The Palimpsest Review - Volume 10

Palimpsest onLine! 's Professional Writers at Work

Return to Palimpsest onLine!
 

Sarah Etter: “Concaves”

Marissa Molina: "The Day I Wasn’t There"

Andrew Timberlake-Newell: "Smokie"

Anthony Kocur: "To the Edge"

David Kim: "Young and Perverted"

Ryan Morini: "B – Movie Enthusiast"

Joe Giachero: "Whatever Came First"

Meghan Elliott: "Sound"

Veronika L Daddona: "Driver" and "Lamentia"

Ronell Smith: "The 1988 Holiday Barbie"

Charles Howells: "Bandwagon Patriots"

Andrew Noll: "Ten Feet Behind J.F.K."

Sarah E. Smith: "Autumn Skies"

Daniel Debiec: "A Morning in Missoula" and "into the rain"

Ryan Melling: "Hand in Hand"

Andraleen Zelonis: "Let’s Play"

Kevin Cope: "House Guest"

Becky Liscusky: "I Like Dogs and Frogs" and "You know the pan’s hot"

Amber Shinskie: "Scent of a Cherry Cigar"

Zachary Bricker: "Bedtime Story"

 

The Palimpsest Review and Palimpsest onLine! are publications of The Pennsylvania State University. The words and ideas contained within their pages are the property of their authors and cannot be used for any purposes without the authors' specific written consent.

Amber Shinskie – Hazleton

Her bare feet were cushioned by the plush pink carpet as she walked across the room to the vanity near the window. Slivers of sunshine peeked through the slats of the Venetian blinds, throwing a striped pattern on the rug until she pulled the blinds up and let the light invade the room. The bedroom looked pretty much the same for about as long as Janie could remember. She would visit her grandparents often as a child, but she especially looked forward to the sleepovers at their house. She loved this room, probably because it was always decorated in pink, her favorite color. The walls were covered in a pale cotton candy wallpaper with dark pink flowers; there was a pink bedspread, and sheer curtains over those Venetian blinds. The windows faced the sunrise, so every morning the light poured into the room, bathing her in sunlight and making her excited to get out of bed.
    Now Janie stood near the window at the mahogany vanity. She stared blankly into its round mirror, brushing her hair with a pearl-handled hairbrush. It had been a gift from her grandfather several years before for her thirteenth birthday. The small hand mirror with the matching handle of pearl encrusted sliver had smashed when Janie was in high school, leaving her heart-broken, so she had taken extra care with the brush. 
    As she stood there, pulling the soft bristles through her hair, she thought of her grandfather. He was a tall man with strong shoulders, who seemed like a giant when she was young. He was usually a serious and reserved man with a slight Italian accent that got thicker when he raised his voice. To some he could be a bit shy or dull, but to her he was Papa. He taught her to play checkers and Chutes and Ladders and always surprised her with root beer barrels and gum and called her his “Bambina.”
    Janie and her grandfather continued their close relationship beyond her school years, and her earliest memories were of him. She had to be about three years old. Her black hair was long even back then, and it was pulled into pigtail braids on either side of her head. She was wearing her new white and blue sailor dress because it was her Nana and Papa’s anniversary party.
    The little girl was filled with awe when she got there—the party room above the fire company seemed enormous to such a small girl, and there was a rainbow of balloons, streamers, and banners all over the place. The scent of pasta sauce hung in the air, mixed with cigarette smoke and a slight smell of beer. There were several long tables scattered with empty plates, drinks, and dirty napkins after dinner. The room was packed with relatives and friends—some that Janie didn’t recognize at the time, and some that she probably wouldn’t recognize now. When everyone was finished eating, the music played by the DJ became louder and faster, and several people moved out onto the dance floor. Papa was holding her and dancing, and as she wrapped her small arms around him and hugged his neck, she remembered laying her head on his shoulder and breathing in the scent of cherry cigars from his sweater. Her grandfather had a weakness for cherry cigars, and the scent of the smoke clung to his clothes and permanently left a smell in the parlor of her grandparents’ house.
 Janie smiled as she remembered that scent—his scent. She placed the hairbrush on the vanity, picked up her makeup, and began to powder her face. So many memories of her grandfather flashed by as she brushed the soft powder onto her cheeks.
    One of the most amazing and wonderful things about Janie’s grandfather, along with his kindness and knack for comforting her, was the fact that he had a mysterious way of predicting things—like the spring when she was eight years old and secretly climbed trees in the park behind her house. Papa had stopped by for a visit one afternoon. Janie ran through the kitchen, headed for the back door, and he stopped her.
    “Slow down, Bambina. Your shoe’s untied—you better tie it so you don’t trip.”
    She was hurrying to tie her shoe, impatient because she wanted to meet the boy next door and run to the park to climb. Janie didn’t tell her mom that’s where she was going, because she would’ve told her that she wasn’t allowed and that she’d hurt herself.
    As she was tying her shoe, Janie was absently listening to Papa talk about the weather and what a beautiful summer they were having, when he said a strange thing: “The trees in the park look real pretty now that they’re starting to blossom … but they don’t look so strong today.”
    Of course Janie ignored him and ran outside to play. Later that afternoon, she remembered those words while sitting in the emergency room after a tree branch snapped under her feet and left her with a broken arm. There had been several other things like that over the years—Papa would advise her to study for science class out of the blue, which would be followed by a pop quiz the next morning; Janie would be reminded to take an umbrella with her on perfectly sunny days only to get caught in a rain shower later that afternoon, and Papa asked her to use his battery-operated alarm clock instead of her plug-in clock radio the night before her first major presentation at the office—the same night that a thunderstorm caused a power-outage on their whole block.
    Janie put down the powder and took a last look in the mirror before it was time to leave. She pulled on her long black cardigan on her way down the stairs and headed towards the door. Nana was already waiting by the car outside. Janie climbed into the back seat after helping her grandmother in, and as the car started up she looked out the window up at the sky. The day was actually beautiful. The sun was out, but it wasn’t middle-of-summer hot, just warm and bright. The sky was blue and only held a few clouds—the puffy kind that look soft enough to sit on.
    This had been the kind of sky over their summer picnic last year. That was soon after they had all found out that Janie’s grandfather was sick. Although Papa’s sense of humor and his spirit were just as strong as they ever were, his lungs weren’t. Even after he found out, he still wouldn’t give up those cherry cigars. He smoked one at the picnic, as all the younger cousins—and some of the older ones too—sat around him listening to his stories. He could talk for hours on end if you’d let him, about his time in the Navy during WWII. Papa served as a cook on his ship, and he showed them a picture of when he was young and handsome in his uniform. He talked about old Italian traditions and family, like when his father had married his brother’s widow and brought the family to the States. He talked about the trouble he would get into as a boy and the things he would do for fun, back before television and when movies only cost a nickel. 
    “But these have to be the best times of all,” he would say with a huge grin, “getting to be around all you children. Especially since I can send you all home with your parents when I’ve had enough of ya!” 
    He laughed then, sitting on the patio chair on the lawn, but his chuckle turned into a cough—a deep, throaty cough that lasted for a couple of minutes. In that short time, the man who used to look like a strong, sturdy giant to a child’s eyes, now appeared weak and small. When he regained his composure and his breath, he said, “I only wish I would be able to see my first great-grandchild.” Then he looked over the heads of the young children and his eyes met with Janie’s. He had the smile on his face of a child keeping a secret, and a look in his eyes that knew something she didn’t.

The car came to a stop, and it forced Janie out of her daze. She took a deep breath and then opened her door. She stepped out onto the street and walked around to the other side of the car, where she opened the door for her grandmother. She helped Nana keep her balance as she climbed out of the car and onto the sidewalk.
    As they walked through the doors and into the building, it felt as if she were moving in slow motion. She didn’t notice any sound at all as she walked past the solemn faces—some with sympathetic eyes—as Janie and her Nana made their way to the front of the room where her grandfather lay in a coffin.
    She knew she had to be strong for Nana. She couldn’t lose it, not then. Later, after this was all over, she could let down her defenses and cry and scream and hurt. But right then, Janie kept her composure. She was putting on a pretty good act too, until she felt the rumbling in her round protruding belly. When the baby kicked, she remembered Papa’s words. Then, the tears that were clinging so tightly to the rims of her eyes finally loosened their grip and let themselves come streaming down her powdered face. She ached for the fact that he wouldn’t get to see his first great-grandchild, and she ached for a little girl who would never get to meet her great-grandfather: Papa, compassionate towards others and passionate for life and its simple pleasures; comforting, consoling, and safe; truly deserving of the title “great.”

Two months after the funeral, Janie sat in the small hospital room. Next to her on the night table was the largest bouquet of flowers she had ever seen. There was a mixture of daisies and pink carnations, adorned with babies’ breath in a large white ceramic vase. Around the room were a few stuffed animals and an assortment of cards, and a group of balloons hung in the corner that said things like “Congratulations” and “It’s a Girl.” The baby lay in a white wicker basinet a few feet from the bed. Janie had the nurse put the baby near the window, situated so that her face was shaded but that the sun still shone on her through the open curtains.
    She was glad her bed was near the window, because she could look out and get to see this beautiful afternoon. The sun dominated the sky, shining through the few clouds that were scattered here and there. A small breeze made the gold and red leaves dance on the trees on the lawn below. As Janie was admiring her view, a nurse came into the room carrying a pitcher of water.
    “Here you go, hon. Can I get you anything else?” she said as she set the pitcher down on the nightstand.
    “No, I’m fine,” she answered. “Actually, could you hand me the baby before you go?” Janie had held her practically all morning and only laid her down when she fell asleep after her noontime feeding. She had woken again, and although she was lying peacefully, Janie just couldn’t get enough of her and wanted to hold her as much as she could. The nurse gently placed her in Janie’s arms and then left the room, closing the door softly behind her.
    After sitting there just staring into her face for who-knows-how-long, the baby started crying. Janie tried rocking her and feeding her and giving her a pacifier, but nothing could calm her down. Finally, when she didn’t know what else to do and was nearing a moment of “first-time mother” panic, the baby became serene almost automatically. Janie took a relieved breath, and as she did she caught a smell in the air. Her eyes teared up, but she smiled as she held her new baby girl in her arms and smelled the familiar scent of a cherry cigar.