I used to steal 20s from your
purse.
I’d stuff them in that box you’re
in if it’d make you rise from that dirt.
You used to hang your purse in
the closet we shared as a youngin.
I locked the door one day and my
curious self went through it.
I checked out your wallet and I
was amazed. The way you organized every bill, everything facing one way.
Straight with no creases in them. The
way you wrapped your ones in increments of ten. So OCD like, like you’d know if someone went
through it.
But my trouble maker self took a
20 anyways.
I never had the intentions of
stealing money from you to spend it. Inevitably that’s what happened. But I did
it because I liked the idea of having money in my pocket. Boss status.
It started with one 20 and lead
to another and another and another where I can’t even remember how much I took
from you.
I realized you figured someone
had sticky fingers because you eventually moved your bag.
I never shared this with a soul.
Because I was never proud of it. Even when kids talked about stealing bills
from their parents or grandparents I always told them they were crazy. Little
did they know…
After you died I ransacked your
bedroom. Looking through everything you left behind. Looking for the letter you
were suppose to leave me. Like in the movies. A letter telling me you’ll always
be there for me. I never found it. But I still ransack your room thinking
you’re just playing hide and seek with me and you were a god damn good hider.
In your closet now hangs one of
those reusable bags. When you died we added your purse into that box with you.
We had to empty out your bag though because damn, you kept soo many unnecessary
things. Inside that reusable bag are items that didn’t make the cut; two
bottles of Ensure, an endless supply of nail cutters, two rosaries, bank
statements, a wallet, etc.
You know I had to go through that
wallet right? Well I did. I remember you kept two wallets in your purse. This
wallet you never used. When I first went through it, nothing much was in it.
There was your pacemaker identification card, one on the boys concert stub and
two studio pictures, one of josh and Jeremy when they were babies and the
family picture we took back in ’03.
That reusable bag stayed hanging
in your closet and I rarely touched it because there was nothing in it (so I
thought) that needed ransacking every time I went through an episode.
When this year started I decided
that one of the things I was going to change was I was gonna stop locking you
up in your room. I used to keep your door locked because the idea of your door
open always tripped me out when I would come home really shit faced. Like you
were still around and I had to quietly find my bedroom without making too much
noise.
So I ransacked your room again,
cleaning and rearranging. That reusable
bag that hangs in your closet was calling me one day so I grabbed it. I
chuckled again at the memory of these item are the shits you kept in your bag.
I picked up that wallet you never
used. It was a gold plastic type LV wallet screaming FAKE. Inside were the same
items, your pacemaker identification card, the concert stub and the two studio
photos. Just before I was about to shut it close and put it back into that
reusable bag to hang back in your closet I see something, that I swear wasn’t
there before.
You surprised me with four 20
dollar bills.
I stopped playing hide and seek
after that. I found that letter.I know you’ll always be here, for me.
[I started this piece on March 1st hoping I'd finish this by March 16 in time for my grandma's 2 year death anniversary. But I found it difficult to finish this to where I felt comfortable posting it online. In all honesty I had to rewrite this a couple times.]
Happy Anniversary, grandma.
