Light 2-24-2013
By John W. Vander Velden
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Alex moved
carefully into the living room of the strange house. Across the room, sitting, facing the bay
window, a stranger, an old man, his grandfather. The boy stopped, stared and waited. The old man did not turn, gave no sign that
he had noticed. Standing frozen, for
Alex had no idea what he should do, he waited.
The sun that shone on a very cold winter’s day lit the old man,
highlighting the lines and wrinkles of his face, and caused bright reflections
off the chairs metal frame. Alex’s eyes
moved to see what held the old man’s gaze.
The boy stepped forward two steps, to better see out of the window, but
Alex saw nothing more than sun and snow, the trees that stood leafless, and a
strange bird of gray and white that seemed satisfied to go in a downward spiral
about a nearby trunk.
Alex watching
the bird, had not noticed that he had moved halfway across the room. “What kind of bird is that?” He asked
absentmindedly.
“That would be a
Nuthatch.”
The tremble in
the words shook him off balance. The boy
glanced quickly at his grandfather then returned his eyes to the view of the
frozen yard beyond the glass.
“Grandfather?” Alex said
cautiously.
“Yes,” the man
answered without a glance.
“I’m Alex.”
“I know,
son.” The man in the metal chair said
softly.
“How come I have
never met you before?” The boy asked.
“It’s a long
story.” The words so soft Alex scarcely
heard. “It doesn’t really matter.”
“It matters to
me.”
“‘Suppose it
does…Mistakes made…it’s life I guess.
Remember this Alex, people make mistakes…you…me…even your mom and
dad. People are just people, that’s
all…no better…no worse. Someday you
might understand.” The old man seemed to
gasp as he drew in another breath. “I
only hope you learn that sooner than I did.”
The old man moved his thin hands from the arm rests to the wheels of his
chair. Slowly, with much effort, he
turned to face the boy. Tilting his head
slightly, the old man’s trembling lips curved up slightly. “You look like your father.” He paused as if waiting for a comment. “That doesn’t bother you does it?”
“That I look
like dad?”
“Yes,” the old
man said carefully.
“No, I guess it
doesn’t.”
“What’s the
matter son?”
“No one ever
said that before.” Alex answered still
standing half a room away.
“It’s true, and
I should know.”
Alex looked
downward. “What was he like?”
“You can hold
your head high, you’re Lawrence Carson’s son, there’s no shame in it…none!” It was the strongest tone Alex had heard the
man use. “You got the right to know but
I’m not sure I’m the one to tell you.”
“But no one
will!”
“I ‘spect that’s
so.” The old man looked from the boy to
the doorway beyond. He waved his hand
slightly indicating a chair on Alex’s right.
“Sit son, let’s talk awhile.”
The old man
began telling his grandson, the boy he had now met for the first time, stories
of another boy, of times long ago, of things only he remembered. They laughed…They cried. Alex no longer saw a bent old man in a
strange wheeled chair. He no longer saw
the wrinkles, the blue lines on the top of his grandfather’s hands. How long the boy sat transfixed he would not
remember, but he listened about the farm where his father had lived as a
boy. Stories of work and play, of long
days, of fishing, nights of capturing fireflies in a canning jar, and his
father watching the tiny lights flashing from the dresser in his bedroom.
When Alex
thought he had heard it all, the old man told him about Lawrence grown. About the last time the old man had spoken to
Alex’s father. “I begged your father not
to go.”
“To Columbia?”
“It was a
dangerous place he was goin’. I didn’t
want him to go. I mean, he had just
married your mom. I got angry. I guess I yelled…a lot.” The old man turned his head, prepared to move
his chair to face the glass once again,
He struggled against the wheel and then gave up, then looking into his
grandson’s eyes said, “I remember his answer, as certain as if he was sitting
where you are now.” Alex watched as
tears welled up in the old man’s gray eyes.
“When I got done…when I yelled how crazy the whole idea was, he said, “Dad,
the world’s just too dark. If I’m a
light, then I just have to shine.’” The
old man took in a deep breath. “If I’m a
light then I have to shine…” he repeated softly. That’s a lesson I didn’t learn till
later…much later, son.” He forced the
chair closer to where the boy sat. “I
miss that boy…but more I miss that man.
But Reverend Lawrence Carson was a light, and Alex he did shine. And you can be proud, that the world is a
little brighter because of him!” The old
man’s head fell as tears flowed down folded cheeks dripping onto his neatly
pressed white shirt. “Your mother may
have been right to blame me…” the words seemed unfinished as Alex waited, the
room so still. “I could’ve stopped him.”
The old man whispered. “I know, I blamed
God for a long time…that was one of my mistakes.” Once again the man in the wheel chair
paused. “Truth is it weren’t anyone’s
fault… The plane just fell out of the air.
I guess it was as simple as that.”
The old man gained a bit of control as he raised his head and once more
looked Alex eye to eye. “But hold your head high son, ‘cause you can be
proud. You are the son of Rev. Lawrence
Carson, and he was a light!”
(989 Words)
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