Note: A few readers get angry when I slap a warning on my own writing. I am vehemently against censorship. However, the world can be such a brutal place, I think it’s fair for me to warn someone that my own content might disturb them. That’s the case here.
More notes after the story.
***
My grandfather was a night watchman.
Before security cameras, before…seems like before the beginning of time.
My grandma was always tense.
Sometimes he’d come home, early in the morning, when my grandmother was getting me ready for school, and she’d give him a look.
I didn’t know what the look meant, but my grandfather would respond to the look by saying “Connie, you can’t get ham from a hog tree.”
One time after my grandfather came home, I heard my grandma say “I hate those damned Sicilians.”
I didn’t think my grandmother hated anyone but the New York Yankees.
One time my grandfather didn’t come home.
My grandma cried and screamed and shook so bad it was like there was another her inside her trying to get out.
And then she started repeating “I knew it, I knew it, I knew it.”
So many people sent food and bouquets to the house it looked like a deli blew up inside a flower shop.
My grandma was polite to some people, who visited, silent to others.
My friend Bobby had a paper route. He showed me the picture of my grandfather in the newspaper.
Alleged Mob Enforcer Found Dead in Rouge Park.
Forehead Frank McCarthy, alleged hit man with ties to the Genovese crime family…
My grandmother made me pray, night after night, for the repose of my grandfather’s soul.
A man on the TV, his face clouded, his voice distorted, said “Frank McCarthy put a lotta people to bed.”
My grandmother cried more, and we prayed more.
I spent so much time in church…I suppose I was destined to be a priest.
Maybe I thought the prayers for my grandfather would carry extra weight if I was a man of the faith.
I pray every night for the repose of my grandfather’s soul.
I got down on my knees to pray tonight.
There’s a young man in the bed.
He’s very much alive, just asleep.
I’m crying, shaking like my grandmother, and praying for my own soul.
***
Author’s Note: A priest with whom I was close in high school had posthumous allegations made against him. He was revered at my high school. If a priest could have rock star status, he did, and he was singlehandedly responsible for me not being expelled. In general we know that some horrible allegations against people are false, some are true. I’d like to think he would be proud of me in general, and proud of me for constructing this story as truthfully as possible.
***
There is a lot of meat on this bone, Jimmy.
I loved this and I often read them twice. I find myself thinking about the characters in great depth, something I never do with other authors.