Gran and Grandpa's

Since Jan moved in, the power has gone out with unusual frequency.

I hope she doesn’t think we’re negligent.

This place has never been advertised as an inn… but, over the years, Gran’s good nature has attracted all sorts of temporary visitors – and I guess the word’s got out. The guys on bikes are my favourite, normally sharing some sort of adventure story over too many beers on the back porch. They don’t tend to talk to me unless I initiate the conversation, which is fine. I’ve never had a problem just listening.

Jan is different, though. She talks a lot, and she really likes talking to me. When she asks me questions, I’m happy to answer. She likes to know about our home, and who comes and goes, and what’s going on in town, and what I might wear to the fair. I don’t find these topics particularly interesting, but Jan seems to. It’s nice to have some conversation.

I think Jan couldn’t be more than seventeen, and Gran says she too young to be out on her own in a place like this. That’s why Gran lets her stay here: she’s got to have a safe, warm place to lay down her head at night. I tend to agree, because I can’t picture myself traveling alone and not having a nice person like Gran to take me in and give me a hot meal and clean sheets and that.

. . .

It used to be I’d come out here every summer, just Grandpa and I going fishing and washing up, Gran reading me stories while the fish cooked. Steaming dumplings, sticky gravy and some green beans from the garden. It was perfect, and I guess how all children wish their childhood to be. I was always free with Gran and Grandpa, free to wear whatever I want and tell all sorts of stories and make friends with whoever I felt like.

When Mom died, she left Dad and I alone in our apartment in the city. It would have been fine, I think, living with just Dad. Mom worked so much, anyway, it’s not like we really spent much time together. Dad was the one playing games, bringing home comics, letting me watch some TV on Saturdays.

Right after the funeral, Dad had told me to wash up and put on some more comfortable clothes. I did, and when I came out of my room, Dad asked me if I wanted to go to my friend’s house. I don’t even remember which friend, actually. Weird how memories do that.

Anyway, Dad said don’t come home until he called, so I had a sleepover at that friend’s house. I remember now, it was Alex S from a few doors over. The next day was Sunday, and I didn’t have anything for school, so Alex’s mom suggested I just go home to grab a few things. "No problem having you here, dear, but you do need your books and your uniform." So, I went home to get my stuff.

The door was locked, so I got my key from behind the shrub at the side of the house. But when I came back to the front door, and started to unlock it, I noticed a figure laying on the floor. Weird.

That day is mostly a blur. I remember shaking my head. I remember Alex S’s mom putting her hand on my shoulder, which startled me, and made her gasp. Well, I guess she gasped at seeing my Dad. "Call the police." I don’t know who she was talking to. Maybe me, I guess. I didn’t run away – I wanted to, but my legs wouldn’t cooperate. They could walk, though, so I walked and I kept walking.

I don’t remember how I got there, but I came upon an older building with a burger shop and an empty shop beside with a “For Lease” sign. I went into the burger shop, not knowing the reason.

The kid working the counter raised his eyebrows when he saw me. "You’re Patrick’s kid, right?"

"Yeah."

"Kay, hold on. I’ve gotta call the police, you know, they’ll help you get home. Or… well, they’ll help you get somewhere, anyway, they’ll know what to do."

I didn’t want the police. I didn’t want anyone to tell me what to do or make me go anywhere unfamiliar. An unexplainable panic seized me, then. I hadn’t felt that sort of terror ever before, and there was no obvious reason for it.

Again, I started walking. I guess my feet hurt, by then, but I didn’t register that til later. I was moved by instinct. I went in the same direction I’d been walking, before – out of town, past trees, past a commercial area, past a residential area, past more trees… I ended up at the end of the road.

I could turn left, or I could turn right. The signs – Highway 28 Jake Road to the left, and Highway 28 Old Farm Lake Road to the right – meant nothing to me. I’d never been so far from home before, except to see Gran and Grandpa.

Gran and Grandpa!

I closed my eyes, breathing deeply, like Dad had taught me when I was little. I needed to think.

When we were in the car, we would drive South and East. So, I would need to walk South and East to get to Gran and Grandpa. The sun rises in the East. No. The sun rises in the West. Right? So I was going the right way, because the sun was setting now, so that must be East. So to go South, I needed to turn right.

Well, as you may know, the sun rises in the East, not the West. I turned right, but I needed to turn left. Not that it would have mattered: Gran and Grandpa live about 80 kilometers from where I used to live, so I would have been walking a full day before I could make it there. I’d have collapsed first.

The night ended with me in tears, fresh blisters, hungrier than I’d ever been.

I was just ten.

. . .

Jan says I’m too young to know about some of the things she’s done, so she makes me promise not to ask certain questions. That’s okay with me. I’m not too young – just a couple of years younger than she is, after all – but I think she’s talking about kissing and stuff, and I get a little shy about that sort of thing, anyway.

There was only one boy I’d ever wanted to kiss. When I lived with Dad and Mom, the school I went to had a mostly unsupervised outdoor recess time. For twenty-one minutes every weekday morning, I got to watch Ty Taylor walk across the field with his friends, kick a ball around a few minutes and do exercises. All the while, he and his friends laughed. You haven’t seen anyone laugh until you’ve seen Ty Taylor. His whole head tips back, allowing his dark mahogany hair to brush his back, his neck stretching out to reveal a tenderness you wouldn’t otherwise see in him. Ty’s teeth are impressively white and straight – I think I remember he had braces, in first grade – and his lips are full and soft. That is why I wanted to kiss Ty Taylor. Honestly, I still think about him sometimes. I wonder how he’s doing.

Anyway, Jan and I talk about other things. She shares a lot of random facts she’s picked up on the road. She told me almost no horses share both a mother and a father, so every horse sibling is a half-sibling. "Do you have… half siblings?" Jan doesn’t answer. She never answers questions about her childhood; only things she’s recently learned.

Jan told me the other day that the average life expectancy of a tortoise is 150 years. I’ve no idea if it’s true. Pretty cool if she’s right. I wondered "how do they figure out the life expectancy of something wild, anyway?" Jan shrugged.

. . .

Laying in my bed, I tried to get to sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it – the green light.

It’s the same light that guided me when I came back to Gran and Grandpa’s, by myself.

Just when I’d given up, I fell asleep on a small boulder on the side of the road. When I awoke the next morning, an eerie calm settled over me. I knew – as if by a sudden instinct that had been missing the day before – what to do.

I found a truck stop. First, I needed to get someone to buy me a breakfast. That would be easy – everyone takes pity on a ten-year-old. As soon as I got to the truck stop, an older gentleman pulled over. He looked a lot like the biker guys Gran has at her place sometimes.

Anyway, I was eating within minutes. The trucker bought me a burger, some fries, and a cola. He asked if I needed a ride somewhere, and I said no. He shrugged, walked back to his truck.

Then, a light appeared. I could never fully perceive it… it flitted in and out of my vision if I turned my head too fast. But, nevertheless, it was there, and it led me to a man who was going South-East, and knew exactly how to get to Gran’s, and thought he’d maybe even met her.

It was this day that my life truly began.

. . .

To be continued.