Ginny
2000, Fort Lauderdale (Three Months After the Execution)
I don’t remember how long I sat on the hot asphalt of Carter’s driveway and just stared at the ground. After awhile, I lifted my hip and pulled the blue bandana from my pocket where I had stuffed it just minutes ago. Or had it been an hour?
Thirty minutes ago, my childhood Bible was returned to me along with a letter from my mother, Delia. The letter revealed some sad truths about her past and mine. I'd read about a twin sister who died in the hospital after Delia abandoned her and I found out I was actually two years older than what I'd always believed. And now, having just discovered the missing motorcycle and Carter's unspoken confirmation that he was alive, Grizz was still alive, I could do nothing but sit and stare at the empty spot in the garage. It was all just too much.
I quickly looked back over my shoulder to see if Carter was close by. She wasn’t. I held the bandana to my face and started to cry again, this time with small but soulful, gut-wrenching sobs. The kind of sobs that come from a place so deep within your chest you didn’t know they existed until they confronted you with a ferocity that caused physical pain. The kind of sobs that if you stifled them, it caused your ribs to hurt and your back to ache. I hadn't even cried this hard after his execution.
I tried to fathom why that was. Was it because his death was final? Or so I had thought. I could neatly tuck my love and grief in an imaginary box and label it “In the Past.” Where was this new grief coming from now? What was I actually feeling? Betrayal? Hurt? Love?
No. I wouldn’t do that to myself. I couldn’t let myself believe, even a tiny bit, that I was still in love with him. I loved Tommy. I was in love with Tommy. Our love was real and not a consolation prize after Grizz’s arrest, incarceration, and supposed death. Yet…what was it? I wouldn’t let myself finish the thought.
I had to battle the urge to get Carter and insist she tell me everything she knew. I had to fight the instinct to dig for answers. Something bigger told me I shouldn’t do any probing, that Grizz’s secret was large enough to have repercussions should I decide to investigate—which was what my flesh wanted me to do, but my spirit knew better. No, I wouldn’t question. I wouldn’t ask. I would do what he apparently wanted and just file away the knowledge he was out there should I need him, but move on and live the life he insisted I have.
I sat up a little straighter then and resolved to do just that. You want me to move on, Grizz? You got it. Shoving the bandana back in my pocket, I picked myself up. I avoided glancing at the empty spot in the garage where his motorcycle had been—the spot where he had recently been—and I headed around the side of the building. I charged up the stairs to the guesthouse with a determined resolve I wasn’t feeling. I reminded myself that I was the master of illusion. I could and would act fine until today’s revelation eventually made its way to the back of my subconscious.
Yes, it was time to start convincing myself he was dead and gone. For good.
I swung open the door and let myself into the guest apartment. I strode to the windows, opening up the blinds, unlatched the window locks, and hoisted them open. They were still in good condition but stiff from years of disuse. I inhaled the hot, thick air as it floated in and thought about turning on the air conditioning.
A plan formed as I worked: First, I would assess how much cleaning out I would need to do. I swung around, and with my hands on my hips surveyed the tiny living space. It was clean and neatly but sparsely furnished. I walked over to the small alcove that served as a kitchen. I started opening up the cabinets and found the bare necessities—plates, cups, and silverware. I knew I wouldn’t be cleaning out these things, but I was stalling for what needed to be done.
I walked to the small bedroom. The light was dim, but I couldn’t miss the small cardboard box sitting on top of the bed. I stood staring at the box that had suddenly become the size of a mountain in my head. I’d told myself cleaning out the guesthouse and garage was going to be a huge physical task that would require lots of sweat and muscle.
But it wasn’t huge. There would be no lugging things up and down the stairs. It all came down to that box. The box sitting on that bed.
We’d made love on that bed.
Don’t go there, Ginny. I eyed the room. The bed was stripped bare of its linens. Two small nightstands with matching lamps flanked each side. It was all outdated but in good condition. They could stay. The telescope I’d given Grizz as a gift sat in a corner. I pretended not to notice it. Carter should be using this space for when she had friends in town. It was time for the garage and guesthouse to be used again. I wasn’t following his rules anymore.
Slowly, I approached the bed. I wasn’t the one who’d packed his things up all those years ago. It had been Carter. She’d been living with me then and suggested we start moving some of his belongings out. I’d resisted it at first until Grizz told me to do it. I shook my head as realization dawned. Of course. Carter had probably been in touch with Grizz and told him I wasn’t moving on and then, voila! I hear from Grizz telling me to do exactly what Carter had suggested. Stupid and naïve. I clenched my fists at the memory.
I had been so devastated then that I couldn’t bring myself to part with his things, so I’d spent the day away from the house and asked Carter to do it. I knew she would have donated his clothes and shoes to charity, which meant I was going to find even more personal items in this box. Mementos she, or Grizz, thought should be kept. I couldn’t blame either one for what I might find. I’d wanted no part of it. I remembered tasking Chicky with packing up Moe’s belongings many years earlier. Clearly, I had a difficult time staring at tangible reminders of painful events.
But there would be no escaping it today.
I swallowed the lump that was beginning to form in my throat and opened the box. The cardboard at first resisted but then opened easily. I peered into it and inhaled deeply, making a conscious effort to release my breath and inhale again. My hands shook as I pulled out the first item. Clutching it tightly I had to loosen my grip so I didn’t snap it in half. It was a record album still encased in a pristine plastic jacket. My Barry White album.
Memories attacked my senses. I could feel the hot water as my hands stiffened in the motel’s tiny kitchen sink all those years ago. I could smell the clean, fresh scent of the soap coming from the sponge I’d been using. I could see Chowder’s homemade strainer sitting on the drain board. I could feel the gentle and feathery kiss Grizz left on my temple. And I could hear Barry White crooning to “Never, Never Gonna Give Ya Up” as I led Grizz back to the bedroom. I gulped and heard myself whisper out loud, “You saved it.”
No, stop it, Ginny! Don’t do this to yourself. I laid the album to the side and reached in for the next item. I couldn’t tell what it was at first but immediately recognized the soft plushness of a stuffed animal. Grizz had a stuffed animal? I stared at the small toy for a second. It was a little gorilla, and I was transported back to a happy memory. On one of our many midnight dates, Grizz had taken me to a zoo. The night caretaker, who owed Grizz a favor, told us we only had two hours to ourselves before other employees would be reporting to work.
We had wandered through several parts of the zoo when we stopped at the gorilla exhibit to read the names and histories of some of the primates. One stuck out. Apparently, the silver back, or alpha leader of the group, was a big nasty gorilla named Grizz. I’d teased him about it for months after that date. As we were leaving the zoo, Grizz had jumped over a railing to get to a beautiful rose bush. He snapped some off, not even noticing the thorns had drawn blood from his hands. He had quickly removed his T-shirt and wrapped the roses in it. I remembered holding those roses and smelling them in the car during the drive home. The memory was so fresh I felt like I could still smell them. I looked down now, noticed something dangling from the stuffed toy’s wrist. It was a card with a picture of a gorilla cradling a tiny kitten to its chest.
I carefully opened it and read what was neatly printed inside. “Happy Birthday. I love you, baby.” It was signed, “Grizz.”
I was holding a birthday gift he’d never given me because he was arrested. I felt my chest tighten. There was more handwriting at the bottom, but it was smaller and hard to see in the dim light of the little bedroom. I squinted. “I’m taking you to our special place tonight. Please wear them for me.”
Wear what? I knew our special place. It was a little dive down by the docks called Vincent’s. But what was I supposed to have worn? I looked back at the little gorilla and couldn’t tell if I was missing something. Then I noticed them. The gorilla had a diamond stud earring in each ear. I’d almost missed them because of the thickness of the fur. That’s what he’d wanted me to wear to my birthday dinner. Diamond earrings. Oh, Grizz. Why would you do this to me? Or rather, why would I let you do this?
With a trembling hand, I laid the toy down and swiped at the tears that were starting to form again. Without looking, I reached into the box and latched on to the first thing my hand came into contact with. I pulled it out and stared. A slingshot. It wasn’t the store-bought kind. This one looked like it was handmade out of wood, some kind of tree branch, and a heavy-duty rubber band. I’d seen Grizz teach some kids how to properly use a slingshot once. Tommy had told me the story about how Grizz had been out squirrel hunting the day his little sister had died. Maybe he’d used a slingshot that day. Had this been his? Why had I never seen it?
I gently laid the slingshot on the bed next to the album and stuffed animal. One more item was at the bottom of the box, and this one I recognized immediately. It was a small black bag with a zipper running up the center. It was familiar because I’d bought it for him. It was a shaving bag. I’d presented it to him one Christmas and stocked it with necessities. His favorite— or rather my favorite—cologne that he always wore, razors, shaving cream, deodorant, scissors, and other manly items. I started to unzip it and hesitated. What if his cologne was in it? I didn’t think I could handle remembering how he smelled right then. Don’t open it.
But I knew I had to. I sat down on the bed and reached into the worn leather bag. I took out the single item it contained. And even though I didn’t remember the incident, I knew exactly what I was seeing.
It was a box of bandages. They were old and sported an outdated logo. The box was dented, yellowed and worn, but it was recognizable.
They were the bandages I had given Grizz back in 1966.