Considering the circumstances, the only thing I can think to do is write about what is happening. Normally, I’d just vent at the closest friend and consider it good enough, but I’m pretty much alone down here. The neighbor, Anne, whom my family strangely refers to as Anna, is a great relief, but you can’t vent too much at her. It just feels wrong. And of course there’s Mishka, who is quite comforting, but that comes later.
After a 14 hour drive from Maryland, finding the house is easy. You come down the A1A, turn right at the Bridge Club, and another right at the stop sign. Then you proceed down the street and stop at the first house with a brown yard. It’s not even brown grass- most of that is dead and gone. Weeds are abundant, and the flower beds by the house are certainly full of wildlife. Grandma has a unique idea of what a garden should look like. She likes stuff to grow. Lots of it. It’s not pretty, but I don’t mean that as a simple disparagement. Pretty isn’t a synonym for good, the way most people use it. Pretty means that something is organized, with sleek, attractive lines, carefully arranged. This garden isn’t pretty by that definition. It’s more like an explosion of life. Vibrant and overflowing. There’s a place for everything, and everything is fighting with its neighbors to fill up every bit of space.
The most important question whenever you come into this house is this: is Uncle Mars home? As I approach, his car is missing, so I know he’s not home. In fact, I’ve got a pretty good bet about where he actually is right now. But we’ll get to that later, as well.
I park on the street, and head up the walk. The front door is unlocked, and I open it up and head in. This is the front porch, a narrow corridor lined with windows. At the end is Dad’s chair, and grandma’s wheel chair. The rest of the space is filled with old books, and new books, and the recycling. No sign of grandma.
Opening the sliding glass door into the living room, two forces slap me across the face. The first is the smell. It’s not nearly as bad as last time we were here, but it’s still pretty bad. Mostly like urine, a little funk. The second hit is heat. It’s maybe 85 degrees outside, but inside, it is noticeably hotter. Perhaps 90.
I don’t see grandma, so I call for her. Several fans are running, including a new box fan with a sticker still on it. She’s not in the dining room or kitchen, so I head down the hallway. She’s in the bathroom, door open, sitting on the throne. She glances up at me, I say hello, and I back off. She’s unflappable.
Surveying the house, I can see that it desperately needs to be vacuumed. This clearly hasn’t been done since we were here last, two months previous. There’s a stack of clean dishes by the sink, which I know to be the hand of Anna. Everything else is about as expected; full of clutter. I open up the front and rear sliding glass doors to let some air through, and check out the thermostat. It seems dead. Switching the fan on and off, the air conditioner and the heat, all are ineffective.
I head into the kitchen, and check the state of things. The fridge is filthy, and clearly hasn’t been cleaned since we were here. A pot is sitting on the stove, with something in it. I check out the answering machine, and the note pad next to it. No messages currently on the machine, but the note pad is interesting.
Uncle’s script reads:
FOR TUESDAY
->SHAVE, SHOWER
-> Bank of America – NEED POA.
-- UPS make copies of Death Cert.
-- See Joe
--A.C.
From Store need: Paper towels
Page two reads:
Mystery caller (Called tues)
Coming Wed (?) – and then, a mangled version of my phone number.
Obviously, the AC has been off since at least Monday, and Uncle wasn’t in a state to understand my message when he took it down. I’m not surprised. I check out the rest of the house quickly, and I don’t think there’s a simple euphemism to describe the state of the house. Most homes would be described as “everything in its place”, or “all is in order”, but those aren’t true here. I think the current state is best described as “There are things, and they are in places”.
To be continued.
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