigrants and only speak Italian and Spanish. The nuns liked you very much. Some of them were immigrants."
"Not anymore", he said, turning back to the bowlers.
"I know a few years ago they hired a college kid. He changed everything. You were (retrograde/demoted) to delivering mail to the interns and residents. They were still immigrants."
I could see the anxiety build on his face. I dare not use the word ANXIETY, because he wouldn't understand.
"There was one intern from Iran. His name was Davoud Sooriash. Your daughter had a crush on him. You even invited him to her birthday party."
"How do you know this?"
"She told me. She told me plenty of things about you."
"Like what?"
"You love your parakeet. He's crazy about you. His name is Montague. Your daughter's name is Henriette. You named her after your mother. You were her (soignaut/care giver) till she died. She was blind."
"Why would my daughter tell you this?"
"I will get to that in a few minutes. I just wanted you to know I am NOT crazy and NOT to feel afraid of me."
I could see his muscles tensing up and starting to move away.
"You met your wife at a woman's boarding house. You came to pick up your Christian date. She made you wait. Your wife made you a cup of coffee and you talked for an hour. You went back the next day and proposed. She said Yes. You were married in six months."
"Then the Suez Canal crisis flared up. You received a visit from an Egyptian policeman, your friend. He warned you to leave. So, you took your wife and daughter and came here, to Chicago."
"You are trying to scare me", he remarked.
"You came here on October 30, 1958 and have lived a few blocks away for many years. You and your daughter were never close. You wanted a son instead. She always knew that. It wasn't till she took French in high school did she find out she had a brother. She always thought he was her cousin. It was after you died, your wife told her he was her brother. That was why you resented her. You had a son but you felt you could never acknowledge him."
"Whoever you are, you know too much."
"I know even more. There were happier days. One New Year's Eve, you bought a bottle of champagne. Midnight came and you opened the bottle and gave everyone a glass. Your wife and daughter took a sip and spit it out. You kept drinking. You had two glasses. It was then your daughter saw the label. It read Champagne bubble bath. You said it was one of your best years."
"Yes it was. But who are you?"
"I'm almost ready to tell you. Just give me a few more minutes. Please", I said, taking his hand and looking into his tired eyes.
"Okay."
"Your daughter asked me to come here and tell you one important thing today. She now knows she was young and selfish. She never took time to get to know you as a person. You said after they made you retire you would be dead after two years, and you were."
"Now you scare me. I'm going to die?"
"I can't give you the details. I can only tell you it was your health. Before you passed, you turned to her and your wife, and said (Soyez des bons amis/Be good friends) in French.
"They did and lived together for many years till your wife passed from ill health. It was then your daughter finally married. She was in her fifties, just like you."
"Everything was going okay till they started age (harcelement/harassment) at work. They did the same to you. She became (deprime/depressed). She even tried to kill herself. Her husband found her in time."
"She wanted me to tell you this because NOW she understands you and what you went through. She asked me to ask you to forgive her for her behavior. She wants you to know she really loved you. She was just too young and stupid to understand. She wants your forgiveness."
"When did she tell you this?"
"This is where it gets confusing. You will probably not understand (Voyage dans le temp/time-travel); but, she does. She asked me to go into her past, your present, to ask for your forgiveness."
I started to cry and grab his hand tighter.
"Mr. Donald, it's me. Je suis ta fille. I am your daughter."
He pulled his hand away and started to get up.
"You are crazy. I am leaving."
I grabbed his hand again.
"No, I'm not. It is me, dad. Look into my eyes."
He sat back down and did.
"It is you. But why do you look so different?"
"I wish I could answer but I can't. The last thing I remember is putting a pebble on your stone. I wanted to tell you how much I really loved you. I was just too proud to say it. You hurt me."
"How? When?"
"It was before you died. I was in my room and I heard you tell mom I was a failure and never be anything. I believed you and lived my life that way. I failed at everything, except bowling. You and I were quite a team. By the time I was fourteen, I was a 250 bowler."
"You had this weird ball. It always looked like it was going into the left gutter, and then it turned and hit the head pin. You got a lot of strikes."
"I'm very confused." he said shaking his head.
"Not as confused as I am." I said, releasing his hand. "This makes no sense. Am I really here or am I hallucinating? It could be my happy pills."
"Happy pills?" he asked.
"You wouldn't understand. I just know I got my wish. So, now I will ask you. Do you forgive me?" I asked, looking into his eyes.
A tear ran down his cheek and he took my hand smiled.
"I always knew. I was like you when I was young. Life didn't scare me. I became scared later."
"When you were put down at work and still had to take care of us. It was more than pride. It was survival."
"How do I die?"
"I can't tell you. I don't know if I should. You had a broken heart. I have the same thing now. You didn't want to retire. I do, but with dignity. My job wants to let me go like a piece of trash. I was at that job for thirty-seven years. They don't care. I'm old and I don't matter anymore."
"You look so sad."
"I am sad. My life has been a failure. I never followed my dreams. I'm a joke."
"Not to me. You were never a joke. I was wrong when I said those words to your mother. Your were my daughter and I should have believed in you."
"You were sad and scared. You never had depression before."
"What is depression?"
"I won't give you the real definition. It just means for some reason you feel like shit. People treat you badly and you treat yourself worse. You have nowhere to turn. You feel like no one loves you, especially yourself."
His face started changing. He looked shocked.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"Your face is changing. I can see the real you now."
"And what do you see?"
"You are old, just like me. Your eyes are sad. Your hair is grey. Your skin is yellow and wrinkled. Is that how you feel now?"
"Yes. I look and feel old. You never answered my question. Do you forgive me?"
"Yes, I forgive you."
He released my hand and turned back to the bowlers.
"How did your mother die?"
"I can't tell you how. She was very sick. All I can tell you right now is wherever she is, she remembers us. She remembers everything."
"What does that mean?"
"She'll tell you the next time you meet. Her death was natural. She lived a long life."
"Is there anything else you want to tell me?"
"Just one. I love you, daddy. Je t'aime, papa."
He took both my hands and looked at me squarely in the face.
"Je t'aime, ma fille. What more do you want from me?"
"One thing."
"Say it. It's yours."
"Let's go bowling."
….
I woke up from my temporary daze and stood up. The pebble was still on the stone. Nothing had changed. I was very confused. I looked at my watch. It still said 12:05 p.m... I didn't know where I had been; but, I knew something was different.
"OOOH, so much for happy pills." I said under my breath.
I looked back at the tomb stone and leaned down again.
"Dad, I don't know if I was with you or not. That seemed too real for words. I hope it was. I wish you could tell me. Did I really tell you how I felt? Please, show me a sign. I need to know."
A small sparrow flew and sat on the stone. It began chirping. Sparrows are wild so I found it to be strange. I put my finger out and it climbed on. I knew this was odd. Was this his sign? I put the bird to my face and surprisingly pet it. He stayed perfectly still. It was like my parakeet Montague.
"I guess you are my sign. He really heard me.", I said, looking up at the sky. "I love you, dad."
I looked back at the stone. The bird flew away. I looked at both stones, this time putting a pebble on my mother's stone and took a step back.
"Well, mom, dad? I hope that wherever you two are, you're together. I wish you a happy eternity. See you next time."
I walked back to my car and sat down, putting the key in the ignition. Before I turned it, I looked back at the stones. I tried to remember how good they used to look. They would probably be hand-in-hand. I turned on the ignition and drove off.
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