Dock

My granny died September 2nd 2013. She is who i'm talking about and her death is the cause of my severe anxiety and depression. I've been feeling better, but you know how it is if you do.

The creak of the screen door made my arrival known to the little creatures and crawlers throughout the forest neighboring our cottage. The wooden steps were cold on my bare feet and the moisture made for a soft landing in each step. Down the stairs, around and down the second staircase I went and headed for the water. Little solar lights with their glass broken from the harsh spring stood tilted along the steps. The grass was wet so I quickly hurried onto the bald rock that was common to see this far up north in Canada. The rock had tiny pieces of sand and wood chips that had been blown over by the strong winds the previous week. The air was chilled, and I had goose bumps rising all over my skin, but I didn't keep a sweater near by. I descended down the slightly downward tilting rock face covered with moss and kept walking until I reached my destination. After quickly checking for spiders around the chains, I elongated my stride to accommodate the space between the dock and the rock face. The water rippled as I pressed and trusted the old dock with all of my weight. It wasn't windy, so I untied my hair and let what short length I had of it fall and cascade down onto my shoulders. I stepped too close to the edge for my mothers liking, and inhaled. The smell was unlike anything else; this was the smell of real. The mix of cedar, maple, and birch trees along with the water from the lake that hadn't been photo shopped wafted into my lungs and the feeling of contentment arose from deep inside me. The fresh air filled my lungs and I immediately regretted not coming up sooner.  I sat down with my legs crossed and my feet resting on the wooden edge of the dock.  I rested my hands either side of my hips and dug the pads of my fingers into the rough carpet, stabling myself. The carpeting had changed, no longer did we have the worn out green carpet, but new grey carpet that wasn't filled with all the memories. The gray carpet didn't have the wear from my sister, cousins and I running from the rock face, down onto the rock and throwing ourselves hand in hand feet first into the lake. The grey carpet was new, and needed many good long days of sun exposure and heat to make it look like it might be able to belong here. Maybe we would even have to spill a beer or two on it. The sun was warm on my face, but the wind was still flowing coolly and slowly throughout the air so I need not worry about sunburns. I turned my head all directions and rested my neck back on my shoulders. Things weren't as complicated before, and things weren't as complicated here. The sounds of the water flowing and the patter of small animals in the forest and even the quiet barking of the dog next door was calming. The cottage is easy, there isn't a timeline. I didn't have to eat then or never, and I didn't ever have to wear socks if I wasn't feeling it that morning. I could eat my breakfast on the deck and wear a bathing suit and still have it be classified as socially acceptable. I could feel my father’s gaze burning into my back from inside, but I didn't dare turn around in fear of being forced to come inside. I wasn’t coming out of my sentimental stance just to be asked what in the hell I was doing. I was thinking, but I wasn’t worrying for once. I didn’t have to worry about school, or things at my house, I was stress free. The dock dipped and I turned to see my grandmothers face smiling apologetically back at me.

“Hi Als.” I remember her saying. I just smiled and closed my eyes again, enjoying the comforting ambiance that seemed to follow my grandmother. I felt the dock dip, and once again me, myself, and I were alone to do anything we wanted in our space. My grandmother was easy that way, she knew what people wanted even with the fluctuating severity of her bi-polar disorder. The speed of the bugs swimming on the top of the water, and the low sound of the stream up the lake created just enough noise to drown up the quiet chatter about my mental health from my family above me on the deck. I know my diagnoses hadn’t been discussed, I had asked for it to be kept on the down low, but when I was ready to talk about it, I would. I tried not to think about my Granny while I was in a place of well-being. But the thought always came back up. Sitting there out in the open, my mind wandered and I started thinking. I remembered my Uncles birthday, his mother in law and sister in law hugged us and started crying. I knew why; it was our first time back in Kingston since the night we came to the hospital. My uncle’s mother in law Brenda, was already in a state of confusion, her husband as been diagnosed with cancer for a second time in 10 years. Brenda’s daughter, Cheri, hugged my mother alone and welcomed her back. I remember leaving the loud part for a second and rounded the slightly spirally staircase and descended down the hall towards the guest room that had once been designated for my grandmother. I stepped in and closed the door. I had been in here before of course, but not since before her passing. I had sat down onto the bed, and thought about that day. This had been the last place that could be called home that she had been, I tried to re-create what she would have looked like here instead of in the hospital bed. As I did this I realize how not normal everything had been. Having my grandmother stay over was not an unusual thing, but all the things that came with her that weren’t unusual then seemed to be now. Not every ones grandmother came with 6 oxygen tanks, extra tubing, and a machine that made sure they kept breathing while at rest. That was normal, and when I see people with oxygen tubes I think nothing of it. But it just reminded me how not-normal that was. So there I sat, on the bed, where she last rested in my mind, and I blocked out the noise from downstairs and the hall light, and I just sat. Before I left, I did a common countdown of all the things I say to myself now and again; 1. You’ll never hear a British accent and not think of her, 2. She didn’t deserve it, 3. She loved you. I went back to the party, reclaimed my seat and kept absentmindedly eating my aunt’s chipotle guacamole that was too spicy anyways.  That night I didn’t sleep.

The cool wind picked up and brought me back down closer to the ground but still high enough for my mind to still be lost in my own thoughts. Just recently I had been wondering if I had been disrespectful or had done a disrespectful thing by going to school the very next day after he death. I hadn't wanted to miss the first day of school. Should I have stayed home with my parents? But then I have to wonder, what good would that have done? But what good did it do going to school? I’ll never have the chance to ask my grandmother, but if I had to choose one person to spend one more day with alive or dead, I’d choose her without a second of questioning.

The dock dipped again and I felt a shadow block the sun from warming my skin. I didn’t turn my head; I guess I hadn’t really wanted to know.

“You’ll have to talk about it sometime.” The voice was familiar, growing up with it telling you and teaching you what to do leaves it embedded in your mind. I didn’t reply, I knew they could see that here, in this moment, this was my moment. For once in a long time, I wasn’t sad, and I wasn’t pushing myself to get to the place that is now a common stay for me.

“Maybe not here with everyone, but eventually with someone.”

I cringed; I already had. Rena.

I had to assume she was a nice enough person, but she did absolutely no good for me. Fifteen minutes into the session, I was done. Once she asked why my grandmother was such an amazing woman, I was over it. She just was, I didn’t want to have to explain it to her, and I don’t think she deserved to know. I had just met this woman, and now I was supposed to sit there while she graded the tests I filled out and then have to hear that I’m depressed and have anxiety. Like thank you, I’ve only thrown up every first day of school for years and can’t remember the last day where I was just happy.

“Come inside, Caitlin is here.” My mother had said in a tone of voice only a teenager would have recognized. It was filled with authority, and had been busting at the seams of something along the lines of, ‘do-what-I-say-and-if-you-don’t-I’m-not-going-to-let-you-go-out-with-your-friends-even-though-you-don’t-already’ I picked myself up off the edge of the dock and had silently thanked her for not noticing the minimal space between myself and the edge. Dusting off my legs, I walked behind my mother away from what had been my safe haven. The steps weren’t as cold now as I was used to it from before, but the air was getting cooler a sign that night was approaching. The screen door creaked obnoxiously again and we stepped into the sun room that had air as thick as the sunscreen that was perched on the windowsill. If only I could have left the door open; just to have some air circulating throughout this room. It was out of the option because my grandparents have brought their cat with them; great. The sliding door that led into the dining room from the sunroom was left open for presumably me and I stepped through it careful not to catch my foot on the edge. That had taken many years of Band-Aids to finally get the skill perfected. I could hear chatter from my aunts and grandmother in the kitchen talking about what vegetables my 9 year old cousin Nick actually would eat. Nicholas is a family name, and my family has used it to the absolute max. I veered away from walking straight into the kitchen hoping I wouldn’t be noticed and would have to remind my grandmother that the only vegetable I don’t like is brussels sprouts; I would then have to hear about how they weren’t in season anyways. Instead I headed to the living room to do as told and greet my family. I greeted my cousins and uncle that had flown over from SA and hugged each of them except nick; he opted for a high-five. Caitlin is only a year younger than me, but I was and have always felt just so much older than her. She and I shared an awkward hug, and I fought for breath as I hugged my uncle whom I’m not very close with. I turned and tried to pick up the cat wishing I wouldn’t have to greet anyone else but my aunts got to me first. The twins hugged me and Gracie, the cat, had looked up apologetically and walked away to find some food as if she needed any more. My dad glared at me and gritted his teeth not needing to say the words I knew he was thinking. So I awkwardly tried to make conversation.

“Are you still playing saxophone in the band?” I directed at Caitlin.

“No.” she had replied flatly. Well okay then.

I looked at Nick and desperately tried to find something to talk about with him, I couldn’t ask about his birthday that was in November. It was hard, I hadn’t seen him since 2008 when he was still going to marry Thomas the Tank Engine and obsessed with his sister.

Nick beat me to my awkward questioning and asked, “How old are you now?”

I half smiled at his still apparent speech impediment, “Fourteen.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?” It was like I had just stabbed someone and suddenly everyone had their eyes on me. My face was burning and I didn’t know how to answer. My aunt Jody was staring me down; she had been asking the same thing for years. Jody, my aunt, started laughing quietly and when saw me looking smiled apologetically.

“No I don’t.” Hoping that was enough I walked briskly but not running out of the room and had a sudden need to be in the kitchen talking about why Brussels sprouts weren’t in season anymore. Before I left there was one last thing,

“That’s bad for her. But it's not like she's pretty anyways.Does she always act so weird?” ‘Like nails on a chalkboard that kid,’ I thought but quickly regained composure and pretended to go into my bedroom and unpack. I thought about what Nick had said and came to the conclusion that, 1. I was too much to handle for even myself and 2. that Nicholas was a nine year old who knew nothing about anything except brushing his teeth and the show times for TVO kids.

‘Yes,” I had concluded, “I am right.”

 

Author's Note

Sorry, it's heavy and intense sort of, I just wanted it out.

Reviews

[Jack Wolfe]

First my condolences and sorry for your loss. Bouts of depression are a curious thing; a person can retreat into depression rather easily, even if that reason is mundane, while being able to cope with the more complex issues encircling their world. Your story is interesting, and I assume it is meant as an out-pouring, rather than meant to be literature. I will offer some simple advice: Break this up a bit, the clustered paragraphs and sentence are hard on the eyes and ruins the flow.

You have a fine grasp on the narrative, not once does it read as if you stressed each line, and in this kind of story that a good thing. I would suggest simplifying your sentences, they tend to run-on and lose the reader in an a jumble of drawn out descriptions, also omit needless words in order to make this read smoother.