ANOTHER PIECE OF THE PUZZLE

As a little girl I looked forward to Sundays.  That was the day I was most likely to spend on the road with Gummy and Tim.   They were my maternal grandparents, but nobody called them Grammy and Grampy.  It was always Gummy and Tim.

One would assume my grandmother’s nickname Gummy was the result of an adorable attempt by one of her cherubic grandchildren to say Grammy.  One would be wrong.  Like so many things in my family, it revolved around snacks – in this case gum.  Gladys (her given name) always had a variety of snack items tucked away in her cupboards, and the white metal cabinet with the doors that never quite lined up was the holding area for chewing gum – lots of lots of it, mostly Chiclets – the big white peppermint ones and packets of the little multicolored fruity crack-flavored ones.  She also had a easy-to-reach supply of candy in a cut crystal bowl in her living room, but it was usually either hard candies of indeterminate flavor with mucusy centers or spiced gumdrops fused together by the perpetual 95 degree indoor temperature – not kid favorites.  While we all agreed on the reason for the nickname, the originator is still a topic of discussion.  It was probably either my cousin Bruce, whom we kids loved to amuse because his laugh sounded just like the turkey on the Farmer Says See and Say - or it may have been me.  Although I have absolutely no recollection of starting the gumball rolling, I have been known to take credit for it.  It’s good to be responsible for a legend. 

One would also think Tim was short for Timothy.  Once again, one would be wrong.  His real name was Chandler Elmont.  No one has any idea where Tim came from.

One early spring Sunday I hoisted my little six year old pudge into the big back seat of Gummy and Tim’s Chevrolet, I didn’t care where we were going, I just wondered where we were going to eat.  Gummy always picked the best places after asking Tim’s opinion.   He would reply “I don’t care, one place is going to cost me as much as another.” Then he would always grumble about her choice, (grumbling was his forte).  This week it was the Aloha Lunch roadside diner for Fried Maine Clam rolls. Golden Heaven on a toasted hot dog bun washed down with ice cold Coca Cola.  We got back in the car, and Gummy suggested to Tim that we drive to Charleston to see yet another branch of the family tree I had never heard of.  Tim grumbled that it was going to take all goddamned day to get there, and we wouldn’t get home until frigging midnight.  I was up for that.  This was in the days before seatbelts, so when I was tired, I could just lie down across the big back seat, Gummy would cover me up with the blanket that lived on that shelf behind the seat and best of all, a long drive would definitely mean we’d have to stop for dinner.   I liked my food. 

I sat back in the seat, delighting in the good-humored banter up front.  Gummy would make some lighthearted comment about him being a speed demon, or maniac tailgater, or being too close to the center line, and Tim would playfully respond with some equally lighthearted comment about her inability to focus on a goddamned moose in the middle of the road, let alone a yellow line with those damned thick glasses of hers.  After a stop so Gummy and I could pee and buy another bottle of soda, we continued up the road into farm county.  It was beautiful, and green and all very new territory to me.  I asked Gummy who we were going to see.  “Aunt Vina and her family.”

“Have I ever met them?”

“Not yet, dear.”

 Tim chimed in “Buncha goddamned… “A well-timed bark from Gummy stopped him in mid-grumble.

As we turned up a long dirt driveway, bordered by vibrant green trees, Gummy turned to me.  “Now Debbie dear, you should know that Aunt Vina is a wonderful woman.”

“Uh-huh.”  I was already wondering what delightful snacks this bit of Eden might have to offer.

“But a few years ago she was very sad.”

“Uh-huh…” Geez, not too sad to cook, I hope. This might put a damper on my afternoon snack.

“Well, she wasn’t happy with being alive and she tried to…”

“Uh…...huh?”  Yeah, snack time was not looking good.

“Well she just wanted to go to Heaven so she…”  Get to the point, woman.  Did she make a cake before she left?

That’s when Tim decided to take the more direct approach.  “Shot herself. Blew half her goddamned face off.”

Gummy chimed back in. “Try not to stare.” 

“Okie dokey.” Well, snack was a moot point now.  

The farmhouse came into view.  It would have been an enchanting place with its apple trees and gardens and budding flowers, but this new tidbit of information put a damper on things for me.  I was only doing math at a first grade level but it was enough for me to know that if she blew half her goddamned face off, she should have one eyebrow, one eye, one cheek, one nostril, one ear and an undetermined number of  teeth – wasn’t sure how many she would have started with.  What about the hair?  He just said face; he didn’t say head, so maybe she had all her hair.  That would be good if she would just be so kind as to back into the room, and I would never have to see the mangled mess on the other side. Gummy and Tim each took one of my sweaty little hands and led me up the steps to the front door.  While I closed my eyes and whispered silent prayers that the occupants all be gone, I heard the front door open.  It was a man’s voice. And it sounded nice, not the disturbed tone of a man who had to share a house with a one-eyed one-nostriled  gargoyle.  Slowly, I opened my eyes.

 “Well, Gladys, Tim.  What a nice surprise.  Come on in.”

Well, I still had hope that Vina was out of town.  Even as a little girl, my best approach for handling an uncomfortable situation has always been to try to ignore it and hope it goes away on its own.  Although it has never really worked in my favor, the ostrich method is still my preferred approach.

“This must be Debbie,’ the kind man said. ‘ Vina will be thrilled to meet her.”

 The blood rushed to my ears, and I really didn’t hear much after that.  Gummy led me over to the piano bench, where I sat and focused on the rainbow colored plastic bracelets on my wrist, twirling them like I was cracking a safe. 

“Debbie, Debbie, dear.’  It was Gummy—her voice sort of echoed through the pounding in my ears – ‘Would you like to play outside?  They have a lovely yard out back.” 

“No, thank you.”  All demure and courteous on the outside, inside I was yelling ‘There is no goddamned way I am going into that goddamned yard.  My god, there is probably a goddamned eyeball stuck to a goddamned apple tree.’  I was, after all, Tim’s granddaughter.  

           

Once again, my ostrich approach failed me, and the moment I had dreaded arrived.  A small neatly dressed woman entered the living room carrying a plate of freshly baked sugar cookies and a pitcher of lemonade.  She walked over to me; face first (ostrich approach once again failed me) and curiosity being my strong suit,  I allowed myself to look at her.  Did I mention she had cookies?  While her face was by no means normal, it was not the hamburger snangle I had envisioned.  She had done a pretty thorough job on the jaw and cheek, but she retained all her eyebrows, both eyes, both nostrils and the skin over the damaged area was surprisingly smooth.  Relieved, I took a cookie, and even managed a weak little smile and a squeaky thank you when she poured me a glass of lemonade.  

           

Vina was, indeed a very nice woman.  She played the piano, the adults talked; I looked out the window, almost, but not quite, daring to venture into the gardens of the unknown.  After what seemed like days, but was probably a couple of hours, Tim spoke up.  “Well, we better hit the road.  It’s long drive home and Gladys is going to have to stop to piss at least twice.” 

Overall, the experience was not nearly as disturbing as I had anticipated, and that trip to Charleston ranked way above the monthly visits to my great grandmother in the ‘other farm’. Plus, the cookies were way better.