oliver_jerzyck (oliver_jerzyck) wrote in city_limits, @ 2009-04-09 18:09:00 |
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Current mood: | sad |
Entry tags: | oliver jerzyck |
Come to Grief
When Oliver was a child, he and his grandmother would take long walks together, both on the grounds of the Jerzyck estate and on the afternoons when she would window shop in Augusta. He could still remember the noise her bracelet made as she held her arm out to him, the way her wedding rings felt against his fingers as their steps took them down the sidewalks in town. Sometimes she would buy him candy, the sour kind she kept in a bowl in what she called her library, a place of comfortable furniture and soft colors where a small boy could read and drink the tea she poured for him from a silver pot she'd gotten from her mother as a bridal gift. She was the only one who'd ever held his hand.
Now as a man, the spellcaster was holding Amelia's hand again, only this time her bracelet was in the nightstand drawer and her wedding rings no longer fit. He could feel the way the gold band wobbled back and forth on her ring finger as he clasped the birdlike palm between his hands as if to keep it warm. The skin guarding her knuckles was papery, almost translucent. He could see the veins beneath it. He had been in college when Nathe died, had arrived in time for the funeral and had attended as a matter of course. He wasn't going to miss Amelia's passing. He wasn't sure if he felt relieved at that or not.
"Your grandfather had the finest smile," the old woman was saying, and Oliver nodded attentively. She'd been telling him stories for days now, stories of her girlhood, her life with her parents before her marriage, being a young bride married to a devoted husband. His soul burned from it, as if he were being infused with so much past happiness that he would literally explode from it. Even hearing about Saul's birth had filled him with a strange elation, reliving it through her eyes as though he'd been there. "I shall...I shall be glad to see it again."
She sighed softly, and Oliver said nothing. He'd stopped arguing with her when she spoke of the end by now, because they both knew it was coming. She had known it when she summoned him from Chicago, and the tales she'd been telling him were a balm on the incipient loss. If he could take these things away with him, wrap them around his heart, it would brace him up. "Are you thirsty?" There was a pitcher of ice water on the table, cubes melting slowly in the room temperature confines. He'd drunk so many cups of the filtered stuff over the past week that he felt as if he'd never manage a full glass of it again.
"My throat is very dry," Amelia agreed, and he rose from the chair to fill two plastic tumblers with clear, cold liquid. His hands already missed the small obstruction between them. Some drops sprinkled onto the table when a cube landed in the glass with too much force, and he fastidiously wiped them up before returning to his grandmother's bedside. He held the cup to her lips so she could drink, supporting her head carefully, then eased her back down against the pillow. Reclaiming his seat, he held his glass briefly, then set it aside so he could take her hand again.
"You were the handsomest baby," she murmured, and he offered her a tremulous smile. "I saw you two days after you were born, that shock of black hair, little fists waving in the air as if you were trying to fight the world. "Your father couldn't stop crying, he was so..." Her voice trailed into nothingness, and as her faded brown eyes slipped shut he felt a stab of alarm. Not yet. He looked at the call button that would summon the night nurse, but before he could reach for it she was opening her eyes again to focus on him hazily.
"Handsome baby. Handsome Oliver." The pain medication she'd been on was making her voice slur, but he understood her. The doctor had tentatively suggested a hospital, but they'd both over-ridden him. She'd wanted to be with the last of her family when the time came, not in some sterile room hooked up to a bunch of machines. Her husband had gone with dignity, and she would do the same.
"He loved you. Your father. Saul, he loved you. Your mother made things impossible, but you should never...doubt how he felt." She was talking very fast right up until the end of the sentence, when she stopped and had to take a deep breath. Oliver looked down at their clasped hands. "I know," he said with a nod. "I know that he l-l-l-loved me." He mustn't upset her, not now. Accepting her words at face value might smooth her path.
Clearly lost in a memory of a different time, a different man, Amelia held tight to her grandson's hand. The gold of her wedding band glinted dully under the light. His stomach was a ball of dread and pain. She had always been religious, attending church every Sunday rain or shine. If there was a Heaven, the gates had better be opening to welcome her inside. He bowed his head, his too-long hair brushing over their hands where they were clasped.
"I'm very tired, Nathe." Clear as a bell, the way she said it, and something broke inside him. Not yet, please, not yet. Don't take her from me. But his voice was steady when he spoke, giving no hint of his own turmoil. "I know you are, Amelia. You can sleep soon." If she wanted Nathe, she could have him, if only for this moment. He could do that much for her. "I'm waiting for you."
"Oliver?"
He didn't lift his head immediately, was trying to compose his face into something attentive, because if he looked at her now he'd fall to pieces right in front of her and he must not upset her. She'd been kind to him, always had, loved him better than his own mother had ever tried to. When he felt like he wouldn't shatter, he looked back at her pale, weary face.
She was looking at him with a fixed brown stare, eyes half-open. Her mouth was also open as if she intended to speak, but after a long moment Oliver realized that whatever she'd been going to say, he would never hear it. Her fingers had gone slack within his. He could feel the diamond in her ring pressing into his palm. His chin quivered. If he looked long enough, would he see her soul flying away, waving farewell to him as it passed into the ether? Would Nathe and his fine smile be waiting to greet her?
He closed her eyes, then her mouth. She was a lady, and she was damned well going to be presented as one. He could feel a howl rattling around inside his ribcage, a revenant waiting to be let out. He folded her hands together, placed them on her chest. Wiped his cheeks, found them wet. "Amelia. Grandmother." He wanted a drink. A lot of drinks.
"I love you."