Jo-Ann Mapson

Gigi (continued)

My grandparents had a liver-spotted dog that looked like she was part beagle, catahoula, and maybe some dachshund-Josie. It just happened to be one of the nicknames my grandfather gave me. Josie had a doghouse that matched their house down to the paint and the roofing material. She wandered the estate and ate fallen avocadoes. She was willing to go anywhere I was. She startled pheasants out of hiding, and wasn't afraid of snakes or gophers, both of which were in abundance. Just like my grandparents, Josie seemed to exist in a kind of autonomous way. If they forgot to feed either of us, there were always avocadoes.

Pour a little too much Canadian Club and Seven-Up into a person, say one that retired too early, has too much free time and money to burn, and what better than the past to use as a weapon? Who better to aim it on than the woman who helped you arrive at this destination? We sat in the dining room, at an oval wooden table, between electric candles that never burned down. Two crystal pheasants with long swooping tails, clear glass, entirely filled with bubbles, our centerpiece. They were heavy, and must have been very expensive. My mother hoped to one day inherit them, but by then my grandfather had become a mark for wheedling cleaning ladies, or was so drunk he might have given them to the Thrift Store.

My grandparents fought, using me as the sounding board. I begged them to stop. My grandfather left the table lurching his chair out and leaving scrapes on the wooden floor. My grandmother cried big, boozy tears until she tucked herself into bed with another murder mystery. I finished their drinks. So long as my stomach buzzed warmly, I could sleep. Gigi had insomnia, and thought nothing of snapping on a light in the middle of the night to read. I'd wake startled, try to ignore the light, but end up dizzy with cigarette smoke and lack of rest, so that when I swam in their pool, or explored the grounds with the dog, all my edges were uneven, blurry, and I didn't know whether the events I remembered had happened or if I dreamed them.

Life there was like Eden after the apple: fig trees heavy with fruit, a glittering view of the city filtered through smog. Tall, scented eucalyptus trees that fell over in the wind, and strangely shaped passionflowers climbing chain link. The time I nearly placed my hand on the arch of the gate to push it open, and I realized there was a snake lying across it. Inside the house, my grandmother playing hit tunes on the piano. In the basement workshop, my grandfather running his saw through teakwood to make practical objects dense with unexplored talent. Me and the dog, two Josies, standing outside with our bellies full of avocado, wondering which camp was our safest bet.

They're dead now. My grandmother lived 17 years in a convalescent home. Whether it was Alzheimer's disease, or alcohol-induced dementia, or simply being driven nuts by her life, she did not have enough marbles left in her bag to play the game without supervision. I remember my father saying, "My mother is dead," though she was five miles away in a small, white Spanish style building that reeked of urine instead of Chanel #5. My mother visited Gigi every week. She gave us the sanitized report of her decline: lost teeth, incontinence, and the week when speech left her entirely. Yet until the very end, if the nurses wheeled Gigi's chair in front of the piano, she could still play her The Hawaiian Wedding Song.

The Hawaiian Wedding Song
King-Hoffman-Manning

This is the moment I've waited for
I can hear my heart singing
Soon bells will be ringing

This is the moment of sweet Aloha
I will love you longer than forever
Promise me that you will leave me never

Here and now, dear, all my love I vow, dear
Promise me that you will leave me never
I will love you longer than forever

U-a, si-la, Pa-a ia me o-e,
ko a-lo-ha ma-ka-mea e i-po
Ka-'u ia e le-i a-e ne-i la

Now that we are one, clouds won't hide the sun
Blue skies of Hawaii smile on this our wedding day
I do love you with all my heart.

More later,
Jo-Ann

^Top