There is still some of the clear-eyed innocence left, even though Nathale is 80 years old. Or, at least, that's what she reports as her age. I think she might be younger.
Dell stuck his hands deeper in the pockets of his second-hand, thrift store "designer" sweatshirt. "Five dollars, and you that thing is usually forty on the rack, if you're lucky," he bragged to Jessica. She nodded back with the infamous, crooked half-smile she inherited from her Irish grandfather. Basically, she didn't care and continued sipping on the Australian-imported ale that was at least $2.50 a bottle retail, as Del recalled. He looked longingly at his Coors that sat on the ground and in that moment gave up on hand warmth for a sip.
Jessica got up for a smoke. She leaned on her husband's coupe as to not get smoke in her dad's face, although he had become accustomed to smoking cigars in the last few years. "You know, I was looking through grandma and grandpa's old pictures and the years have not been kind to them. They look worn out in all of them," she remarked as cigarette smoke escaped her lungs.
"Depression, wars, and six kids will do that to people," Del stated flatly without looking up. "How old do you think your grandma was in that picture, the one taken on their wedding day?" Craig interjected. "I didn't think she could have been any more than fifteen."
Jessica experienced a brief moment of panic at the thought of being married so young. She thought back to what she was doing at fifteen. Going to the zoo with boys and dragging main street and "illegally" smoking filled her time when she wasn't at school all those years ago. She puffed harder at the Marlboro Ultra Light that was currently staining her fingers.
Del scratched his chin and figured some numbers, silently. "I bet she was fourteen. I remember when I had to ask permission to marry Linda that Nathale was not happy. Your grandfather was more than ready to have Linda out the door, so to speak. Maybe she has some bad memories of those early days." He killed the bottle of Coors. Jessica inhaled deeply and involuntarily shuddered out of sorrow for her grandmother. Apparently a woman just didn't take off too often in those days. Would I be here if she would have acted in her own defense against ... she squinted down the brick street her parents' house sits on ... against what has clouded her eyes over the years? The truth was that she didn't care either way about being here or not; however, there was no point in worrying about it now.
My four-year-old nephew, Ian, came out to the driveway with an old, beat up football. He bumbled and tumbled with that thing that is twice the size of his head and dad somehow got a hold of it. "This is your Uncle Chuck's football," he said quietly while picking at the flecked hide. He tossed it to me and I turned it over to look at the bar code. I guess they did have those in the early '80s, I thought and laughed to myself. "Let's play football!" Ian excitedly requested, spitting out most of the syllables through his silver-capped front teeth.
It was yet another instance where Charles was referred to in the present tense. I think it's mostly for Nathale's sake. Her one boy she couldn't admit to losing. Her one son she refused to take out of her will. Maybe one day she will finally see his small grave marker, but I doubt it. Maybe he resides in the still clear blue spots left in her eyes.
