The Truth of the Matter

17. Confessions and Mended Fences

I hadn't been paying attention to the time, I was looking through my scrapbooks that contained my memories. Pictures of my grandparents, musicals, report cards, drawings, old clothes, and stuffed animals.

I heard a knock on my bedroom door, and looked up to find Quinn standing there with a smile on his face. He had on a grey cardigan and dark jeans with rainbow striped socks. He may have been a realist but he didn't mind a bit of whimsy.

"You know it's creepy to stare at people" I suggested helpfully.

"It's even worse to leave your front door unlocked, any common stranger could walk in" he answered back smoothly

"And you would be...." I let the question hang as he laughed happily at our fighting.

I scooted over, smoothing down the blue and green paisley quilt for him to sit on. He ambled over, easing himself down beside me. Just the weight of another person's presence beside me was comforting. I hadn't told him about my grandparents, or my parents for that matter.

I didn't want to because it was something that I held tightly to my chest, a secret that I was ashamed of in a way. A hurt concealed in pride that I didn't want anyone to somehow take from me.

Sharing your burdens with someone made them less yours in a way, the emotional load felt lightened and I wanted to keep the heaviness with me. I was used to the weight and without it, I may have floated away. The weight of pain and guilt had kept me grounded and when he attempted to break through my barricade, I lost it.

I would rather have been alone than let someone in with me. It was one of those things that I needed to let go of on my own. Something that I needed to feel safe enough to share while on my own two feet no matter how hard the wind would blow afterwards.

I held up a picture of my grandparents, smiling in front of their favorite restaurant with their matching fanny packs. I softly began to tell Quinn about how my grandma had on her sunglasses from the 1950's, that she was the only woman in existence not to smash or misplace her accessories. Her hair was always coiffed and styled in a full bob with the same white clip holding back the hair over her left ear.

She would make cakes for weddings, birthdays, graduations, and Quinceañeras; her skill was well known and sought after. She would let me help make the batters and icings but not the decorations. Those were some of my fondest memories; whipping egg whites with the handheld mixer and dropping almond extract into the cakes under the watchful eye of my grandma.

My grandpa had on a collared button down and chinos in the picture, as was his usual outfit. He worked at the local Walmart, greeting customers and kissing babies. He was loved by the regulars and management.

He and my grandma went out to eat every Sunday afternoon by themselves at Sylvio's Italian restaurant where the crew knew them and would always send them home with free ravioli and tiramisu for me.

I smiled in remembrance, the memories were warm and kind. I used to try not to think about them, it would make my heart ache but I think I had come to a point of healing where I could appreciate their life and not simply mourn their death. The visitation for their joint funeral had been enormous, hundreds of people in and out for hours; lives well lived.

I had been flipping through pages of pictures for him to see, including those of me in my 90's kid couture; the gigantic beaded hair ties, Tweety bird tee shirt, and pink glittery jelly shoes that made my feet smell like a sweaty urinal.

He laughed, pointing at a picture of Molly and I with matching braided pig tails and red dresses that showed off our eleven year old muscles and sun drenched skin, wobbling on the cusp of adolescence. I was pudgy and awkward while Molly was gangly and tall, her limbs too long for her to know how to pose.