What We Take Away

Chapter 8 | Aram

September 25th, 2005

Grandfather coughs suddenly, a dry and wretched sound. Mother rushes to his side with a glass of water.

"Drink, Clem," her voice is soft and gentle. He reaches for the glass with a large, vein-mottled hand.

Mother peers at Grandfather through long, dark lashes. Slim and tall, my mother is the pinnacle of beauty with her olive toned skin and thick, black curls. Mother's grandparents arrived on American soil from Armenia along with the first wave of immigrants wanting to flee genocide. 

With my dark eyelashes and deep blue eyes, I look like Mother. But my wheat-colored hair and physical stature are from Father, who is short and round and bland. Father sits next to me, a silent and bland boulder.

"Can I get you anything else? Do you need your medicine?" Mother asks.

"Ah, don't fuss over me, Lydia," Grandfather gives her a watery smile.

Mother flushes and begins to busy herself at the sink.

"She reminds me of your Gran, you know," Grandfather says, his voice wistful and sad.

Gran passed a year ago, after which Grandfather came to live with us. According to Grandfather, he and Gran had a timeless romance that spanned nearly sixty years. In all the pictures I've seen of my grandparents, their love is apparent. I see it in the way Grandfather clutches Gran's narrow waist, which is dainty and trim even after birthing five children. And I see it in the way Gran looks adoringly into Grandfather's eyes, like he is the sun. My parents hardly ever show affection towards one another, and when they do their expressions are modest and minimal.

"Oh, tell us about you and Gran again, please?"

My younger sister Arielle drops into the empty seat to my right. Arielle is lean and tall like Mother, with light brown curls that she wears in a ponytail. She and I share the same blue eyes – the only evidence we are related – but beyond that, our similarities end. A freshman this year at Copper Hill, Arielle has all the eagerness and naiveté of a puppy; nearly everything about college excites her. I try not to roll my eyes at her enthusiasm but it's difficult now that I'm in my fourth and final year at this stupid school.

Grandfather shifts in his chair. His eyes are bright with memory.

"Anything for you, my treasure. You already know I met Jennie when I was eighteen," his face changes as he says Gran's name. He's softer, younger. "Of all the ladies dancing that night, your Gran had the lightest feet. I can still hear her laugh. The moment I saw her, I knew... she'd be the only one for me."

"Jennie and I were smitten. For three months, I wooed her with letters until I finally asked her to marry me. We married in a little stone church and took our vows before God. It was the best day of my life. Your uncle Jack was born the next year. Uncle Richard came not nine months after Jack. Then your aunts Sandra and Mary, and then of course your father Paul. And when your father brought your mother home to meet us for the first time, he had the same look in his eye," he chuckles. "My Jennie... she was the love of my life."

"There's no one like Gran," Arielle sighs.

I nod, recalling her as the bright, energetic woman from my childhood. Gran's health had been in decline for the past decade, and it was a bittersweet affair when she finally passed.

Grandfather takes a handkerchief from his shirt pocket and wipes his thick glasses.

"There's nothing more important than duty and love. Your Gran remained faithful and true through our hardest years. I was working long hours at the firm, and she stayed home to raise our children. It's my wish to see the two of you find such a love before I die," he smiles at both of us.