After a two hour and fifteen minute ferry ride, John and I drove his van off of the ferry named Nantucket and headed toward the house. I think that’s the first time I’ve referred to the house generically. Even though it was my house (well, Citibank owned half), I had always called it my Dad’s house. And, considering the way things went, it was never really my house and ended up going back into the sea of available properties on Nantucket.
As we drove off the ferry, I said to John, “Drive straight out of here, and then we’re going to go straight up this road.” I was totally stumped when I saw the “Do Not Enter” sign where we were supposed to "go straight up this road." I said, “Oh, jeez. We can’t get there from here.” It was like the last time I was on the island; I would have to find another way home, which seemed ironic as I sat there jostling in the passenger seat of John’s van.
Even when my Dad was living at "the house" in Nantucket, I was unable to go there a lot. It wasn’t that I wasn’t welcome. It was that Nantucket was a PITA (pain in the ass) to reach, even though it was only 26 miles off the coast of Massachusetts.
By car, I knew only one way to get to my Dad's house. When John took a left, where we should have been able to go straight, I said, “Um, I think we’ll have to go over the cobblestones. Sorry!” When we hit the first cobblestones, John’s van jumped, jerked, and then rattled. I said, “Thank God I don’t have to pee right now,” and John laughed.
After a 10-minute kidney jostling ride, we found our way to my Dad’s house. We pulled in the driveway, and I immediately saw the moss on the roof, the rot on the boards outside the family room windows, and then I pondered if I even wanted to go in. It seemed that the exterior had already set the tone for the interior.
Nevertheless, I climbed out the door of John's van. It was good to see her, though I immediately wanted to wrap her in a huge Hello Kitty band-aid and rock her in my arms. I could feel her pain. I could see her wince when I stepped on the porch stairs and I could hear her cry when I opened the door, yet she reached out to hold me knowing we might comfort eachother one last time.
The deadbolt had been unlocked (see “Wicked Witch of the West” realtor), and I opened the door. I walked in, and I smelled her. She always had this distinctive smell; she wasn’t Chanel No. 5 like my grandmother nor was she Jean Nate or Emeraude like my Mom.
I couldn’t describe her scent. She was wise, she was worn, but she smelled so comforting. I breathed in, and I didn’t want to breath out.
Like Dorothy in Munchkinland, I was greeted but not by munchins. I was greeted by small piles of swept-up dirt on the floor. Not recognizing where I was after landing in a big white van on top of this island, I began to search for life.
In the bedroom next to the bathroom, I saw this….
She said, “Jean, life goes like this. It’s somewhat crazy, it’s really crazy, and then it all goes normal again.” I looked at the shade for a long time. I decided she was right.
I then looked to the right, and I saw this…
She said, “Jean, things break. Sometimes you can fix them. Sometimes you can’t. And if you can’t, don’t feel badly about it, just move on, girl.”
I left that bedroom, hoping to find a room that hadn’t been bruised or sprained. I was worried because I only had two Hello Kitty band-aids left in my purse. I then entered the family room, and I saw this…
She said, “Jean, I’m coming apart. You can’t fix me. I know you want to, but you know you can’t. I understand that and I love you for loving me, but you need to let me go…to someone else.”
I turned around, and then I saw this…
Before she spoke, I got angry. I couldn’t believe that a vine had made its way inside her. And before I could speak, she said, “I know you care. Above all, I know you will always care the most. They (see the evil apple trees) care, not like you, but they care and can and will make me feel better.”
I walked up the stairs from the family room and entered the living room. The sun shined brightly through the window. Then, I walked outside to see if John needed my help; actually, I knew John didn’t need any help. I knew I might need help from John to go back in again.
As I stood on the porch, I looked at the door…
She then said, “Remember this.” I asked, “Why?” She said, “I’m going to a better place and you are, too.”
I took a deep breath and walked back into the house. There was so much nothing where there had once been so much something. She said, “You of all people know that when the Lord closes a door, somewhere He opens a window.”
She was right. I would always love her. But, we were better not being together even if we wanted to be. ♥
1 comment:
I have several great memories of the house, but one I'll share is this....Jack and I had arrived for a week of vacation and decided to walk down to the Rose and Crown for lunch/drinks. Several hours later we made our way back to the house. I was kind of, well let's be real, drunk. Anyway, I went up to bed, and it was about 6:30 PM. Pops said to Jack..."I thought she was Irish"...
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