some goodbyes (in pieces)
by Lindsay Adams
I miss my grandmother most when I see her.
We used to put together jigsaw puzzles, the family ones with the different sized pieces for different ages. I never had patience, so I always took the easy side. Large and chunky. Meant for four-year-old hands.
Now we piece everything together for her. Where I’m living. When I’m leaving again. No, I’m not getting married. Now I’m not even dating anyone.
My boyfriend broke up with me while I was self-quarantining to visit my grandmother for her eighty-sixth birthday. Just like in our relationship, he didn’t talk to me about it. He’d been socially distancing from me for months before the U.S. was holding press conferences.
I assumed we’d lose Grandma’s mind first. Before losing her. Until she fell.
As I clicked my grandmother’s seatbelt, she said she hoped my grandfather was praying for her.
“Jack has to be in Heaven by now.” My grandfather’s name was John, but she always called him Jack.
I told her I thought he had to be there, too.
She can’t always remember the name of the virus, but she remembers leaving the house is dangerous. I held her hand until my mother took her to the ER. Her grip is surprisingly strong, but her fingers are always cold.
Turns out she fractured her hip and collarbone. Nothing to be done. Not at her age. Just more waiting, until the pieces of bone slowly fuse back together.
Driving to my hometown, I sped fifteen-over. He’ll come groveling back just you wait and see. But I knew even then I didn’t want him. I wanted what my grandparents had.
I’m not good at accepting things are broken.
I don’t know what to do with her when I visit—if I should keep up the one-sided conversation. I know it doesn’t matter to her, but I still assume I’m doing something wrong.
This time as I said goodbye and gave her a careful hug, I cried. Just like she always did.
I knew it didn’t matter what I did or didn’t say. There’s no good way to explain why you’re leaving.
About the Author:
Lindsay Adams is an internationally produced playwright and nonfiction writer who lives in Saint Louis and is currently pursuing her Ph.D. in Early Modern Literature. Her work has been published in OxMag, Reunion: The Dallas Review, The Door Is a Jar Magazine, and somescripts. She received her MFA from the Catholic University of America.
About Weekly Flash Prose and Poetry:
CutBank Online features one work of flash prose or prose poetry every Friday. Submissions are free and open year-round. Send us your best work of 750 words or less at https://cutbank.submittable.com/submit.