Late June dusk was rapidly approaching from all directions on the town of Bloomfield, Vermont, closing in on the two hundred and fifty some residents like a cozy blanket. Local parks and boardwalks were clearing out and porch lights and televisions were being turned on. A slight breeze wafted the smell of till all hours barbecues through the slightly cracked but nonetheless paved roads. The yellow dividing line in the center was fading; I noticed this with gloom as I placed one scuffed sneaker in front of the other, walking the line as if it was a tightrope hundreds of feet in the air. The line was fading, just like everything else in this town.
I was looking for you; Mom sent me after you didn’t show up for dinner. She said that I know you best, if anyone really knows you at all. I’m sure that no one does. The only other living souls I past on my journey was a pair of lovers, walking hand in hand on the side of the rode, Jesse West who I vaguely knew from school was biking and gave me a wave and a grin as he passed, and I believe I saw a stray cat skirt between some trees, most likely off to the kind hearted folks who would feed it next.
As I turned into the business district, my eyes took in the sight like an old woman staring at her reflection, thinking wistfully back to her teenage days of curves and long, billowing hair. It was like looking at a friend who you hadn’t seen in years, wondering where the time went and how everything changed. What once had been a blissfully booming street in Bloomfield now consisted of mostly run down, boarded up stores, with the rare small apartment atop them that still had a light on.
Walking up the stone path to the library was the only thing that I found any comfort in. I looked down at my feet as I moved, thinking back to how many times they’ve traced the same route. Only usually back then, there’d be a person by my side, holding my small hand in his larger one.
You.
Times have changed, but not that much. I still knew you better than your own daughter ever did. That’s why I came straight here and didn’t stop at the places that would seem most obvious to most people- the small park on our block where people of all ages liked to go and converse, the ice cream parlor that remained open which was famous throughout the state for its soft-serve, or even the bandshell, where, if no entertainment was present, mostly teenagers hung around after dark and smoked in huddled groups.
The heavy oak doors which were once mysterious and inviting as a child now felt like they were leading to a dungeon in which no escape was possible. My eyes were still fixated on the on my shoes, which now were walking on crimson carpeting; I mumbled a greeting to the librarian, Ms. Garland. “Adelaide, dearest.” She called out to me as I passed. “He’s in the back.”
As if I didn’t know that already.
I made my way into the secluded sitting area behind all the towering shelves of fiction and paused. It consisted of tables and red leather chairs and dim light. All in all, an elegant library. Many people used to come and go, but now it had quieted down just like the rest of the town. Since the daytime buzz of kids checking out picture books and the steady hum of preteen girls borrowing romance novels had ended, there was only you left. You hadn’t noticed me yet; that didn’t surprise me, you never did when you were reading. It was as if your withered hands could just not flip the pages as fast as your eyes could drink in the words. The sight of you reading always amazed me, even as a small child. I remember being right next to you at times. I remember that when I was, I could never concentrate on what I was reading because when you were reading, it was a magical thing and required my full attention.
Not unlike now. I was paralyzed on the spot, thinking back to a time when I was tiny enough to crawl into your lap and read with you .
You looked up, then. It was just a tiny break to push your glasses back up your nose from where they had slid down. Though, now that you’ve noticed me standing there, you just stared right back at me.
“Ruby, sweet, what time is it?” You’re voice was weak and hoarse with age.
I swallowed and ignored the fact that you didn’t know who I was. “It’s late; we were worried when you didn’t show for dinner.”
You chuckled and said, “Ah, but this place does get the best of me at times. Spent most of my life, here, didn’t I? This is where I met your mother, did you know?”
“Yes.” I whispered, blinking as to not let the moisture escape from my eyes. “Yes, i’ve heard the story many times.”
You ignored this last statement and pulled yourself from the armchair in which you sat. “I found something great today- a novel about the history of Bloomfield! Amazing, isn’t it? Not just those awful picture books with the short little captions- a real novel, with everything you can imagine about this place! For a small town it’s rich in history!”
At least it’s rich in something, I thought.
You talked like this as you headed to the counter. No one else would notice anything wrong with you. Ms. Garland didn’t as she smiled and said, “you two have a nice evening.”
Though I sure did. It started happening months ago, little things that everyone does at some point and should not raise alarm. However, this was my grandfather we were talking about; you’d never lose your glasses or put your shoes on the wrong feet. No one would listen. I was a teenager and I was being silly.
Then you started calling me by my mother’s name. Not even my mother herself could deny that something was wrong.
My father talked sense into her and said, “Ruby, he’s your father. Get him help.” The doctor called it old age. Let life take its course.
“You know, Ruby,” You said as we walked together en route home. “It’s like old times. Before your mother died and we were happy...”
When I didn’t offer anything, you continued.
“I know I complain a lot about living with you and Rick, but truly, I appreciate it. If the situation was on my hands, truth be told I probably wouldn’t have taken you in. And your home is much better than going to an old folk’s one. Though that’s probably where I belong by now” You gave a wheeze.
I stayed silent. What was one to do during a situation like this?
As we continued walking we passed more old, dark, covered buildings. Yet you didn’t seem to notice when you said, “Isn’t it beautiful, Ruby? Such a lovely place.”
In later times maybe I would realize you maybe weren’t as delusional as I thought. Maybe i’d comprehend that you could see the beauty and hope in this abandoned town when everyone else just continued giving up.
Though at that moment, all I could think was that life wasn’t fair. What was the point of fighting to get old if age would just take the best of you away? The two most important things to you were this town, and me, your granddaughter.
Yet, now you cannot perceive either as they truly are.
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