The Head and The Heart

“Joy is the most infallible sign of the existence of God.”

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My grandson walked into the room.

Hey Grandpa.

Well hello there Grandson!

David smirked as we hugged and sat down.

How are ya?

Well I was cranky, but now with you here… lets say… still cranky but at least I got company.

I’ll be cranky with ya.

That’ll work. How’s school?

It’s fine.

Have you been running lately?

Yes, sir.

How much?

Everyday.

Everyday?

Yes sir.

Today?

Even today.

How far did you run?

A lot.

A lot? How much is a lot?

I’m not sure exactly.

David was being too humble. I squinted my eyes and scrunched my nose.

Ten miles, he answered.

Ten miles?!?

Yes, Grandpa. Ten miles.

You know I used to run.

Is that right?

Yep. I had me a good course around the block. It was only four.

That’s a lot too, Grandpa.

David was too much like his grandfather. He knew the sympathy would eat at me. I ignored him.

Your mother would join me. We were buddies. Celeste and I would start at the house, run down Argonne, take a left at the library, then head back down Overton Crossing. It was a good course.

We sat in silence as I reminisced.

One time it was so cold that when we got back to the house, our noses were filled with icicles.

We laughed.

Ya know, David. If I was younger, I’d show you the course. I think you’d like it.

I might.

We smiled, and the conversation went on.

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David walked into the room.

Hey David!

Yes, Grandpa.

How’s school?

I’m out of school.

Oh?

Yep. Two degrees.

How about that!, I yelled as I puffed out my chest. Are you still running?

I am.

I used to run.

I think I’ve heard that before, David said with a smirk.

I’d run around here.

To the library, right?

Library?

You’d run to the library and then run back.

Yeah that was route. It was a good route. Let me show you the course. I can still run it.

Really?

Yeah, your mother runs with me. She was my buddy.

Mom likes the row machine.

I didn’t understand what he meant by that. I sat confused until he interrupted my thoughts.

You should show me the course.

Alright, let’s do it some other time.

Sounds like a plan, Grandpa.

We smiled, and the conversation went on.

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Someone walked into the room.

Hey there Grandpa. It’s me David.

I know who you are! How’s my grandson?

I’m great. How are you feeling?

I feel ok. How’s school?

I’m always learning, Grandpa. Like how you taught me to be.

Did I say that? I don’t remember. He doesn’t need to sugarcoat. I’ll still love him, but he needs to finish his degree.

Good to hear. How’s the soccer?

That’s Jeff. Grandpa, I run.

That’s right. I know that. Ya know I used to run?

I’ve heard. 10 miles?

NO not that far, I laughed.

I think you told me you used to run around here, right? A smaller distance?

I did. That’s right.

Mom would run with you sometimes.

She did. That’s right.

You’d run to the li…

She was my buddy.

Yeah, she was your buddy. David was silent for a minute, and took a deep breathe for some reason. Do you remember your course?

My what?

Your course.

I wasn’t sure I understood what he meant.

Your running course. You’d run down Argonne…

That’s right.

To the…

To the…

Lib…

Library!

That’s right and you’d take a left or right?

It’s right, right?

I think it’s a left, Grandpa.

That’s right. That’s right. You’re right, David.

Then you’d get to Overton Cross…

Overton Crossing!

Yep and you’d go all the way down to your house. Remember?

Yep that was the course.

Do you remember the icicles?

Icicles?

That’d be in your nose…. after a run… when it was cold…

Oh, yes. That’s right. Icicles.

I chuckled to myself.

I love you, Grandpa.

I love you too, Grandson.

We both smiled, and the conversation stopped.

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My grandson was about to walk in to the room.

David! Get in here! Let me tell you a story.

I am fantastic! Thanks for asking. Also, I know you’re a genius and can run like the wind. Blah blah blah. You’re ego doesn’t need to be stroked. Let’s talk about me.

Did I ever tell you about your mother and me? When we used to run?

We never placed at the top. Actually, I think we came in last in most of them. We didn’t care. It was a chance to spend time together. We both needed it.

We had a course around the neighborhood. It wasn’t grand or much of a challenge, but it did its job. Your mother could drop the boys off, and we’d be back before y’all did too much damage to Grandma.

As I was saying, the course was simple: Run to the library then run back home back. But for us it had many spots. There was the spot Celeste always stopped because she didn’t think she could go any further. The spot where we stopped because we didn’t want to get run over. There’s the spot where I’d pee. Postman might’ve caught me once. There’s the spot where she had her first beer. We loved our spots. We loved our runs.

Our runs were where we could tell jokes that no one else got. We could talk the world and crack wit. We weren’t afraid to be too smart or too honest. We spilled our souls. We talked about our worries, about our boys, about our lives, and we listened to each other’s stories, to each other’s thoughts, to each other’s shortcuts.

It was the time in our lives where we could be father and daughter. It was where we could do anything. It was where we could be runners. If I look back at it, I learned more lessons than I gave out. Oh, did she teach me!

I ran on the beaches in Hawaii and many other fancy places when I was in the Navy, but it didn’t touch my course in Frayser.

I wish I could tell you that story, David. Over and over. Again and again. I know you’d listen. Or half-listen. Or whatever you did back then. But you can’t. You can’t walk into this room. I’m up here now, and you are down there with the rest of the family. I got my head back, but it doesn’t feel right. What do I do?

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Being up here is not at all that bad. I’m thankful someone is still looking out for me. I also like having a spot down there where I can have visitors. I enjoy my new neighbors, but to be honest I always did.

Family brings my Inez to see me from time to time. I know she’ll be alright. She is strong and stubborn enough to make it through. In the middle of most visits, she’ll start to bicker at me. She has a growing list of chores that I’ve copped out on. She’s gentle though. She knows I’d be there if I could. She ends every visit giving me my special kiss.

I’ll have a grandson come by every now and then. He’ll bring a beer to share. We’ll talk the world and crack wit. I get to hear about his life and listen to his genius once more. He’ll try to grasp back to our Sunday dinners as I just try to grasp him.

Visits with my son-in-law might be my favorite. He makes sure I look handsome. He’ll clean my spot, add flowers, and if needed, he’ll yell at the groundskeeper to make sure I have enough dirt. I appreciate it, Steve. Though I’m not sure if you are taking care of me or if you’re worried I’ll come out.

I get a bunch of tears in my visits. I don’t like them. I always wanted and still want everyone to be happy at all times. I can see that as a fault now. I can’t stop them like I used to. The pain is unbearable. I’m thankful for the breaks from the tears. I’m thankful for the moments of joy. Tears are all I get from my Celeste.

After a few visits, Celeste finally starts to talk. The first few were indecipherable. She has lists. She talks about taking care of my paperwork, and taking care of my Inez, and taking care of my chores, and the housework, and the new carpets, and the deconstruction of the pool, and the finances, and the…

She rambles. She rambles on and on like she’s afraid she’ll forget her list. She rambles on and on like I ‘ll tell her something she’s forgetting. She’s a superhero trying to fix everything at once and somehow bring me down from up here by her own power and will. She’s a wreck. I want her to calm down. I want her to stop saying things like, “Wherever I go Dad, people always talk about you, and it makes me cry.” I want her joy to come back.

Like I said, I got my head back. I understand those last few years better now. I understand the stress and the load. This doesn’t feel right. What do I do?

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As time has gone on, the visits have happened less frequently. There’s less visitors. There’s less beers. Thankfully, there’s less chores.

My son-in-law, Steve, will still come by with his dirt, but most frequent visitor is my Celeste. Slowly, she is getting better, or at least I hope so. The list has dwindled down. I knew the superhero would get everything done, however I’m impressed she has stopped adding stuff to it.

Our conversations are better. We talk about the past some, but more importantly she tells me about what’s going on now. She has stories about her children becoming adults and her work being work. She also tells me about her running. She has picked back up. It’s helping. When she lost me, she knew she had to fight she just didn’t know how. All she needed was a weapon. She wasn’t going to waddle in her misery. I had angels on the ground helping me with that one, I think.

All she talks about is running now. I think she figured out that I knew all of those stories past and present anyways. I might be stuck in a spot down there, but up here I have my advantages. Running is making her feel better. Her mind isn’t racing more. Every Wednesday she’ll come with her report. I get to know if the recent run went well or if it didn’t and how much she is progressing. David’s a pain but his advice is good. She talks about her shoes, and her hip hurting, and her run group… She tells me everything. Oh is she teaching me! I’m so happy for her.

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Just before dawn, my David and my Celeste pull into my old driveway. They don’t enter the house, but they wave at my Inez through the window. She waves back to signify that she’s okay and that she’ll see them soon. With the sign, they are off! Slowly…

They turn on to Argonne and start to head to the library. David is going at a tenth of his pace and Celeste pushing. They complain about the hills that Celeste forgot and I forgot to mention. Both are trying their best to make it as comfortable as possible for the other.

After a while, Celeste calms down enough to know she will survive. They start to talk the world and crack wit. They laugh and laugh some more. They talk about their week and try to make sense of it. The conversation bounces from deep to light, but they enjoy it all the same. David rambles and Celeste focuses on her breathing. She listens. Oh is he teaching her!

As they get closer to their turn, my buddies change the conversation to about me acting a fool at David’s first marathon. They laugh so hard they almost stop running. A couple hundred feet past the library, they do stop for Celeste to catch her breath, and David to pee. In my spot! I puff out my chest. Afterwards, they continue. However, to my chagrin, the subject of the conversation stays on me.

They say there are things I taught them. My lessons. I get nervous. I didn’t know I had lessons. I just tried to have a good time and stay out of trouble. I had no idea my lessons were special. My daughter and grandson seem to think they are. From my lessons, they can see the world, they say. They can laugh at it and love it. They know what’s important and where joy truly is. They can make that joy grow, and they will never settle for a lesser version of that joy.

As they talk about me, they say they still know what I’d say during any moment. They say they know me. They know me fully. They say they can still feel my hugs. It’s my time for tears.

Near the end, David cuts from my course and takes a left to avoid a busy intersection. He also adds a loop on Durham to make it closer to an actual four miles. From up here I can see now that my course wasn’t always the best, but I can tell it got my grandson’s approval.

After the run is finished, they go inside. Celeste catches her breath while David checks on Grandma. They share a beer. They call for a toast. A toast to James Banks. A toast to me. I puff out my chest. Inez, we did the chores a long time ago. Now, I got my heart.

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