it's saturday night. i'm doing laundry and craving a cigarette.
i don't smoke.
the rooms are all still, and i'm sitting here with jack savoretti's voice lulling me into some deep mind fuck. i've begun writing the memoir of an old, dead man today. interviewed for several hours this morning, sipping my hot chocolate, my tape recorder lying on the coffee table. i took notes. she frowned when i asked the question. thirty minutes later, i slipped it in again; different wording this time.
"can you recall your affinity towards him?"
no answer. only a frown and a deep sigh. she didn't want to talk about it. i wrote it in the margins.
appears disappointed by my question of love for her father. avoids answer and looks so forlorn. maybe it was too much.
but what the hell is too much? she spoke for hours today. laid it all out on the table, and i could tell she'd waited her whole life for these handful of hours. she had six cups of coffee, and i've filled my hot chocolate quota for the entire year. but listening back through the tape, i missed one important thing.
"how do you think of him now?"
"i don't."
i frantically flipped through pages of my notes, and nowhere could i find the details of those two words. the two words that will ultimately tell the story. i can't remember if she said them with disdain or with apathy. were her eyes directed at me or towards some spot on the wall?
phrases things in questions as if i have the answers. she's looking for something. perhaps some sort of retribution for her sorrows? perhaps redemption for her thoughts? perhaps one final goodbye?
turns out she was taking notes as well.
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This is interesting. My grandfather died just over a year ago and all I've been thinking is how much I wish I knew more about him. The stories my grandmother tells about him and his father leave me hoping for time travel. An idea might be to take what you know, couple that with a little embellishment, and write more of a tribute piece. I'm tempted to do such a thing with my great-grandfather.
ReplyDeletemy grandfather was an alcoholic. he was a gambler, he was a liar, he was a thief, and he was gone. he fought for a lot of things he didn't believe in, and at the end of his life he was reciting psalms and wearing regret like a second skin. it's hard to explain, but it's a story i want to tell. i don't think i could ever call it a tribute, but i do like your idea. perhaps give in to your temptation and see where it leads you.
ReplyDeleteMy whole life has been a story of me giving into temptation. Speaking of, I'm working on the alcoholic part, terrified to gamble for fear of addiction, and consider myself already gone. My point is that people are who they are and a little compassion and empathy can go a long way to understanding them.
ReplyDeletei absolutely agree with that last part. Just to clarify, I don't plan on intentionally shedding bad light on my gradfather's past. he lived a very interesting life, and he accomplshed some great things with his time. i just hope when it's finished that i can look back and know that it's an honest reflection of a man that deserves a story. and also, i really thought about that first sentence you said. it just makes a lot of sense to me, and i feel like i could have written it myself.
ReplyDeleteWe're human, we fall short of perfection. Some fall farther than others.
ReplyDelete