The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Geographies of the Heart by Caitlin Hamilton Summie

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Whole New Worlds
Sarah
December 1995

(excerpt)

Last semester, Al taught in the mornings. He rode the bus to campus to lecture in Religion 125, Religions of the World. In the afternoons, he stopped by the nursing home. He climbed off the bus early to do so, switched lines, and walked the last block. He had no living grandparents.

The first time he visited, he brought flowers for Grandma. Grandpa made him leave the room, and when Grandpa yelled for Al to come back in, Al pretended not to notice the whoopee cushion. He took his seat, in the chair between both beds, and sat down hard. Grandpa roared. He laughed so hard, he cried; and even Grandma, who bit her lip, who said that cushion was the worst toy in the world, even she began to giggle. Al’s visits became a regular activity, a daily ritual, and Grandpa kept his checkerboard open to their last game. Their game was always open; they never finished. Al played every afternoon, because it was the one thing Grandpa could do. Grandpa could grab his elbow to move his arm, pick up the pieces, and slide them slowly across to a space. There were times when he couldn’t see black and red, so Al told him the color.

“Red,” he’d yell. “Black.”

But he never moved Grandpa’s pieces for him, and he never played to lose. I caught them recently, huddled together, whispering after their game. I’d dropped by on my own, and there was Al, sitting on the foot of Grandpa’s bed, telling him a dirty joke. It’s a favorite memory already, Al leaning over, speaking directly into Grandpa’s good ear, if he has one anymore, and Grandpa, hand on Al’s shoulder, holding himself still and listening. I smile remembering how Grandpa tilted his head back, laughing long and hard.

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