Authors: Lauren Shelton
“That’s good,
sweetie,
I’m
glad.” Gertrude’s grandmother smiled and pushed open the sliding glass door
that led into the family room.
Gertrude walked straight through the small, warm
⎯
but slightly outdated ⎯ family room and into the kitchen
on the opposite side of the room, sitting down at the
square, fifties styled kitchen table. The motif of the kitchen had always reminded her of an old diner⎯ sparkling
chrome fixtures and yellow walls ⎯ with its retro appliances, painted to match one another. The floor was a
checkered black and white tiled pattern that looked to
Gertrude like it was slowly becoming a black and cream
tinted floor.
Shortly after Gertrude took a seat at the table, her
grandmother was making her way into the kitchen. Gertrude slightly turned around in her chair to watch her as
she walked over to the kitchen sink, grabbing a clear glass
from the cabinet above it as she turned on the faucet.
When
Maggie
had
turned
off
the
water,
Gertrude
quickly turned back around, and looked at the small
squared table full of colorful, overflowing plates. Maggie
loved cooking, and her granddaughter was thankful ⎯
the woman was good at it. Each item on the table had
their own decorative platter; green beans, mashed potatoes, grilled steaks, and a very creamy, dark brown gravy
that sat in a small bowl with a spoon. Gertrude quickly
noticed as she sat down that her grandmother had already dished up everyone’s plates, everything perfectly
portioned on each one.
Gertrude quickly ate her steamed green beans and
fluffy mashed potatoes, leaving hardly any time to breath
between bites, saving the steak for last. She didn’t have
the heart to tell her grandma that she hadn’t touched
meat since last year. So, there it sat on the plate in front
of her, staring up at her.
Without making a big scene about it, Gertrude quietly
rose from her chair ⎯ suddenly startled when she heard
the sound of the chair squeaking as it was pushed across
the tiled floor ⎯ and walked to the counter with the
grilled steak on her plate. She hurriedly grabbed a Ziploc
baggy out of the drawer by the sink, slid the steak inside
it, zipped it shut, and set it gently on the second shelf in
the fridge.
Someone else can eat it if they get hungry later.
“I’ll be in the guest room,” Gertrude said to her grandparents, sitting at the table still chewing their food quietly, as she shut the refrigerator door and began walking
out of the kitchen.
“I think you can call it
your
room now. After all, you’ve
been living here for two weeks now,” Her grandfather
said. When he finished speaking, he looked at Maggie,
and then shoved another forkful of mashed potatoes into
his
mouth.
Maggie
looked over
her
shoulder
at
her
granddaughter, but remained silent.
“Goodnight,” Gertrude said back at them, ignoring the
comment her grandpa had made. Even though it was
technically
her
room now, it still felt temporary. It wasn’t
her
old
room. It didn’t have all of
her
things in it ⎯ just
her clothes, and a few pictures⎯ and it made her feel as
though she were only on vacation.
The walls in the room were stark white, reminding
Gertrude of a hospital room. The carpet was a tan color,
but hardly showed any signs of use. The full-sized bed
jutted out from the center of the wall furthest from the
door. It had a flower-covered comforter on it, with matching sheets. There was an antique dresser opposite the
bed, and just to the side of the bed was a matching
nightstand. In the corner was a full-length, ornately decorated, possibly hand-carved, mirror facing the door.
Gertrude walked into the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. She jumped, grabbing at her heart, as she
caught a glimpse of her own frightened reflection staring
back at her. She still wasn’t used to the mirror, but moving it took motivation she didn’t possess yet.
As she walked further into the rom, Gertrude grabbed
the picture of her father and the twelve-year old version
of herself off of the dresser before walking over to the
bed. As she lay there on her back above the covers, Gertrude stared up at the ceiling, clutching the picture frame
tightly against her warm chest, rubbing the edge of the
wood gently with the tip of her thumb.
The picture in the frame was the last night Gertrude
had ever seen her father. It had been taken five years ago,
in the family room of her mother’s house back in San Diego. Gertrude’s father was sitting on the couch, reading a
book, while she lay asleep on his shoulder. He had an arm
wrapped tightly around her as he stared down at the
sleeping brunette child, smiling his usual grin, with every
tooth glistening in the light from the flash of the camera.
That was the last time she could remember ever sleeping so peacefully.
When twelve-year-old Gertrude had awoken on the
couch the next morning, her father had already left for
work. She went to school that day, completely absorbed in
her preteen world, waiting for the final bell to ring so that
she could rush home and tell him all about her day. But
when Gertrude arrived home that sunny afternoon, she
knew something was off. She knew something bad had
happened when she saw the police cruiser parked in the
driveway.
She
knew
something
was
wrong
when her
mother looked at her with tear-filled, bloodshot eyes. She
knew something was wrong when the officer handed Gail
the small freezer-bag of items belonging to her father.
Gertrude knew it, but she didn’t want to see it.
Later that night, after the officers had left their house,
Gail told her daughter the tragic scene that had taken
place. While Gertrude had been at school that afternoon,
Gail’s husband had chosen to leave work early, to surprise
his daughter with an afternoon of fun. On his way to pick
her up, a tank truck, carrying nearly ten thousand gallons
of oil, had collided, head on, with the small blue pickup
truck her father drove, after running a red light.
But Gail didn’t get a chance to finish her story. Gertrude knew how it ended. She didn’t need to hear it.
Quickly, she pushed her mother’s body away from her,
and ran upstairs, shutting herself in her room, away from
the rest of the world.
As she looked up at the ceiling of her grandmother’s
house, Gertrude clutched the picture frame tighter, and
rolled over to her side. When she closed her eyes tightly, a
single salty tear rolled gently down her flushed cheek.
Later that night, Maggie came into the guest room and
covered Gertrude’s shivering body with the afghan from
the living room couch. She tried her best not to wake her
slumbering
granddaughter,
holding
her
breath
as she
carefully pulled the blanket over Gertrude’s shoulders.
She wanted to tuck her in better, like she used to when
Gertrude was younger, but she didn’t dare risk it.
The next morning, Gertrude quickly pushed the blanket off of her warm body, hopped out of the bed, and then
walked to the pink tiled bathroom just a few feet down
the hallway from the bedroom door. Quietly, she closed
the door behind her, and carefully removed the clothes
that she had been too tired to dress out of the night before.
The faucets of the tub made a slight squeaking noise as
she slowly turned them on. As she stepped into the white
basin and pulled up on the lever for the shower, she slid
the pink flowery curtain closed. The warm water instantly
melted away the previous day, leaving her with room for
the morning ahead.
It wasn’t easy washing her long auburn brown hair in
the shower. Because it was so thick, Gertrude had to
shampoo it at least twice, and use extra conditioner to
keep it from tangling. It had been almost five years since
the last time she had let anyone touch it with a pair of
scissors.
When she was finished washing her body and rinsing
out her hair, Gertrude turned the squeaky shower knobs
off, opened the curtain and grabbed a towel off the hook
on the wall. The room was steamy, and the mirror on the
medicine cabinet had been completely fogged over. Grabbing a dry hand towel from under the sink, Gertrude
quickly wiped the mirror clean and began brushing out
her wet, wavy brown locks.
When she made it back into the guestroom, she got
dressed in her usual jeans and plain white t-shirt, and
threw a maroon hooded sweatshirt over the top of it. She
then gathered her books from atop the antique dresser,
noticing her father’s picture had been placed neatly back
where it was meant to be. Gertrude then grabbed her
backpack that had been casually thrown on the floor.
Slinging one strap over her shoulder, she walked slowly
out of the room and into the kitchen.
Maggie was already sitting at the table, in her normal
spot, reading the morning paper. Gertrude stood there in
the doorway, awkwardly staring at her grandmother as
she leaned her shoulder against the wall. Gertrude still
didn’t know how to act around her grandmother, but she
was slowly starting to learn that her grandma reminded
her a lot of herself⎯ a woman of very few words.
“Good morning,” Maggie said cheerfully without removing her eyes from the article she was reading. Her
glasses sat just on the end of her nose. “Are you ready for
school?”
“Good. Then, let’s get going.” Maggie smiled back at
her, readjusting her glasses on her face. Standing from
the table, she folded the paper neatly in half, set it down,
and then walked to the white tiled counter to grab her car
keys.
Gertrude silently followed her out of the front door and
onto the rickety wooden porch. The two then continued
down the faded brick walkway to the old, white Buick
parked in the center of the narrow driveway. When Maggie had unlocked the car doors, Gertrude quickly hopped
into the front seat and buckled herself in. As the car
purred to life, she stared out of the passenger window,
remaining silent. She had practically brainwashed herself
into staying quiet in confined spaces. It was just habit for
her now.
The car ride to school was short. It was only about five
blocks to the campus, probably an easy ten-minute walk,
but Maggie had insisted on taking her granddaughter.
She didn’t see the point in letting Gertrude walk there if
she was up and ready to drive her.
Gertrude stared out of the car window, watching the
other kids on their leisurely walk to school, envying them.
I am seventeen now, so why can’t I walk to school like
them? I am perfectly capable. I have legs. I know where
the school is.
But Gertrude knew she couldn’t really complain. It felt
nice having someone around who cared about something
other than themself for a change. It just made Gertrude
feel as though her grandmother was wasting her time, not
to mention gas.
Once in front of the school, Maggie pulled the white
Buick over to the curb⎯ further down the street from the
rest of the cars⎯ and cut the engine. The keys jingled as
she released them, leaving them in the ignition. Then, she
quickly turned to face Gertrude and said bluntly, “Are you
happy here?”
Gertrude turned to look at the woman sitting slightly
rigid next to her, surprised by the question. “Yes.” Gertrude looked at her for a moment, still stunned, then
looked out the front window of the car. She didn’t want
her answer to sound forced, but Gertrude couldn’t help
thinking that her grandma could totally see through her
tone.
“You know you can tell me anything. The minute you
want to go home, just let me know. I won’t ask you any
questions if⎯ ”
“Grandma ⎯” Gertrude
grabbed
Maggie’s delicate,
well-moisturized hand gently in her own, “I want to be
here. I
need
to be here.” Gertrude had repeated those
words in her head so often that she almost thought they
were permanently burned into the back of her brain.
“Okay,” she replied, smiling as she turned to look out
of the front window as well. Maggie said the word in
slight disbelief, but she knew she needed to trust her
granddaughter. Maggie was the only person she had now.
Gail hasn’t called since she’s been here. I am all that
Gertrude needs.
The minute Gertrude opened the passenger door to
exit the car, her grandmother turned the ignition back on.
Quickly, Gertrude grabbed her backpack from the floor in
front of the seat, fearing Maggie was going to drive off
without any warning. But, as Gertrude began shutting the
car door, she paused.
“I love you, Grandma,” she said as she leaned through
the small opening.
“I love you, too,” Maggie replied, smiling as she turned
to look at Gertrude. For a moment, Gertrude could have
sworn she saw the faint glimmer of a tear forming just in
the corner of Maggie’s right eye.
Gertrude closed the door gently, and stood back on the
sidewalk. She watched her grandmother drive a bit further
down
the
road
before
she
turned,
disappearing
around a corner. Gertrude then casually turned around,
facing her second day at school.
The campus of Woodcrest Hills High School was small,
with only four structures: a three storied main building⎯
the length of a football field⎯ that housed every class, a
gym, a library, and the main office. There were only about
four hundred students, no more than a hundred students
per grade, attending Woodcrest Hills High School. It was
much smaller than the nearly four thousand students that
Gertrude had gone to school with back in San Diego. But
she still had no idea how to navigate the place, even
though it might have looked simple to anyone else.
Quickly, she removed her hand-drawn map that the
female receptionist in the office had given her the previous day before school began, and looked for her first period class⎯
History
. It was the first time in Gertrude’s life
that she was happy to have arrived at school early. No one
would be able to see how truly lost she was.