cleaned me up. For a while I went to school only in the morning. Gram would meet me at the door of my class.
School was scary and fun. There were some kids who were fun to play with. I thought that was neat. But then there were other kids. Other kids who laughed and pushed me down in the dirt. I got a bloody nose once. No. Three times. Three times, I got my nose all bloody. Most of the kids in our neighborhood stopped playing with me when they went to school. Like Kenny. He lived down the street. After he made me eat dog biscuits, Gram would not let me go over to his house anymore.
I turn five pages in my book and I am eight years old.
Eight. Gram said eight is great. That was a poem. It sounded the same. Eight is great. I remember Gram gave me a card to celebrate. I still have it tucked inside my book as a marker. Celebrate. That is another word. It means good fun. Eight-is-great-we-celebrate. I went poop and pee in the toilet all the time. I could stay dry all day in school and not have an accident.
Gram said, “Goddamned that’s amazing.” I know this because of my card and Gram would tell me.
There is a picture of me standing on the sidewalk in front of our house. I am holding up my bike. It is way too big for me. Our house was on a long straight road with bushes and it was made of brick on the bottom and wood painted white on top. I helped paint the wood twice. The first time was when I helped Gramp. I was fourteen. The second time I was twenty-nine. Gramp was dead and our ladder broke. I was too heavy for it I think. We would have had to paint again when I turned forty-four. Gram would have been ninety-nine. But Gram is dead and our house is sold. Gone. It is torn down now. There was a big sign that said something else would be built. I forgot what. A computer store I think.
Thinking about these things reminds me of Gram and Gramp’s boxes. They are still stacked in a corner of my bedroom. I go in, pick one up, and put it on the bed. It is heavy and the cardboard is all bent. I have to get a knife from the kitchen and cut the tape that holds it closed. Papers are on top. I lift them off. There is a scrapbook. I open it. Sailboat pictures. A man holding a trophy in the air and smiling. I look on the back. George Crandall. Gramp.
Gram always said I looked like him except my ears stuck out. I go into the bathroom to check. My eyes are dark brown like Gram’s were. Gramp had blue eyes. My hair is the same color as Gramp’s except his was gray too. He was taller than me when he was alive, but I have grown. Maybe we are the same tallness now, but I do not know. I put the picture up against the mirror and stare at both faces. My face is fatter. I turn sideways. Gramp’s belly stuck out, but mine does not. My legs are okay, but my arms look thinner. Am I skinny? I will have to ask Keith about that.
I walk back into the bedroom and set the picture on the bed. There are many pictures of boats. Yellow ones. Blue ones. Old newspaper clippings.
YOUNG COUPLE SAILS TO SOUTH PACIFIC ON 32-FT CRAFT
The newspaper stories are cut out and pasted in order in a scrapbook.
LOCAL RACER VICTORIOUS
Victorious means you win stuff. There are plans of sailboats and drawings. The box is full of other things. A small flag. Waikiki Yacht Club , it says. That is in Hawaii. Keith told me. The logbooks are full of writing. I set them aside to read later. I start out sad, but now am happy. These were Gram and Gramp’s things.
One carton is too heavy for me to carry. Keith dragged it from the back of Yo when he helped me move from the house.
“Keith is strong as a bull,” Gram said. “You can always depend on Keith.”
I cut it open. On top is a stack of envelopes with my name written on the outside. My school papers. I set these aside and lift out another box underneath. It is latched and feels soft like leather or plastic. I cannot tell the difference. Plastic is fake and leather comes from cows. They have to kill them to get
School was scary and fun. There were some kids who were fun to play with. I thought that was neat. But then there were other kids. Other kids who laughed and pushed me down in the dirt. I got a bloody nose once. No. Three times. Three times, I got my nose all bloody. Most of the kids in our neighborhood stopped playing with me when they went to school. Like Kenny. He lived down the street. After he made me eat dog biscuits, Gram would not let me go over to his house anymore.
I turn five pages in my book and I am eight years old.
Eight. Gram said eight is great. That was a poem. It sounded the same. Eight is great. I remember Gram gave me a card to celebrate. I still have it tucked inside my book as a marker. Celebrate. That is another word. It means good fun. Eight-is-great-we-celebrate. I went poop and pee in the toilet all the time. I could stay dry all day in school and not have an accident.
Gram said, “Goddamned that’s amazing.” I know this because of my card and Gram would tell me.
There is a picture of me standing on the sidewalk in front of our house. I am holding up my bike. It is way too big for me. Our house was on a long straight road with bushes and it was made of brick on the bottom and wood painted white on top. I helped paint the wood twice. The first time was when I helped Gramp. I was fourteen. The second time I was twenty-nine. Gramp was dead and our ladder broke. I was too heavy for it I think. We would have had to paint again when I turned forty-four. Gram would have been ninety-nine. But Gram is dead and our house is sold. Gone. It is torn down now. There was a big sign that said something else would be built. I forgot what. A computer store I think.
Thinking about these things reminds me of Gram and Gramp’s boxes. They are still stacked in a corner of my bedroom. I go in, pick one up, and put it on the bed. It is heavy and the cardboard is all bent. I have to get a knife from the kitchen and cut the tape that holds it closed. Papers are on top. I lift them off. There is a scrapbook. I open it. Sailboat pictures. A man holding a trophy in the air and smiling. I look on the back. George Crandall. Gramp.
Gram always said I looked like him except my ears stuck out. I go into the bathroom to check. My eyes are dark brown like Gram’s were. Gramp had blue eyes. My hair is the same color as Gramp’s except his was gray too. He was taller than me when he was alive, but I have grown. Maybe we are the same tallness now, but I do not know. I put the picture up against the mirror and stare at both faces. My face is fatter. I turn sideways. Gramp’s belly stuck out, but mine does not. My legs are okay, but my arms look thinner. Am I skinny? I will have to ask Keith about that.
I walk back into the bedroom and set the picture on the bed. There are many pictures of boats. Yellow ones. Blue ones. Old newspaper clippings.
YOUNG COUPLE SAILS TO SOUTH PACIFIC ON 32-FT CRAFT
The newspaper stories are cut out and pasted in order in a scrapbook.
LOCAL RACER VICTORIOUS
Victorious means you win stuff. There are plans of sailboats and drawings. The box is full of other things. A small flag. Waikiki Yacht Club , it says. That is in Hawaii. Keith told me. The logbooks are full of writing. I set them aside to read later. I start out sad, but now am happy. These were Gram and Gramp’s things.
One carton is too heavy for me to carry. Keith dragged it from the back of Yo when he helped me move from the house.
“Keith is strong as a bull,” Gram said. “You can always depend on Keith.”
I cut it open. On top is a stack of envelopes with my name written on the outside. My school papers. I set these aside and lift out another box underneath. It is latched and feels soft like leather or plastic. I cannot tell the difference. Plastic is fake and leather comes from cows. They have to kill them to get
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