13…Nouns
It's the sound that I'm conscious of first; the bustling sound of industry. Then, I'm aware of the discomfort; muscles and bones aching. I stretch out and find myself tumbling onto a rug in a tangle of blanket and pillow with a graceless "Oof!" escaping out of my mouth. I look around me to see I am in Henry's room, having fallen off his chair, and it takes me a moment to remember how I got here.
As the memory returns of taking a cab up here in the middle of the night when I couldn't sleep, so does the whole humiliating night at the restaurant. I wince.
And then…warmth…a mental flash to the garden at Grace Church… snuggling…Is that the right word?...Maybe nestling is better…in the arms of the sea god…no…Vince… Leif…he is definitely a Leif, it fits him, but then again, Vince does, too. Did he really walk me all the rest of the way home last night? Without speaking a word between us once we left the garden? Or was that a dream?
He's all enamored of a girl he just met…Cindy or something…
I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts, trying to put everything in its place again. I get off the floor and ease back into Henry's club chair where I guess I must've fallen asleep. I might be a bit fuzzy, too, from the…I count the number of drinks I had…three, I think—a record for me—and no food. One of those was that strong concoction of Em's.
Sunlight is streaming through the closed window blinds. There is a breakfast tray with a mostly finished cereal bowl on it. There is no Henry.
I pick up my phone lying on the table. Mierda! It's ten-fifty-five! I don't know that I've ever slept so late in my life. There are exactly ten texts and four phone messages, all from Emory I see, and from all hours of the night and morning. I quickly scroll through the texts.
-I'm so sorry I was drunk and rude! I don't know what came over me. Well, actually, I do. I've had an awful week. I'll explain.
-Elles…please call me back. Please forgive me!
-Let's start over again. How about a do-over tomorrow night? Please!
-Yes…that's what we need—a do-over! Us four. Dinner tomorrow! Well, I guess it's not tomorrow but later today. I want to make it up to you. Tonight. Please, please, please!
It goes on in that same vein, but I put the phone down without answering her when Henry walks in with Shad.
I paste on a smile. "You're barely even leaning on that walker, G.!" I swear I've seen a daily improvement in his speech and movement.
He replies and I mentally translate it to, "Soon I will put Fred Astaire to shame with my dancing." My fake smile becomes real when I think of Henry's ridiculous dance moves. Bea even banned him from dancing in her apartment after he knocked over her John Peel altar one time. Bea is actually kind of forgiving of stuff like that, but you just don't mess with John Peel.
"Pfft. Sure you will!" I get up off his chair and throw the pillow and blanket on the bed. "Your throne, King Henry!" I say with a flourish as Shad helps him into it.
"Don't you think he's better every day, Shad?" I sit in one of the other chairs. "Even his speech is clearer today than yesterday."
"I do. I understand more and more words these days. It's kind of a miracle how much incrementally better he's gotten lately. I think that's down to you," he meets my eyes earnestly.
"I'm pretty sure it's you, but thank you anyway."
"Henry, it was a pleasure, as always," Shad turns to leave, calling over his shoulder. "You two enjoy your day!"
"Shad really put me through the ringer since it's only a half-day on Saturdays. Give me a minute to let my parts rest, then let's go get you some coffee downstairs."
I nod, still a bit groggy. Henry has still refused to leave the building—it is the one part of The Plan that I've not yet accomplished—but he will at least go to the coffee stand on the ground floor.
Baby steps.
"In the meantime, tell me about your dinner out. How was Em's suitor? And his friend? How was The Gotham?" he asks wistfully. "I love that restaurant. Classic New York!"
As he plies me with questions, I flash back to the humiliation of the dinner. Then the sweetness of the garden. Then the restaurant again. "It was fine," I shrug.
Uh oh. Granddad gets that discerning, sort of sagacious look on his face that I've seen many a time, like he's penetrating the depths of your mind. Grandmother was just as bad.
"You're forgetting that I am a wise O.G. who's been around both the proverbial and literal block." He waits for me to reply. I don't. "Plus, you're a terrible liar," he adds wryly. "But if you do not wish to talk about it, I understand."
I gaze around the room, looking anywhere but at my grandfather as he sits with a serene smile on his face. That's one of his many strengths; waiting you out, not filling the silences until the only thing left to do is spill your guts. The strength part of it is that you actually want to. He is a great listener, or maybe Master Inveigler is the better term for him—I'm sure that was a huge part of his success in the diplomatic corps.
Finally, "Well, it's just that…" I stop, unsure of how to explain. "Okay, so I didn't tell you everything about going to Falk Atlantic for my interview…"
And I tell him now. Everything starting from the elevator. I even tell him about face-planting into this guy's…I use Emory's word, privates, because it truly is a gentler word than crotch. And yes, I actually utter the words, "sea" and "god" right there together. The only thing I leave out (not counting singing wahjuvas—he is my grandfather after all) and I'm not even sure why, is the church garden thing last night.
I put my throbbing head on the table, mortified by how ridiculous it all sounds in the light of day, like it's just not a big deal at all. "You're probably ready to knock your head against this table because of the silliness of it all, right? You probably wish you were back at the State Department listening to real world problems rather than some stupid tale of first world chagrin."
"Au contraire, ma cherie. First and most importantly, I want to hear everything you tell me, every last word about your life and your perceptions of it. And also you know I love a good story. Maybe most especially one from my Little Bird. And you have to admit that is a great story—just wonderfully divine."
"'Divine' is certainly not the first word that comes to my mind, but if you say so, O.G." I lift up my head to rest my chin on my folded arms as he continues.
"Either way, it's all the same." He makes a sweeping gesture with his hands.
"What do you mean?" I ask, but I really already know.
"What I mean is that…" he trails off searching for the words. "Life-long feuds were started by the simplest and silliest of things, even wars between nations. Masses of people have been killed because of someone's perceived slight to the ego, or a minor embarrassment. It's all the same thing whether on a micro or macro scale. The trick is what we can learn about ourselves and how we can grow from any situation where we feel some discomfiture."
This is not the first time I've heard this from him in one form or another. "Well, a murderous rampage does seem like a viable option after last night," I grumble.
"If I remember correctly, it is the Buddhists who say that in a moment of extreme embarrassment—in figuratively or literally tripping—is when our authentic selves come forward. In the presence of that moment the egos that cloak us fall away, exposing our real selves.
"Well, G. If that's the case, then my authentic self is a bumbling, red-faced idiot who cannot speak and doesn't know how to act properly. Or walk, for that matter."
Henry chuckles at me. "Let me ask you this…" he starts with those bright penetrating eyes of his boring into mine. "When you left the restaurant…" He pauses, looking up at the ceiling. "Wait…let me back up a bit first." Another pause. "What really bothered you about the restaurant conversation leading up to you leaving?"
"Well, for one, Em was talking about me like I wasn't even there. They all were." At least I think they were, or maybe it was just Em. I stop to contemplate this as I notice Henry smiling up a storm. "What?"
"Lately, I might know a thing or two about being talked over like I'm not there," he says cryptically.
I'm not sure what he means, so I just go on. "And I was just so embarrassed. Like, from Em drunkenly spilling my secrets out for all to see." I pause to see if I've said it right as Henry waits. "I mean, I guess secrets is too strong a word, maybe, but…like she was billing me in a particular way. A way that I don't think of myself. Or something." As I blunder through this, I start to understand it more. "I know what it is. I was bothered by the fact that Em portrayed me as a stupid kid. Or maybe Dateless and Desperate. And while it is true that I'm not exactly a serial dater, I didn't want it made into a thing, you know. Does that make sense?"
"Of course. You didn't want a persona attached to it."
"Exactly!"
"So, why don't you go out on dates? I know you get asked because I've seen it firsthand."
Uh…I need to step lightly here. Because as much as I have shared all kinds of things with both my grandparents, this is something I really can't share completely. "Because I have been consumed with other things. It's too much with everything else."
I know Henry will assume that I mean schoolwork, and that's just fine by me. Really, though, the main "other thing" is trying to make sure my grandparents were happy and I was not giving them trouble. Being super successful in school was the form that took for at least the last few years. I am disconcerted when he looks a little sad for a moment, but he continues after a heavy sigh.
"So…if I'm not mistaken, last night you kind of felt as if you were a kid at the grown-ups table. Does that about cover it?"
"Sort of. But I've been with you and the GM plenty of times as the only kid at the table and that's never bothered me before. You know full well I'm more comfortable with adults anyway."
"But you didn't have any sense of control of the environment last night, plus with the addition of the sea god, everything was heightened; it was more embarrassing. It might've felt like something was being done to you that you have no control of?" I nod. "And before last night, when was the last time you felt you had no control? Like something was being done to you?"
I look into Grandfather's eyes as he smiles softly at me, waiting. Holy crap! And I know. I know!
"When I found out your stroke was being kept from me," I barely whisper. "And with Grandmother…" There, I said it.
He nods sadly, clearly having known the answer before he asked the question. "And for that, I am very sorry."
Merde! How did he spring this on me? Unable to look in Grandfather's pained face any longer, I put my head back down on my arms.
There is a long pause before Henry speaks again. "Let's go back to the dinner." Yes, I think, let's. Somehow that subject seems such safer ground now, in comparison. "Before last night, when was the last time you felt embarrassed? Aside from tripping in the elevator, of course."
I have to mull this over, searching my memories. "I can't really think of a time," I say, looking up at him again.
"So this is a new feeling for you? Because you're always so careful? Never putting a step wrong." Again, Henry clearly knew the answer before he asked the question. I shrug, but in reality, I think he nailed it. I rest my forehead back on my arms on the table, listening. "Next time you're embarrassed, and you will be, it's a fact of life—honestly, most kids your age are embarrassed ten times a day—how can you choose to handle it in a different way?"
"You mean, besides hoping the ground beneath my feet opens up and swallows me whole?" I say, into the tablecloth.
Mierde! I am such an idiot!
I almost just described my parents' death.
Without looking up, I stretch my arm across the table until I feel Henry's hand cover mine. I'm usually more careful. Finally, I look up to see Henry looking at me sadly again. I would do anything to take my words back, but I can't so I'll redirect. "What do you think I should do?"
I watch as Henry collects himself. "One possibility is that you can just choose in that moment to accept embarrassment without fighting it. Or running away. Let those feelings wash over you."
Like the guilt that's awash over me right now? I think, but don't say. I just want to keep him talking, keep him moving further away from the memories of losing his son and daughter-in-law, so I say, "Elaborate, please."
He smiles softly and I get a nice lecture about ways to handle it, ending with, "When you're feeling something new, lean in a little. Be present with it."
"It seems I'm embarrassed all the time around this guy—James's friend." Henry smiles widely at this. "What?" I demand.
He's still smiling. "What is it about him that discomfits you?"
"I don't know. Maybe it's that he's just so absolutely alive."
"And that's a bad thing?"
"No. But he's also kind of a pendejo arrogante, Granddad." As I say it, though, I flash back to him at Grace Church and my face flames. He wasn't that way at all, then.
"I'm shocked at your language!" Henry laughs.
"Um…you taught me my language, G! That word in particular," I mock protest, hoping he won't notice the blush that crept up my face a moment ago.
"I know, much to the dismay of your grandmother." He pauses, sobering up a bit. He looks so wistful for a moment and I know he's thinking of Rosamunde. "Plus, words like pendejo, contravened her Rule."
It was my grandmother's Rule—with a capital R—that we were allowed to talk about how someone acted or what they did, but we weren't allowed to apply derogatory names to them. So we could say someone was acting arrogantly, but not that were an arrogant jackass. This Rule was imposed after she began working in earnest with women and children's organizations and saw just how much derogatory names tended to objectify people—women, especially. She bristled when she heard someone saying something like, "That whore!" and would correct them immediately, no matter who they were. She worked with a lot of prostituted women. But never prostitutes and certainly never whores. That distinction was very important to her. She would always say to us, "Watch where the noun is." Because the important thing—the noun—was that the people she worked with were women and children, no matter what they had to do to survive. When Grandfather and I wanted to use words that violated her Rule—affectionate nicknames were exempted, of course—we switched to a language that she didn't speak, like Spanish. Hence, pendejo. Because sometimes you just need to call someone a jackass.
"Grandmother was very special, wasn't she?" I say. "I miss her, too, G. A million times a day."
"I know, Little Bird. I know. And I also know that neither of us would be half the people we are without her keeping us in line and teaching us." Now he reaches over to grasp my arm and we feel the loss of her together. "But getting back to the matter at hand, we can learn from our experiences. Whatever the circumstances, you can always choose how you want to be, even in the midst of something that upsets you. You can choose how you want to be as you let others be what they are. Because no one is a pendejo on purpose."
"How did you get to be so wise, O.G.?"
"Can I let you in on a little secret?"
"Yes. You shouldn't keep any secrets from me!"
His eyes twinkle. "That, my lovely grandchild, I cannot promise. An old man needs some secrets, just like blushing teenage girls do." Yeah, he noticed alright.
"I won't be a teenager anymore in a few weeks, you know," I mutter, which makes me sound exactly like a teenager. "So…you were saying…a secret?"
"Yes. This secret, I will tell you. And it is that I learned by making mistakes all the time. By being a pendejo arrogante myself occasionally. By embarrassing myself too many times to count. And learning from it all. Now let's go get you some coffee downstairs—you look as if you could use a gallon of it—and I'll tell you about the time that I was more embarrassed than I've ever been before or since. It led to every single good thing in my life."
This was when Henry met Rosamunde. "I might possibly have heard this story a time or two."
"And you will hear it again a time or two. But do you mind wheeling me? Shad and his cohorts must think I'm an Olympic athlete for all the work they put me through this morning."
I get up to go check out a wheelchair from the front desk. Before I leave, Granddad says, "I forgot to tell you earlier. That whole 'at least buy me dinner first'? That was a great line!"