Effigy (Part I)

Emotional constipation. That’s what Ron’s mother had called it. So many emotions, bottle-necked and clogged within, that you couldn’t get any of them out. Before this, he had his doubts. But now having to help his mother sift through his grandmother’s belongings, Ron felt that a fairly accurate assessment.

                There they sat at the same kitchen table she had owned since he was a toddler. It was yellow, the kind of hue that had only been manufactured through the seventies. He had played with his Hot Wheels on top of it, used the hidden catacombs underneath as a makeshift Cobra base that G.I. Joes had stormed, and gathered with family for over three decades of Thanksgiving turkeys and Christmas hams.

                Now she was gone. Grandma Nora had been such an integral part of his young life; he had taken her presence and sound mind for granted.

Not that gone, but gone enough that the family thought it best to move her to a full time care facility. It was a hurried affair and now that she was checked in and comfortable, it was time to get the house cleaned up in order to list it for sale. It was a means to an end. The family had little in the way of disposable income to put towards Grandma’s care.

Throughout the day, the table top had held all manner of boxes, knick-knacks and memories. Any and all the items one might accumulate through a full 84 years of living. Right now, it was stacked and partitioned with photographs that spanned The Great Depression to just last week at Ron’s cousin’s college graduation.

Though neither of them said it Ron and his mother were tired of organizing what stayed and what should go. It was a daunting task with no right answer. So when the photo books were unearthed from a pile of old purses buried in a bedroom closet, looking through them became less goal-oriented and more about catharsis.

“Here look at this one.” Ron’s mother Gwen handed him a photo. It was an old brittle black and white one, frayed at the edges. In it, a small girl of maybe six years old had on a large brimmed white hat and a button up sun dress. It was charcoal in the picture but may have been blue or a blushed red.

As Ron took in the details, his mother explained, “That was your Grandma when she was six years old.  Before church on Easter Sunday.”

Ron marveled. “It’s amazing.”

“What honey?”

“Pictures nowadays.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well they just don’t say as much. Maybe once upon a time pictures were worth a thousand words, but we’ve somehow lost that. I think the exchange rate is more like 575 now.” 

Gwen giggled and squeezed her son’s hand. “Can’t argue with you there.”

“Oh and this one…” Gwen handed him another aged photo, this one tarnished and yellowed with time. A muscular man with a mustache too big for his head stared at them. He wore a crisp A-shirt, with suspenders hanging loose at his side over what were likely brown trousers. He wasn’t smiling; in fact the stern face that looked at them from the past seemed incapable of such a feat.

Ron looked puzzled, waiting for his mother to explain. “Ah this was your great Grandpa Franklin. You never got the chance to meet him.”

Fuzzily, Ron recognized the name. “He passed early?”

“Not exactly, he left your great Grandma Eileen and moved to San Francisco.”

Ron winced.

“After she had your Grandma, your great Uncle Jonah and great Aunt Fran.”

Ron winced again, “Ouch.”

“Oh here’s one of your Grandpa Henry and Grandma Nora,“ she paused and then felt the need to add context. “Your dad’s own mother and father.”

“Yes Mom, I know.” Ron rolled his eyes but smiled at his mother while doing so.

This time, Ron noted his father’s mother, wearing subtle make up and trying hard to look pretty. Her arm was around a handsome man with a slight hair lip scar above his mouth. His raven black hair was slick against his head.  He was holding a rocks glass that was nearly empty. He was toasting towards the unknown photographer.

“Grandpa Henry and his scotch.” Ron commented. It was one of the few things he recalled about the man. Ron only knew Grandpa Henry as the white haired old codger with the thick rimmed bifocals. The high ball glass was the only constant.

Gwen nodded, and it was evident that both she and Ron now had recalled the way Grandpa Henry had met his end. They returned to looking through photos, Gwen became particularly focused, skimming through several as though she were looking for something quite specific.

“Oh my!” She held one hand flat against her heart as she passed Ron the picture. “See, there you are, what do you think of that?”

Ron was given a Polaroid that had become flimsy with age. He held it carefully from the back, mindful of how much force he used. “Oh wow. I’ve never seen this.”

Before him he saw a window to the past, this one in the most technologically mature color the early eighties had to offer. The picture showed a celebratory scene. In the foreground, Ron himself, his parents and grandparents were all fawning over a baby boy whose smile was the focal point of the photograph. In the background, a group of grinning aunts, uncles and cousins marveled.  Ron could imagine is infant brother’s smile infecting everyone in the room.

Gwen chimed in, “This is when we finally brought your brother home from the hospital after a four week stay. He was--”

Ron spoke along with his mother, “He was 4 weeks premature ya know. Things were touch and go. But Christopher pulled through.”

Ron’s mother gave him a look that screamed disapproval. He stood and hugged his mother. “Sorry Mom I just couldn’t resist. Chris was tough from birth. Tougher than me.” Ron punctuated his statement with this, and meant it. Christopher, youngest by four years was serving his country overseas even as they stood there amidst the gobs of still photographs. 

Even though the picture gave him a reason to smile even now, Ron still couldn’t shake some of the more ominous points of his family’s timeline.

The pair continued flipping through photo albums. There were aunties, Uncles, cousins, brothers, sisters, in laws, friends. There were the thirties, forties, the days when Kennedy was a household name, and everything in between.

 Seeing more shades of gray that depicted many a stern faced man, women who showed only the skin on their faces, brand new ’57 Chevys, the fronts of newly purchased homes, and smiling children who were too innocent to know some of the darker points in the family’s history.  Then in color there were the kids, grandkids, birthdays that begat Atari’s, Punky Brewster sticker books and shiny bicycles that were beyond number. After that, Sega Genesis game systems and Nintendo 64s with Barney the Dinosaur and Dora the Explorer plushes and play sets.

In control, Gwen was decisive in what she lingered on; more calculating in what she paused to explain. Ron stood watch over her shoulder, soaking in all the history.

They were depleting what Ron had once thought of as an inexhaustible supply of snapshots. The last book was nearly done, and the midafternoon sun was flirting with them through the kitchen curtains. Gwen’s Mom quickly folded the last book shut.

“Wait, what was the last one?” Ron grabbed the album from under her arm. He reopened the book to its final page, seeing what was there, he began to cry. It was contagious, for when he looked at his mother, tears began falling from her eyes as well.

Ron bent and hugged his mother where she sat.

They both stared at an eight by ten of Ron’s father. Burt, Gwen’s husband of twenty two years was grinning; his blue eyes seemed to look right at the both of them. The picture itself had been part of a set that had been done for father’s day about eleven years ago. Burt had wanted nothing more than to have a beer and a steak with his wife and sons. However, the boys had the idea that they should get their pictures taken.

“He did everything he could to talk us out of it.” Ron remembered fondly. He moved behind his mother, leaving a hand resting on her shoulder.

“I think what sold him was you two saying he didn’t have to dress up.” She laughed, “He hated that shit.”

Ron joined his mother’s laughter, “Ya it wasn’t about that. Chris and I wanted it to be casual, fun and relaxed- how we were, how he was.”

Abruptly the pair’s laughter cut off, like a needle being dragged off a record mid-song.

Silence, along with something that couldn’t be named occupied the room.