GRIT (The Silver Nitrate Series Book 2) (17 page)

A
few feet
away from Zenith, Larry stood in the semi-darkness with a trickle of blood winding its way down from his right nostril. Sparks flew around him, a frame of frantic fire lighting up his form every now and again as he held his lower back and winced, sighing in agony.

Zenith could almost smell the dirt smeared all over the guy’s pores and the layers of longstanding perspiration trapped beneath the thick material of his tawny uniform. He suspected Larry had developed a case of arc eye some years past, and his vision had become compromised. No one has an accident like that; it was a rookie mistake. The man had lifted his helmet while working and sparks flew in his face, barely missing his skin. Larry stated he hadn’t seen what was happening… that it took him by surprise. Maybe it did, or maybe age and time had done a number on him, and things just weren’t what they used to be. In that instant, a sea of antipathy rose inside him, flooding him with crashing waves of resentment.

I don’t want to be sixty years old killing myself with this work. Larry was right that time. Look how it breaks you down; just look at him. He wanted to warn me before, told me to beware and turn my life around while I still could. He can barely stand up straight. I want to get married. I think I want a kid or two, too. I want to be able to play with my children, not feel too sore to even move. I don’t mind hard work, never have, but this might just be too much. What am I going to do?

He figured he couldn’t miss what he’d never had—but he’d had a taste of fame, albeit fleeting, and he’d savored it, knowing it had just been the tip of the iceberg. But it was too late… He accepted his fate, packed his dreams away, made disappointment his reality. No one was to blame, so why even go there?

He flipped his welding helmet back down as the ultra violet light and fiery sparks lit up the darkness once again. It was the fourth of July without the confetti, celebration, and colorful costume parade.

I’m only good at two things: welding and drumming. I love them both, but one will kill me, and the other will give me life…

“Shouldn’t you be
in bed?” Zenith tossed a piece of buttery, salted popcorn in his mouth after setting his drumsticks neatly in a crisscross fashion across the rack-toms. Paw didn’t respond to his question, only lingered in the doorway of the guest bedroom, his shadow mightier than his bite.

“You’re quiet? What gives?” He tossed another piece of popcorn in his mouth and chewed noisily. “You know what I just thought about?” He went to stand before the old man. “I turned my guest bedroom into my drum room, just as you had, Paw, at my age. Isn’t that somethin’?” He grinned.

The old timer simply smiled at him, still quiet, still somewhere far away. Paw’s eyes danced ever so slightly, like stars shining on the world from his face.

“Where… where am I?” he asked softly.

Zenith took a deep breath and stared at him for a moment. He caressed his grandfather’s face, feeling the slight silvery stubble.

“You’re home.”

Paw looked around the place, as if not quite convinced.

“This doesn’t look like my home,” he murmured.

“I know; you just moved here not too long ago.” Zenith placed his hand on Paw’s shoulder and gently led him out towards the living room. When he flipped the switch, a warm glow filled the small, quaint space. He helped him sit down, and placed a black and cream damask print blanket over his legs.

“Degan, you have to stop writing threatening letters to City Hall!” the old man shouted, pointing at him.

“You’re my grandfather… I’m not Degan, Paw.” Zenith shook his head. “Degan is my father. Degan is gone… It’s me, Zenith,” he said in a hushed tone. “But, you always call me Zen.”

The old man looked downright astonished, shocked out of his crazed, feeble mind. He slowly turned away and withdrew into himself.

This time, Zenith wasn’t angry about Paw’s forgetfulness. This time, he accepted things for what they were. Precious piece by tiny, disjointed piece of Paw was vanishing. Memories wrapped in vibrant images faded into sepia tones. These episodes were becoming more and more frequent, too; it was the nature of the beast. He imagined Paw’s brain being like a labyrinth. How frustrated the man must’ve been, for he’d walked inside of a mental maze, but the way back out was constantly changing, evaporating, or never existed to begin with.

“Your name is Hiawatha, but I call you Paw… and you are a brilliant man.” Paw looked up at him and smiled ever so faintly. “You have a wife named Osha, and two sons, Len and Degan.” Zenith leaned slightly forward and folded his hands along his knees. “Your daughter-in-law’s name is Talise, she’s Canadian Iroquois, and you like her family. Len has two children with his ex-wife, and Degan and Talise have me. You have three grandchildren in total, and four great-grandchildren. You lived in a nice, older home on Pearl Street for over forty years. You complained about high taxes in Syracuse for all of my life, at least once a week. You had a dog named Kingdom and a pet snake named Worm. Your marriage to Osha was, as you stated, the best time of your life. Tell me about my grandmother, Paw. Tell me about Osha.”

Paw looked at him for a moment or two, and burst out laughing in a high-pitched squeal, reminding him of a happy pig thrashing about in a pit of cool mud. He couldn’t help but crack up, for he’d never heard a laugh such as that come out of the man. It was as if he’d touched a magic button when he asked to hear about Mawmaw, and Paw was tickled nearly to death to have the opportunity.

“Osha was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen!” He waved his large hand around as he opened the first chapter of his book of love. “I was performing at a wedding. At the nuptial ceremony, they did the stick dance. I was playing the drums for the entire ritual. I saw her from across the room and she was smoking a cigarette and dancing with her friends…”

Zenith’s mouth went suddenly dry. He absently touched the arms of the loveseat, feeling the material below his now sweaty palms.

…He did NOT just say what I think he said…

“She had long hair. Degan, your mother’s hair was so black and long, it looked like the middle of the night right there in the middle of the day!” He didn’t stop to correct Paw, to remind him he wasn’t Degan. Paw had fallen smack dab into a living daydream, and there was no harm in allowing him to be in the world that made him feel the most at peace. If that domain was tattered and torn from the past, so be it. He held it tightly all the same. “She had such beautiful hair… the texture much like yours.” He pointed at him and gave a thoughtful nod. “Her lips looked like pink tulips, her eyes sparkled with irresistible mischief and she had a figure that floored me… all those curves.” A rascally grin creased his face as he moved his hands around, tracing an invisible hourglass. “I had to have her. So,” the old man snickered, “I decided to show off a little. I started to beat those drums with far more gusto, really give her a show.”

Zenith became slightly lightheaded as the declarations continued to unfold. He’d never heard this version of the story before. In years past, he was simply told that he and Mawmaw met at a friend’s wedding, end of story… Now, there was so much more he’d missed,
so
much more…

“Degan, it was my way of trying to get her attention and keep it. I got standing ovations!” He raised his arms in the air as if reliving the moment. “I approached her, sure of myself after such a gesture. I was certain she’d let me take her out then, after such a stellar performance. I even did the Smoke Dance, and I hated dancing—but, instead of being impressed, she just laughed. I was heartbroken, Degan. Some people don’t believe in love at first sight, but that’s what this was for me. I decided to ask some people about her, and I found out her name was Osha. Osha, your mother, was a beautiful but strange woman, Degan.” The man’s tone grew serious. He solemnly shook his head. “For instance, I found out on our first date that she didn’t like flowers. What woman doesn’t like flowers? She said it was wrong to pick them, because it was a waste; their lives ended for nothing.

“She smoked, but oddly enough, she never smelled of tobacco. She also cursed. Never in mixed company, but your mother could really let someone have it if she felt disrespected. Nevertheless, she was quite funny, and smart, too. She’d gone to college, the only girl to go from her family. I thought I’d blown our first date, and wouldn’t get another from the way things were going. She barely talked to me… seemed bored with me, honestly. I wasn’t rich, I wasn’t a smooth talker, but I was strong, hard working, and respected. I read her wrong, though… She liked me a whole lot.”

Zenith couldn’t get over the way Paw’s eyes lit up—how clearly he was speaking, his thoughts and words sound and succinct. He hadn’t heard the man speak this way in months, perhaps a year or more.

“See, Osha was considering whether she’d see me again. That’s why she was so quiet. She decided she would. We became inseparable. She knew how to play chess, too. My favorite game! She was funny…so funny. A dirty sense of humor, like mine… but we kept that private.” The man’s expression changed to one of reflection but only briefly. “She was a bombshell, giving and loving.

“Osha was a free bird, the kind of woman you just couldn’t completely understand, or keep caged up. I’m a traditional man.” He touched his chest as he spoke in earnest. “Osha was not a traditional young woman. Most men couldn’t handle her.” He now puffed his chest out with pride. “But I could.” His eyes narrowed. “And that’s what she liked… that I didn’t back down when she’d do what she’d do. That I’d put her in her place, but still not disrespect her. That woman was my best friend! I miss her each and every day.” A tear streamed down Paw’s face. “Osha was my everything… We had a family together; we had love, commitment. We never lied to one another, always cared for each other. Degan, I know you love Talise. Why do you ask me about your mother now? Are you afraid of losing Talise?”

Zenith’s scrambled to figure out how to respond to such a question. He tossed around the notion of once again correcting Paw, forcing him out of his fantastical musings. Then, he contemplated playing along, trying to imagine what his father would say. He leaned back onto the loveseat, propped a pillow behind his head, and crossed his legs, looking aimlessly towards a window with drawn, chocolate brown curtains.

“Yes, I’m afraid of losing her again.”

“But she loves you… What have you done?”

“I’ve done nothing. I know that she loves me.” Zenith’s gut churned and turned as he pretended to be his father. He wasn’t an actor, though he
was
an entertainer, although nothing connected to music was taking place. The two situations were like apples and oranges. He suddenly felt a bit guilty at his lack of honesty.

“Paw, I’m not—”

“Degan, if you love that woman, you must tell her. Good women are not always easy to find.” He shook his finger in his direction. “She’s put up with you. She deserves honesty and faithfulness. I know that you love her, so show it.”

Both men sat there staring at one another for a long while. When Zenith checked, a full five minutes had passed. Rooted to his seat, he was unable to move, unable to blink or breathe.

“Paw…” he said softly.

The man blinked several times, as if coming out of a dream. He then slowly lay down on the couch, crossed his arms over his chest, and looked up at the ceiling. After a few moments, he said, “Yes, Zen?”

“I met my Osha…”

Paw kept staring up at the ceiling, quiet for quite a while.

“You have? I take it is the young lady you brought to the house many times?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t remember her name, but I remember her face.”

“I remember her name, and can’t forget her face… Describe to me what you remember of her.”

“Her skin is completely blemish free, not one pock or pimple. She is the color of rich earth. Her hair is different every time I see her, but always thick and tightly coiled. Her cheekbones sit high like yours. Her teeth are white like fresh milk. The crown of her head comes to your chest; she’s somewhat tall for a woman. Her voice has a slight rasp, her hands are small, but her fingers long. She has large breasts for her frame. I like her breasts most.”