My skin feels like a stranger’s. It looks familiar but feels so foreign. I don’t understand. And my bones are betraying me, too. Once intrepid allies, they’re making me smaller every day.
But this afternoon, some strength remains. My grandson, Gordi, is scrambling about our garden, snatching worms called up by the rains. With each fistful he squeals with newfound discovery, casting his priceless treasures into a mason jar. They wriggle about, and he’s enraptured.
His joy is infectious. It makes me feel young and my sorrow at being imprisoned in this chair lessens. I strain to make it last past each wheezing, shallow breath.
“Grandpa, look!”
He bounds onto my knee, and my hips groan. Pain radiates up my spine but I deny it stealing from this moment and reach for the jar. It takes a mountain of intention to grasp. Through the glass, his tooth-missing smile is warped and beautiful.
“You got a lot!”
“I want to name them!”
I used to hate worms, but they seem magnificent now. In his face, I watch every variety he’s caught being cataloged and remembered. Touching his hair, I feel my daughter’s when she was ten.
“How many do you think ya’ got?”
“100 at least!”
“Maybe more,” I add.
He’s not burdened by time. It’s such an under-appreciated gift. Continuing his pursuit, he leaves me the willing warden of his worms. Around the jar, my fingers look crooked and grotesque next to the slick, pink tubules.
“Why do you like them?” I ask.
“They feed all the birds and the trees and stuff. Everything!”
He digs into the dirt for another handful as the annoyance of a dull ache arrives. I close my eyes to will it away. When I open them, my grandson is gone.
I’m desperate to find him. I order my muscles to turn me and for my bones to assist. It’s a complicated sequence, fully required to simply look behind myself. He’s not there.
I’m sullen. The garden feels so empty now.
Am I being lifted? My body’s become a liar, so it’s hard to tell. I see arms come around me and the help brings relief.
“Come inside, grandpa. I made you some tea.”
“Gordi! Where are your worms? Did I drop them?”
“No, grandpa… they’re back in the earth again.”