by Casey Bass
Faith daily hears the thunder
A lively spunk naively trusted,
She turns toward meadow behind her,
How she longs to go back and
rebuild--
But turning back would surely rob
her |
GRANDMOTHER'S IVY
By Casey Bass
A most beautiful and richly green potted ivy lavished in the old paint-chipped window. Ever-growing it had circled around the front door of Grandmother's house. The living room's faults were almost completely covered by the vine's numerous runners adorned with large perky leaves that reached energetically toward the sunlight and continued onward. The ivy almost covered the entire wall except for its opening at the front door. The sound of rattling glass and squeaking hinge could be heard with each of the door's openings.
Each leaf from the expansive drapery exhibited serene individuality. Splashes of white blended majestically and mysteriously into a tapestry of green. An unseen, but elegant brass pot sat quietly posed upon a matching brass plant stand which was centered before the window and provided lodging for the ivy's massive, intricately webbed root structure. Every Saturday for almost ten years Grandmother had lovingly and faithfully tended to the ivy. Eventually she'd even nicknamed it "James".
Six-year-old Tommy's parents often brought him by to visit Grandmother on their way home from church. Grandmother looked forward to Sundays. Seeing Tommy with his big innocent blue eyes, his sandy jumble of curls, and that toothless grin brought joy to her lonely old heart. How she longed for the days when she had been able to come and go as she pleased. Painfully she remembered the time when she'd walked without a cane. But memory, thankfully, was also beginning to fail.
Tommy always received stern warnings from his parents just before leaving the car, "Stay away from Grandmother's ivy!" Yes, he would be more than happy to oblige them, but why did the darn thing tantalize him so? It was just a stupid plant, after all. To Tommy, it seemed that the creepy old thing must have a magnet hidden in it. Everything he touched always ended up dangerously near the dreaded old octopus.
Tommy was not really clumsy, rowdy, or mischievous like some of his classmates were. Heck, Billy Bates would have plowed that monstrous old green thing down just for the fun of it. But not Tommy. Tommy liked Grandmother. He kind of wished Grandmother didn't cry so much when it was time for him to go home. "Maybe it's just a 'girl' thing that happens even worse when old ladies start gettin' old," he'd thought in pained confusion. "Ick!"
Winter's snow had freshly fallen upon the ground, when Tommy's parents anxiously insisted that his new Sunday shoes be accompanied by those nice protective black overboots they'd bought him last year. Thanks to Tommy those ugly rubber gaskets stayed lost in his toy box all the time. This year they seemed to fit a little bit snug, but they'd covered his new shoes all the same. "Who cares if I can hardly walk!" thought Tommy bitterly pinching his face into a scowl, as the rubber gaskets almost tripped him with every step.
At church it was nearly impossible for Tommy to sit still. He kept glancing backward toward the door where those snowy black boots still lingered, lazily reclining on their sides. He dreaded making a scene. Those giggling girls would probably have a lot of fun with this boot thing. Boots! Phooey! Girls! Double Phooey!
Red-faced, Tommy struggled wildly in a fierce, almost brave attempt to get those horrid black enemies back upon his Sunday shoe clad feet before anyone had a chance to tease, but out of the blue, those creepy girls were there. Giggling. "What kind of monsters were they, anyway?" thought Tommy when finally he'd felt the thump of his shoe hit the bottom of his boot and the red slowly drain from his face.
Throughout lunch at the restaurant after church Tommy sat dangling the snow covered boots beneath the table. His parents had relented in making him take the boots off. The battle and his tears had made such an embarrassing scene when they'd tried to convince Tommy to remove them, they'd let it slide.
At Grandmother's house, the job of taking off those horrible pieces of rubber had to be done all over again. For some unfair reason that Tommy couldn't quite understand, his parents didn't have to wear evil black boots. "Just wait 'till I'm a grownup," whispered Tommy angrily through clinched teeth as he sat piled in a heap on the floor of Grandmother's front doorway undoing his boots. "I'm NEVER gonna wear boots again--EVER!!" he exclaimed, yanking his boots with a mighty tug. The dislodged boot sailed like a bird high over Tommy's shoulder, hurled itself skyward toward the ceiling, merry-go-rounded on Grandmother's ceiling fan, and dove right into the big ivy's stand bringing "James" down with a sickening thud.
Grandmother was so still and white. She just stood there looking at the huge green monster scarcely able to breath. It really did look like an octopus then. Somehow Tommy's parents got the thing put back into place pretty well. Most of the soil from the pot was replaced around the roots and a good sweeping cleaned up the remaining mess on the carpeted floor. A tearful Tommy stood in one snowboot inside the doorway. Throughout the seemingly endless cleanup, he tottered holding his other shoeless foot high up off the floor--his big toe peering out through a large hole in his sock. He held a small broken piece of the ivy in a gloved hand behind his back. A look of complete anguish veiled his little red face. In their rush to set things right, no one noticed Tommy place the little stem of ivy behind the other runners on Grandmother's floor.
At home that night, Tommy kneeled beside his bed and prayed in earnest for the first time in his life. He said, "God, if you're up there, please don't let Grandmother's big old ivy die. She calls it James, you know. And P.S., please let the little broken piece live, too."
After church the next Sunday, Tommy could scarcely contain his relief at the sight of the old monster still alive. Week after week he'd checked it carefully. Surely his prayers were answered, but by the time spring arrived, the massive old thing had begun to wither. As temperatures climbed outside and stretched lazily from summer on into fall, the ivy had almost dried up completely . The window and the wall were strangely bare and badly in need of fresh paint. Yellow and brown leaves fell to the floor and covered the carpet beneath the window making the room feel cold and eerie. The old octopus' arms were stiff like brown tree limbs. The monstrous thing seemed more like a huge leering skeleton perched in the window than a plant. Somehow "James" seemed to know of Grandmother's passing.
Tommy sat indian-style alone in the echoing living room of Grandmother’s now empty house waiting for his parents to finish up last bits of business. A sign out in the front yard said, "House For Sale". Pondering in confusion, the small boy could not figure out how a flying rubber boot could have caused such as this. Surely this must all be his fault. If only he had been more careful. If only God had answered his prayer and let James live, Grandmother would have lived too. Tears streamed down Tommy's little anquished face. Bending over, he tried to wipe his wet nose and face with the tail of his shirt, but as he reached his head down toward his shirt tail, he saw it. The little piece of ivy that he had broken and hidden beneath the others months ago was still growing perkily beneath the old brown twigs.. Reaching out, he picked up the small green piece of ivy.
With tears still in his eyes, Tommy carried the tiny piece of ivy carefully with him to the car. It would be years before Tommy found it sort of odd that the tiny plant he'd held in his hands that day had survived and flourished for almost a year--even though it had no roots.