Dick’s Stump
A bluejay flutters its wings and finds its perch on a branch not too far. The noon sun pours through the tangle of leaves of the treetops creating shadows of shapes and patterns on the life beneath. In the distance the motor and the constant beeping of a construction lift echoes throughout the entire redwood forest, like an alarm ringing when I’m half awake.
The car slows to a park and I step out from the sandy road onto the wild grass that has turned a shade of golden yellow. The mountain ranges in the distance, hues of faded purple and blue against a white hazy sky. In front of me a small tree stump stands, poised with all its cracks and aged with the wind and rain. A dulled bronze plaque is nailed carefully on the stump. Richard H. Blum.
The trek from the barn house to the cliff side took several minutes but felt like hours. Sweat began to form beads on my forehead. The heels I’m wearing are not meant to go through the journey. Still, I was surprised that they held up quite nicely.
We gather around the cliffside, creating a circle. Lilly steps out carrying Dick’s ashes. The sun is setting. Her face glows orange from the sun, almost like an aura. We all watch Lilly carefully open the small tin box and then sprinkle Dick’s ashes all over the tree stump.
“Shit.” I hear Bubbie say from the driver’s seat of the car.
I turn around and see a construction motor making its way down the road. The gray-boxed beast sways left and right as it comes down the uneven path behind us. I get back into the car and give a last single glance at Dick’s Stump as we continue our drive to Shingle Mill.
The Parental
We have lunch outside on the wooden table on the porch. Lilly lights a mosquito coil and places it on a small dish next to us. The canopy of trees shelter us from the now afternoon sun which I’m thankful for. Birds sing and travel above us, but stay close to us, accompanying the three of us for lunch.
“So, now that you’re done with nursing school are you looking for jobs now?” Lilly asks Bubbie.
I take a bite of my sandwich that I prepared for Bubbie and I before heading out this morning. My mind shifts from concentrating on my own food and trying hard to listen to the conversation which I’m not part of and don’t want to be part of but feel obligated to join. Feel as if I should be ashamed of my life choices.
“Once you have experience, it’s easy to move around and explore what you like. The first job may not be what you wanted but it’ll help you get experience.” Lilly explains.
As Lilly continues to interrogate Bubbie with the same questions that the Parentals always ask, I turn my head to the left and take a look at the Chapel that’s just a small pathway down from the porch. It’s still the same that it’s always been. Weathered bronze trinkets, the angry stone-carved fish fountain on the path, and the painting of Mother Mary in need of a clean.
I feel the rumbling of the red pickup truck beneath me. There’s something soothing about a rumbling engine. The wind blows my hair. I zip my jacket up tighter. It’s winter but the trees are still a deep emerald green.
The truck stops in an open clearing. We climb out from the back of the truck. Dick scans the area and decides on a tree not too far from the car. He takes out his chain saw and begins to cut through the trunk of the tree.
I watch as the adults pick up the tree and haul it up to the back of the truck and tie it down with jute rope.
Back at the chapel we place a thin blanket underneath the tree to catch the falling pine leaves. I help Lilly and my mom hang up christmas ornaments. The warmth of the fire defrosts my numbing hands and feet. The crackle of the fire mixed in with the Christmas Essentials playlist from Spotify.
I look above me and watch a bluejay fly from branch to branch with ease. I could still hear the sound of the construction lift in the distance.
“There’s a lot of construction around here.” It’s the first full sentence I managed to say since we sat down for lunch. My voice, a slight wavering.
“Yeah, they are building a new residential house near here. You know there are eight houses in this complex, they’re building another one so that’s going to be nine of us.”
Part of me wants the construction process to stop but part of me doesn’t. It’ll drive anyone mad being this isolated from the rest of the city-sprinkled world.
Or maybe, I just found my niche.
In this place, no one can break my flow.
The park is moderately quiet. It’s nearing evening but people are still out walking their dogs or finishing up a late picnic lunch. Lilly and I sit down on the stone tables. We take sips of our coffee and snack on pastries. The wind blows and I feel it up my spine. I should have brought a thicker jacket.
I haven’t seen Lilly since the pandemic started several months ago. I’m glad we have a chance to meet up.
We update each other about our lives. How she works long hours at the hospital but is offered two days off from work. She tells me she’s studying for a certification but is struggling to read the material fast enough.
Lilly offers to bring up Dick’s art supplies the next time she comes up.
I never knew Dick was a painter.
I should have talked to him more when he was still here. We all wished we could have done more when our loved ones were still alive.
“So, I watched your videos that you sent me. They are pretty good.” Lilly says to me.
I put my fork down onto the napkin. Suddenly feeling the pressure that the spotlight’s on me after letting it be on someone else. Instinctually, I grab my cup but my hand never leaves the table. I let the coolness of the ice water run through my veins, as if I think it’ll help cool down the heat that’s flickered alight from the single mention of my personal whereabouts.
“I can do better.” I say bluntly.
“I don’t know much about art but I think you can take some classes at De Anza or West Valley. That way you can become more skilled. There will be a teacher there to help you when you need it. I think it’s better than learning online.”
I would like to think of myself as a person who has a good filtering system. Filtering out the shit of the world. The shit of myself. But I can feel myself totally disregarding filtering altogether. I put up my walls.
“I have taken classes at De Anza. But I like learning on my own. I have been for the last couple of months and I think I’m learning a lot from this way. “ I say with a boiling skepticism for the institution that wants nothing more than my time and money. For a blow to the parental figures in my life who constantly pushes me to conform to society. To settle.
Lilly shrugs her shoulders, “…okay. Just a suggestion.”
I feel a sudden loss of appetite.
Pond Hike
The sun is up high and already I can feel sweat forming on my forehead and cupid’s bow. Bubbie takes the water bottle from me and together we walk down the sandy path, trailing behind Lilly. Her bubblegum pink water bottle sways as she treks through a blanket of green.
Occasionally, I stop to bend down and pick the Sand Burs off from my pants and shoes. Feeling relieved to get rid of the abrasiveness of the unwelcome hitchhiker. Shrubs, on either side of us and redwood trees standing next to us. The humidity, circling through the forest.
Lilly points to a plant with bunches of three-pointed leaves coming forth onto the road, “Poison Oak!”
Bubbie and I carefully bypass the dangerous beauty.
I remember I got poison oak before, during a class field trip in elementary school. At Marin. I was on a hike with my classmates and my eyes began to feel extremely irritated. I didn’t know what poison oak was (maybe I should have paid more attention to the ranger) but growing up I learned it was best to leave itchy eyes alone. To tolerate pain. So, I said nothing, showed nothing. My partner unsurprisingly, got poison oak too but he was lucky enough for someone to recognize it. I said nothing and showed nothing. I just stood and watched as the park ranger stopped the hike to apply medical aid to the boy’s eyes.
Foolish.
As we hiked deeper into the forest, the humidity began to play games with me. Everything seemed too bright. It became harder for me to keep up the pace. Bubbie and I stopped for a water break. We still had quite a bit of water left but I knew it wouldn’t last the whole hike. Not in this heat. I was careful to not drink too much.
Up ahead I see Lilly examine a shrub. When we caught up to her, she points out that there are wild blackberries growing there. I look over. Small purple jewels, glistening under the sun, as dark as midnight. I pluck it off the branch and ate half of it, giving the rest to Bubbie. The sourness sent jolts through my body, awakening me from the heat.
The path curves in s’s like a snake. We are deep into the forest now. Shade. I feel the coolness on my face and I feel it glide through my sweat soaked shirt. I look down to the curved path and through the curtain of redwoods. There by the trees is a small white cabin.
“This is for camping.” Says Lilly.
“David built this. You can have afternoon tea here.”
Lilly opens the wooden door. I peer inside.
Empty, spacious but cozy.
Finally, we reach a wooden gate. Through the gate is the Boat House. Upon entering, directly to the left is a small pond. With koi and plastic ducks. Walking in more I see that there’s an even larger pond, a lake almost. It looked like it was meant for people to swim with handlebars and stairs built on the side. But now, the water is covered with a small film of algae and overtaken by koi. The three of us sit on the wooden bench overlooking the lake.
And we just sat there under the shade of the arms of an oak tree sipping the last drops of our water.
The Lego Ship
We sat down on the coffee colored leather couch, soft from wear. Light, pouring down from the three rectangular skylights above, illuminating the wood table aglow. Our strawberry Kit Kats and Heath bars are beginning to bake under the sun.
I opened the Willis Tower Legos Building Kit that I took over to the living room from Penny’s room. The tin box opened with a clink. The tower is already built. Bubbie took it out. Beneath, I see a folded up paper and a small ziplock bag full of small pieces of legos. Bubbie takes the paper out and unfolds it. It’s a construction manual for building a ship.
Placing the blueprint down next to him, Bubbie reads the pieces that we need. I take a long and slim rectangular piece from the ziplock bag and use that as my digging stick. The pieces, smaller than the tip of my fingers. I take out the pieces and place them on the table grouping the pieces together by type. Four wide 6 dotted rectangular pieces, four t-shaped pieces, one l-shape piece, and one white step piece. Bubbie places the pieces according to the blueprint onto the two blue semi-translucent squares that are going to be the water for our ship. I look at the manual. There’s a harsh glare on the paper due to the sun. I squint. It doesn’t help. Bubbie takes the paper and holds it up so I can see better.
“ Wait, the l-pieces should go inside the rectangles.” I say.
“Oh, you’re right.” Bubbie takes the l-piece and puts it in the spot. It doesn’t fit. The blueprint is lying. I look at it again. Oh, no it’s not.
“It won’t fit. I’m going to take a few pieces out and place the l-guy first.” Bubbie removes two of the chunky rectangular pieces and snaps the l-piece in place and then replaces the two pieces back to where they were.
“Yay!” Bubbie says grabbing my hand and squeezing it.
I smile and squeeze his hand back, feeling comfort with the hardiness of our grip.
The sun makes a splash of sesame milk on Bubbie’s dark hair. I see that his forehead has little crinkles as he analyzes the blueprint, counting the number of each piece.
“Are you tired?” Asks Bubbie.
No.
“I can look for the pieces.” He offers.
Bubbie takes the digging stick and starts to look for the pieces. “I don’t know how you do it. These pieces are so tiny.”
With my horrible eyesight, I don’t know how I do it either.
I laugh. “It’s okay.” I say taking the ziplock bag from him.
Just Us Two/It’s Just A Dream
Lilly has stepped out so it is just the two of us. The thought of it makes me giddy.
We look through the fridge thinking of what to make.
“How about your sweet potatoe mash and a chicken salad.” Says Bubbie.
On the stove the sweet potatoes are boiling in a pot on high heat and next to it Bubbie cooks the chicken. I prepare the salad. I already grabbed a handful of spinach and now I’m slicing the bell peppers. I feel a wash of satisfaction looking at the red and orange bell peppers peeking through the emerald green spinach.
I look out the window. The sun is up high and the only sounds is the chirping of the birds, the bubbling of the water cooking the sweet potatoes and the sizzling of the chicken.
I turn around and look at Bubbie who is carefully flipping the pieces of chicken breast. Wouldn’t it be nice to live like this. Just the two of us. No adults. Doing what we love. Loving our love.
None of our demons.
Maybe in a dream.
Way Back Home
Bubbie gets into the driver’s seat. I stand next to our car, directing, signaling, watching over as Bubbie backs up and out from the narrow and rocky parking space.
Once fully backed out, I get into the passenger seat. I pull out my phone and text Lilly ‘thanks for having us over. And, there is sweet potatoe mash and chicken salad in the fridge.’
As we get ready to drive back home, I glance at the cabin one last time.
Goodbye, until next time.
Whenever that may be.
