Laura Miller - By Way of Accident

I take her letter and fold it back into the envelope it came in and then I push it down into my jeans pocket for safe keepin’ and head down the path to my grandpa’s.

I’ll wait for her next letter and her new address. And in the meantime, I’ll save up for a train ticket — just in case her next stop isn’t here.

A smile pushes its way to my face, and a happy sigh trails. But I wouldn’t be so happy if I knew what events were about to follow — or how long it would be before I’d hear from that sweet girl again.

“Grandpa.” I make my way into the old farm house. “I fed the cows.”

He’s not in the kitchen, so I walk through the little room past an old brick chimney and to the living room. He doesn’t get around too well most days, so I know he’s around here somewhere.

I turn the corner and find him in his old chair, starin’ out the window. It’s gettin’ late and startin’ to turn black outside, so I wonder what he could be starin’ at.

He looks smaller somehow. I always saw him as the biggest, strongest guy I knew — even more so than my dad. And even when I got just as tall as he was, he still looked like a giant to me. But now, in these last few days, he looks as if he’s made a decision to take up less room all of a sudden. He always used to get on me for kickin’ off my shoes and sprawlin’ out my arms and legs. He’d say I was takin’ up too much space on this earth. I wonder for a second if he decided he was doin’ the same thing and went about fixin’ it.

“There’s nothin’ like gettin’ old.”

His voice snaps me out of my thought.

“There’s no trainin’ for old age, son,” he goes on, shakin’ his head. “But I guess every path has its puddles.”

He doesn’t move his eyes from the window. I watch him for another second. Then I make my way into the room. In the corner, there’s always been a chair pulled up to a small desk with a little rotary phone sittin’ on top of it. It was my grandma’s desk. Sometimes she’d spend hours talkin’ to her friends in that little wooden chair. The desk is next to my grandpa’s recliner. And that old thing is covered in red vinyl, and even though it’s not, you’d think it were the oldest piece of furniture in the house. And while it’s not the most attractive lookin’ thing, it is one of my grandpa’s favorite earthly possessions — right up there with that dang old leather cap.

I slide Grandma’s chair out from under the desk and pull it until it’s next to Grandpa’s recliner. He’s quiet as I settle in. And within no time, we’re both starin’ out that window and into the black Missouri night on the other side of it.

“Son, have I ever told you the story of how I met your grandmother?”

I take my eyes off the window to look at him. But his eyes remain on the sky outside. And I just shake my head.

“We were both young,” he goes on. “About your age.” His voice is faint, but it’s still got that grumble to it that it’s always had. “And we didn’t know anything about anything. But son…” He stops and turns his face toward me for the first time tonight. “We knew we loved each other. Don’t ask me how we knew because I couldn’t tell ya.” He shakes his head once and then stops to take a labored breath. “We just knew.”

He seems to drift off to somewhere for a few seconds before he comes back. I just stay quiet and let him talk. I’m pretty sure I’ve never heard my grandpa tell me anything that might be mistaken for a love story. So I wouldn’t know what to say anyway.

“Her daddy owned a general store right up the road.” He raises his arm a little to point toward the window. And I think he notices the question on my face.

“Oh, yeah, there used to be a store out by that old shed. They sold flour, sugar, maple syrup, honey…things like that — things you couldn’t make very easily on your own. Her daddy closed the shop way before you were born, but that’s where I met your grandma.”

He stops, and I notice the corner of his mouth lift ever so slightly. “She was a fiery, little girl — hated me at first. But your old grandpa wore her down eventually. And by the time we were both sixteen, we were goin’ steady.”

I try not to laugh at his old use of words. He must notice.

“Oh, what do you youngin’s call it now? Datin’? Hangin’ together? I don’t know.”

I laugh but stay quiet otherwise.

“Anyway, I just want you to remember somethin’, son. Can you do that for me? One last thing for your old grandpa?”

Somethin’ stabs me right in the heart at his mention of the word last , and I think he notices that too.

“Oh, son, don’t let that get ya down. Death is a part of livin’. It comes to us all.” He takes a sharp intake of breath. “And when you get old like me, it’s not such a scary thing, especially when you’ve got no unfinished business down here and you’ve got somebody waitin’ for ya up there.” He gestures with his eyes toward the ceiling.

I try to smile, but it just doesn’t feel right.

“Oh, and son, don’t let them bury me with this cap.”

My eyes lift to the leather cap on his head.

“I’ve gotta look my best for Grandma,” he says.

Somethin’ stings the back of my eyelids, but I refuse to act like a baby in front of Grandpa, so I push it back as best I can.

“You hear me, son?”

I don’t like what he’s sayin’. I don’t want him thinkin’ about this stuff, but I dutifully nod my head anyway.

“Now, you’ve gotta remember somethin’ else for me, son.”

I nod again. “Okay, Grandpa.” My voice is shallow and broken; it sounds like somebody just punched me in the gut.

He clears his throat and swallows before he goes on. “Just remember, the single most important thing in this world is love.”

I’m so still I could probably pass as one of those wax dummies they make into famous people. I’ve never really heard my grandpa say that word before, much less tell me that it’s the secret to life.

“You find it, you fight for it. Don’t be like all these other knuckle heads runnin’ around who think money or playin’ all your life is gonna make ya happy. Don’t be like your Uncle Joe.” He gives me a stern look. I just nod.

“And don’t think the fight stops once you got her either. You’ve gotta fight for her every day. You hear me, son?”

I swallow and nod.

“Every day, act like you’re still tryin’ to get her to smile at you from behind the counter of her daddy’s store.” His eyes drift back to the night sky outside the window for a moment before returning to mine. “Act like you’re still tryin’ to get her gray eyes to turn your way down by that old creek.” He pauses, and my eyes grow wide as I suddenly sit up a little straighter. Is he talkin’ about Brooke?

“You hear me, son?” he asks in his stern voice again.

He’s gotta be talkin’ about Brooke. I always wondered what he knew.

“Yes,” I say, nodding my head. “I hear ya, Grandpa.”

“Now, son…” He shifts in the old chair. “Tell me about your unfinished business. Tell me about Brooke.”

I’m a little caught off guard. I didn’t even know he remembered her name. And I’m not really accustomed to talkin’ to Grandpa — or anybody, for that matter — about anything more than work or the weather. And I sure as hell ain’t accustomed to talkin’ about a girl. I refit my cap over my head. “Well, what do you wanna know?”

“Start from the beginning.”

“The beginning?” I ask.

“Son, I’ve got the time.”

I slowly nod my head once. “O-kay.”

I breathe in and then out, and then I start by tellin’ him about how I just wanted to cool off at the creek, how it was one of those hot June days over the summer when we were balin’ hay. I tell him how she just happened to be there — how her family was rentin’ Mrs. Catcher’s old place. And I tell him how she came back the next day and asked if she could bale hay. He chuckles softly when I mention that. And I laugh to myself too. Then I tell him how her daddy had to move her away from here and how we write letters back and forth. I tell him how she’s gonna move again soon and about my plans to go see her. He just nods his head. Usually that means he approves. I smile and keep goin’.