“Cherry Soda”
A ray of light filtered through the blinds that hung loosely over the window. I could see the dust swirling around in the lazy air. It was entrancing. A soft cough from the corner drew me from my daydreaming. I looked over to my husband; his forehead marked with wrinkles as he concentrated on whatever he was thinking. I glanced over my shoulder to see what he was looking at and was greeted with the familiar sight of a mahogany desk sitting squatly in the middle of the room. It smelled like lemons, mint and pipe tobacco in this office room. I remembered the same smell from years past. The nameplate on the desktop was a bit dusty and the engraved letters were an off white. It said in big bold obnoxious letter “Andrew Hopeston”. Just running the name through my head again was agonizing and I guessed that wrinkles were appearing on my forehead as well. This was the office of my grandfather. My beloved sturdy grandfather, whom I missed increasingly each day. He had died in his sleep unexpectedly three days prior.
This bright spring morning Pete, my grandfather’s intern had let Nate and I into his office to go through his papers and get his estate in order. We had a lot of information processing to do this afternoon. My brother wanted memorable items for display at the funeral, my lawyer wanted me to sift through all of the business and legal documents the office contained. But before we took on that monumental task, we were taking an awestruck moment to remember all that had passed in this open office with its garnet red walls and bookshelves towering over our heads. I walked over and sat down next to Nate, taking his hand, closing my eyes, resting my head against his shoulder and sighing. The memories came pouring back.
My first memory of this office was a week before school started the year I turned nine. Unlike all of the other kids that lived in our neighborhood, my mother and father could not afford summer camp or a trip to the beach that year. It was mostly because they were going through a long and stressful divorce that occupied most of their funds at the time. I didn’t quite understand the situation, but was happy enough to oblige when they told me I could go to work with Grandpa Drew and read to my heart’s content. It was about 3:30 in the afternoon and I was lying on the floor coloring a princess page that my trusty Grandpa had printed out for me. I heard his chair creak and knew that he must be taking a break and leaning back into the soft leather. I twisted my neck around and smiled up at him happily. He was already smiling back, his strong arms up and his leathery hands behind his head. He pulled them down, braced them against the seat of his chair and heaved himself up gracefully. Walking out of the office, he grinned slyly at me and returned carrying two bottles of a bright red liquid. I twisted the top off mine and the overwhelmingly sweet and sticky smell of fizzy cherry soda reached my nose. I was beaming as big as if I had a slice of watermelon for a mouth.
He sipped his soda looking at me over the rim of the bottle’s opening, his right hand played with the paperclips strewn over his desk. An idea struck me. I wanted to teach my wise old grandpa something special that day. I leaped from my relaxed position sitting Indian style on the floor and went to his side. I picked up two paperclips and connected them making a two-link chain. He caught on quickly and we spent the next hour making paperclip chains and stringing them over the shelves of the bookcases. We were as happy as ever and it was the nicest, laziest day of summer I ever had.
My cheek slid across the soft fleece of Nate’s sweater as I smiled sadly. I wondered what he was thinking of in his perpetual concentration.
I knew his first memory too. One caused me much jealousy in my preteen years. I was ten, he was eleven. Nate’s father worked under my Grandfather, and being the generous man he was, always invited Nate in to play when he came to work with his father. On this particular occasion, we had off school because it was snowing like nothing we’d ever seen. All of the state offices stayed open, though, and this included the courthouse where the men worked. Nate had wandered into Mr. Hopeston’s office in search of a relief from boredom’s grip. My grandpa quickly thought of a handy thing to teach a boy of eleven- how to change the batteries in a wristwatch. He used a paperclip to unscrew the back, dictating the steps to his young companion. All I knew when I sauntered in, dropped off by my mother, was that I was not the one getting the attention and a boy I didn’t know was. I wanted my Grandpa to play with me, not him. Of course, looking back, I had no right to be upset, but at ten, it made me quite the grouch. Nate and I’s friendship blossomed from there and that brought me straight to the happiest memory of this office I knew of.
I snuggled up close to my husband for this memory, knowing my motion would trigger it in his mind as well. The memory train came fast and I was remembering every detail as crisply as if it was yesterday.
My grandfather hired Nate and I as interns the year we were juniors in college. It was a late Friday night as we tried to get as much done as possible before the weekend came up. Grandpa Drew went home early that night because he knew he could leave his workload for his happy young interns. We were not too pleased. I was sitting at a table researching law in the books my grandfather had in his office. As I was deep in thought on intricacies of a young teenage murder case, I heard footsteps in the hall. I knew they were just Nate’s and I chose to ignore them. As I got back into the reading, the soft footsteps stopped and a low breathing was to be heard closer now. I looked up startled, relieved to see only Nate there. He had a funny look on his face as if something was on his mind. He asked if he could sit down and assuming he had research to do, I cleared some books onto the floor, bending down to place them so. When I looked up, he was facing me and his leg was placed beside him in the chair. He cleared his throat and then unexpectedly leaned into me. Our noses brushed as he kissed me full on the lips. For an unknown reason to this day, I held the kiss and our lips moved more passionately. He put his hand behind my head and felt my hair. I was in bliss. Suddenly he pulled back, shook his head, smiled and left the office with me completely awestruck.
I giggled at this awkward but lovely memory and a soft breathing broke me of my reminiscing. Nate was staring at me and when I looked to him he kissed me softly on my cheek. He had remembered, as I knew he would. A tear rolled down my cheek over the place his lips had just been and I cried. I cried for my selfishness, for my loss, and for my forgetfulness of the real task. I put my hand on Nate’s thigh and pushed myself out of the chair. I walked over to the desk on which sat a five-link paperclip chain, and began to open drawers. I began forming organized stacks on the table by the window, and next went to the trash. The lawyer had told me to check there too and make sure no important pieces of my Grandpa’s life would be gone. The first thing I pulled out was an empty bottle of Irish Crème, followed by receipts dating back to when I was 5 with all one thing in common. They were from the liquor store. Cherry Soda was not his death, nor was age, he had been attacked by a lonely silent killer. My tear hit the rim of the empty bottle.
The End.
--Like when you are in calculus class and your teacher's powerpoint utilizes your two absolute favorite colors (lime and lilac) in the perfect shades to describe delta and epsilon on a graph.
