Florida Through My Years - Part IV: 1982

When I turned 18

my grandmother died.

We’d said goodbye in Maine that summer
after dinner at a Mexican restaurant.
She was leaving the next day to drive to Florida.

She gave me a hug that was a little out of the ordinary,

and said I love you, which was very out of the ordinary,

and she died of a heart attack

a few later

in a hospital in White Plains

on her way to Florida.

I wasn’t sure about going to Florida 

that winter vacation from college.

Nothing about Florida mattered without my grandmother.

Nothing about Florida belonged to my grandfather.

Nothing was made or cooked or baked or taken care of

by him.

He seemed lost,

and I was alone.

My mother lived in her own fog.

I’d gone from talking with her regularly

to talking with her hardly at all that semester.

She just didn't think to call me very often.

I went.

There were no hermits in the cookie tin,
there was no pale chicken,
there was no food in the refrigerator
except for a bag of Lenders bagels
and a container of skim milk.
There were foil pans in the freezer
covered with more foil and marked with directions on how to bake them.
My mother had cooked for him when she'd been here.
So had a few of the neighbors who were left.
There were new neighbors next door.
Mrs. Warshauer had moved,
Mr. Warshauer had died.
Mrs. Levine still lived in the next building
but she was as hard of hearing as my grandfather
so they didn't talk much
since it was tiring to yell.

My grandfather ate cornflakes in the kitchen

sitting at the glass table,

when he remembered to eat.

I made his bed every morning,

I drove to the store for groceries

and we made our way

through meals somehow.

He and my grandmother never seemed to love each other,

but he missed her as if they had.

When I was 18, I didn’t know him well.

He’d always take two weeks each year to visit Maine,

and I’d see him for a week in Florida

during dinner

or during our drives from the furniture store,

And he’d sign the cards my grandmother sent me

on my birthday

and we’d call each other then since

our birthdays were only two days apart.

He had taught me how to play gin,
he knew how to flip a spoon into a glass
and blow smoke rings from his pipe,

but he didn’t know how to make a home.

Florida was empty without my grandma.

All that talk that had happened

around tables with meals and baked things and

jello molds and phone calls and people at the door

stopped.

I opened her dresser drawers

and found the few things left there
that were hers

and touched them and smelled them.

The gold wire coin purse,

the  opera glasses in a worn leather case,

the few handkerchiefs,
a shell bracelet I'd bought for her in Bar Harbor,

the satin sachet that barely smelled of powder or lavender.

I wore her soft cotton white bathrobe,

I painted my nails with her red polish.

My grandfather slept late every morning.
He'd lie on his side with his hand on his forehead
and breathed loudly
what have I done what have I done?
what will I do what will I do?

While he slept ,

I went to the pool to read

and to listen to the chatter of busy people around me,
heard where they would go after their doctor appointments,
heard where they'd been for dinner the night before,
the kaleidoscope colors dancing in my closed eyelids,

the mockingbirds cheep cheeping.

I swam to cool off

and dried myself of on the long towel

my grandmother had bought me just for the pool.

At night my grandfather sat in his chair

and watched TV turned up so loud.
He rested his elbow on the armrest
and propped his head up with his hand.

He spoke so little

to me,
he never smiled.

And in the morning, I reached into the cabinet
where the fat lady smiled from the door,
and poured him his cornflakes
before heading outside
and slithering into the pool
like a seal at the aquarium.
Grandma, watch me.

Florida Through My Years - Part III: 1977-1981

I started to like lying next to the pool

more than being in it,

and could come out to the pool by myself
since I was actually a lifeguard,

and didn’t have to wait for Grandma.

So that had changed.

I started to wear my mother's Bain de Soleil for the St. Tropez tan
instead of No-Ad
since it smelled so good,
but my mother would only let me use a little. Don't waste it.
It's expensive.

I still hated afternoons when we’d shop at Burdines

or drive to Miami to meet mom’s friend Rhoda

or drive to lunch.

I hated the air conditioning that made me feel clammy

and I had to stick my head between my knees.

I hated missing the sun so I couldn’t get a tan

and held my arms up to the car windows as we drove.
I hated visiting my Aunt Ethel who didn't like me
or Aunt Sara and Uncle Sam who had nothing to do at their place
and I still wasn't allowed out to the beach or to their pool.

Deena stopped coming to Florida,

or went to a different school with a different vacation schedule,

and a guy with curly blond hair

started working for the apartment complex

so I needed to stay closer to home

and be more available.

His name was Rick.

Yesterday I got a burn. I left a note on curly hair’s motorcycle. His name is Rick.  He has a toucan shirt. He has eyes the color of the ocean. They sparkle when the sun hits them. He lives 6 miles away from here.  He’s never seen snow.  He hates crabs, he loves lobster, and in the letter I wrote that he must get 1,000,00 fan letters and he said it was his first.  He said my letter wasn’t silly! What a great day! It finally paid off to make a fool of myself. He said tomorrow was his day off. I just pray that he’ll come tomorrow anyway. I just have to keep writing in my journal until he passes or else it will look like I’m waiting for him.  

Which I am.

In the late afternoons I drove to Fort Lauderdale
with my new license in my grandparents' car
and picked up my grandfather from his job in the furniture store. 
He would get into the car and loosen his pastel tie, and put his elbow on the windowsill,
the warm air ruffled his white hair and he ran his hand through it.
He never seemed to mind that I had all the windows down.
We didn't talk.
He looked tired after his day selling sofas and bureaus.
At night we ate supper at the table
and I played gin with my grandfather or sometimes spite and malice with my grandmother or 6-11 with my mother and grandmother if there was a fourth person to play.

I started to sit on the steps outside my grandparent's apartment
pretending it was a normal place to sit,
on concrete steps with no chair
at an old people's apartment building.
But a cute guy had moved in with the Warshauers next door.
Their nephew.
This guy next door started talking to me. He winked and smiled at me, he said that my freckles were cute. I hate it when anyone else says that but it seemed nice when he said it.
I wanted to be there when he came home from his job.
He couldn't miss me, he'd have to step right over me.

Hi.
Hi. How's it going?
Good.

My grandparents and my parents were not happy
when I'd sit on the steps.
Come inside. That's no place for you to sit.
I like the warm afternoon sun, I'd shout back
through the kitchen door they'd left open so they could watch me
and be sure I wasn't being a total embarrassment.
That's no way to act. Come inside.

We have 3 1/2 more days here. I'm sitting out on the diving board at 6:30 just thinking. Underneath my feet are bubbles from the warm water that jets out from the pipes. I try to pop them but they pop out too quickly. Today was a great day boy-wise. First of all two boys from Toronto kept talking to me. One tried to keep pushing me into the water. They aren't very good looking but the're nice.

My grandmother took me to bingo on Tuesday nights in the recreation building.
I 29.
N 47.
B 4. And after! They yelled back.
I never won.

Most afternoons my grandmother stayed in the kitchen
when she wasn't outside knitting.

There wasn't a lot I wanted to eat at my grandparents' house.

She baked hermits for my brother, thinking he loved them.

They were filled with raisins and molasses and

smelled of the tin they were kept in.

He didn't like them but never knew how he could tell her.

She also baked mandel bread that just tasted like a rock hard cookie

without sugar.

I wanted oatmeal chocolate chip cookies

but she didn’t bake those.

Grandma kept brandied fruit in a brown glass jar on the kitchen counter.
It was fruit that had to be fed
like pet fish.
Or stirred.

My grandmother would drive it to Maine for the summer, and she and my mother would take turns taking care of it. 
Then my grandmother would drive it back to Florida.
I never ate it.

She had a picture from a magazine taped to the inside of her food pantry

of a fat lady with no clothes.

My grandmother always started diets on Mondays

and said she used the picture to remind herself why.

I have 6 hours left here.  This morning I came out at 8 and read by the pool and who should come down but friendly Rick. I took a picture of him and he gave me his address without me having to ask! He said he would write! The rest of my time today will be spent doing nothing.  I packed last night. Yesterday Rick did come but only to pick up some people to drive them Miami.  I’ m going to miss him so much! I just found out that he’s only 19! I can’t believe it and I never will.  He looks at least 25.  I told him that.  He said that’s what everyone says.  This book is getting too messy.  From now on it will be nice and neat.  I told Rick how I hated being asked the same questions over and over again. He laughed.  He’s cleaning out the garbage cans right now.   When I left, he kissed me goodbye.  He is so nice!