Fabrications: The Entowelment
by Michael L. Craver
She saw him rise out of the water, shaking off his hair like
a dog… She had to cover her face and turn away. When she looked back, he was
walking just this side of the sun. Hard to see anything but his dark
silhouette. That’s when the towel wrapped round his waist covered him changing
right there in the open.
There was no shortage of manners
in the way she was raised. However, mentally adding weight to that fabric,
wishing for a wardrobe malfunction was questionable. As the proverbial battle
good versus evil neared a climax, he tore away the towel. This was his exit,
and she promised herself to make a move today.
No matter how fast she found a
ladder and shuffled for her sandals, he was on the other side of the fence. She
had to run to the lockers for her bag and keys. By now, her education clicked
both sides of her brain together and she came to the realization he was gone.
Just as she was leaning into her
driver’s door, a reflection caught her eye. That young man wore mirrored
sunglasses. There they were sloping down the hill. He was either working on his
tan or drying off and she kept her promise. She slammed her door and began
walking. Until, she was hyper-focused on him and tripped at the top the hill.
She rolled right by him.
----
A month later
they left the outdoor concert prematurely. A force of nature, this time Mother,
like gravity, was working against them. As it was holding up that towel weeks
ago; She hoped the fabric did the trick again. Perhaps coincidence or maybe
fate, now under the same towel running for the car.
They were low on gas and this was
long past dark. She questioned him about how they’d be lucky to get home. When
he broke out into song, as if to personally finish the show for her… “you don’t
know what- we can find, why don’t you come with me little girl, on a magic
carpet ride?”
----
One year has
gone by as he’s driving away. Never this fast before. They have a date with
destiny. She’s made a mess all over the backseat. Meanwhile, he’s torn between
driving with reckless abandon for the speed against a smooth ride for his wife
in labor.
The ER staff seats her in a
wheelchair and he’s off to park the car. But, before he goes in, mopping up the
backseat with his beach towel. He’s laughing and scrubbing the fabrics against
one another to soak up the amniotic fluid.
How could it be a coincidence this
was the towel they made love on under the moon by the ocean? Seems like
yesterday he was washing the ancient sands and waters of the ocean from this
cloth. Next, he’d be cleansing the fluids of fresh life before folding and
putting it away.
----
Every soccer
season was spent in lawn chairs. Proud parents through every game, save one.
When Dad was taken off with ten minutes to go. While rubbing his wife’s feet
during the hot afternoon, a kick sailed out of bounds and broke his nose. They
arrived at the same emergency room their star player was delivered. He walked
inside, face covered by a red soaked towel while she went to find a place to
park.
A photo was taken that night with
Dad’s swollen face and an arm around the girl who scored the game winning goal.
There was a buzzer from the dryer and something clicked in his mind. Home
fields often pass out the rally towels to wave and energize the team. Perhaps, a
lucky linen.
The following week he carried it
around his neck. During tense moments he would sinch fists on both ends. He
learned quickly he shouldn’t pull down. This looked somewhat foolish. As he
buried his own chin into his sternum and couldn’t see the game. His daughter
lost a solitary game the rest of the year.
----
Grandma
believed in symbols. She says the universe left clues and good luck charms we
can take with us along the way. From day one, she kidded him about his towel.
They took it on trips and carried it everywhere until it was replaced.
So, long ago her husband gave each
of their three children a half dozen towels. They were to keep those in case of
emergencies. They had used a few from close calls involving the grandchildren.
For instance, last year while playing Superman someone, who will remain
nameless, ended up on fire. Turns out capes do not dance above the flames of
candles.
They quickly snuffed out the fire
and took Mom for a walk. The air was clear and everything was as it was before-
when she returned. Though her daughter was stuck in the bathroom, without
tissue, and thinking how once again a towel will play the hero.
---
Grandma pondered back on the
difficult times in their marriage. Romantic evenings could help calm the storm.
That was plan the night he came home early. He nearly never let go of the story
of how he caught her in the act. Keeping with tradition, he only told her in
his final moments…
Every date night was meant to hold
the tradition of a wedding. A curse of bad luck for anyone to cross paths
before the event. She’d been running behind and didn’t hear him come in. After
combing his hair, he knocked on the bedroom door to no answer. Peaked in and
she wasn’t there.
Stepping in the closet he took his
time to try on two different coats and smooth out the wrinkles. Admiring how he
looked in the mirror, he was ready to wash away the week’s troubles going out
for drinks with his wife. Whom just opened the bathroom door. The steamy mirror
hid any reflection.
Their superstition was safe, until
she walked out into the room. He remembered how she told him the story of first
seeing him change by the pool. Now there was empathy for her unruly attempts to
mentally disrobe the object of her desire. He waited for her to pass and sit at
the makeup table. He dropped to the floor. Then army crawled behind the bed and
out of the room, as she was powdering her face with closed eyes.
----
Individuals
have preferences, like his desire to use a hand towel off the stove instead of
a paper towel. These were proud grandparents on that sunny porch. Enjoying
sandwiches and talking about long trips. She thanked him, as she had done most
of their life, for singing to her after the concert washed out.
Things turned from sentimental-
when a story came up about their six-year-old grandbaby. Before he knew it, he
was on his feet. She was crying and looking a mess. He fixed it though. The
towel came in handy. Cleaning up the tears and snot. She was a sucker for those
old ‘Lil Johnny’ jokes the kids like to tell. Somehow their sense of humor
never faded.
----
Sharing their
history with the next generation was important to them. Mom told the story of
how she first met their father every year. Yet, sometimes they would learn a
little something extra. For instance, her teen asked why she didn’t get closer
to where he was changing in that towel. As if playing devil’s advocate in her
memory, “Why didn’t you just grab it and run?”
That’s when the embarrassing
portion of how she stumbled down the hill made an appearance for the first
time. Mom bit her lip, with a hand to the forehead in jest, and told her, “I
did grab the towel, it saved me.” Now the teen was a little shocked and
surprised. Her mother had been telling some morally upstanding story all these
years, and now it was about to change.
Except there was no fabrication
about how gravity held up Dad’s towel, nor did any other detail change. She had
always told them that before she made it to the car that day, she spotted him.
She did. Said they talked and went out afterward. They did. There was a missing
bit about gravity though.
Mom had stepped on uneven ground
and rolled down the hill where he was laying on that towel, nearly past him.
She clinched his towel on the way down. This jerked it out from under him like
the tablecloth trick. But he was quick and played tug of war with the opposite
end before she could get away. She was on her knees and he guided her to back
on her feet and reeled her in. Eyes locked the entire way. She trusted him,
instantly. This never went away.
----
Throughout his
battles with cancer, he carried the rally towel. Grandma made sure he was
draped in his lucky scarf. There were times he couldn’t muster the strength to
lift his arms and squeeze the ends. Several close calls happened along the way.
An increasingly vigorous routine was involved in getting the blood back out of
the towel. His cough had once been mighty and was now muffled as he spat red.
Like his wife, he sat down with
each of the children and told their secrets. The history would not be lost or
forgotten. They even wrote much of it down and shared the tales between
siblings. Many things they were all present to hear and others exclusive to an
individual. They’d grown up and had their own families. But broke away to have
an afternoon sharing something new with each other and always enjoying the
surprises.
Dad had given them a few things
even Grandma didn’t know… They had to make him a promise about these affairs.
After all, she deserved to be happy. She’d always had faith in the things she
believed in and no one had any desire to shatter her trust. Facts can often do
that to people…
----
Several weeks
before the funeral, he was coerced. The eldest granddaughter cornered the
Patriarch asking about a magic carpet ride… He descended the basement stairs
and arose moments later. They took a drive down the unpaved utility roads along
the back of the property. She was riding shotgun seated over a familiar towel.
She heard his voice breaking often and the ride was cut short.
This was explained to her as
exhaustion. Truth was, he swallowed some the phlegm and blood from his
sickness. His grandchild thanked him by trimming and presenting some flowers
from the rose bushes outside. She returned his towel from the basement. He told
her to keep it as a souvenir. He retained dignity and she was none the wiser. Only
Grandma knew. She’d been keeping his promise to ‘act normal’ as things continued
to get worse. This was her final promise to him.
-----
Bloodwork was a
key element in monitoring his progress. Each visit they took a draw to analyze
against the previous levels. Grandpa daydreamed of being an old inmate and
sneaking in a wooden stake wrapped in the lucky towel to leave the world with
one less vampire.
Close to Halloween a few years
ago, he fashioned a Hawaiian necklace of garlic cloves and wore it to his
visit. In all actuality, he loved the hospital staff. Still, his sense of humor
knew nothing of candor. He would include a joke or two when he continued to
write to the staff after he stopped going to treatments.
He simply described himself as
“free from cancer.” Still taking the towel each time his oldest son picked him
up from the home; they weren’t headed to any medical facility. This was a
chance for exploration. Sometimes there’d be charcuterie in the backseat. Other
days they needed to expand their horizons.
This was therapy for the both of
them. Of course, his son went back and shared this with his siblings. So, as
times went on, they would rendezvous as a group. Grandma remained hopeful that
he was getting the attention he deserved. This was absolutely true. He was free
from cancer and enjoying irreplaceable moments with his children.
----
Make no
mistake, she knew. A trademark of their relationship were the open-ended
discussions. One of the many advantages of retirement is complacency. Folks can
sleep-in as they please without missing commitments. They’d had a relationship
nearly their entire adult lives.
When they were younger,
discussions were appraised. If something was going to take them deep into the
night, they’d make dinner plans the following night. A day’s delay was a
miraculous compromise that they used to work out every major hurdle. Communication
was a cornerstone of the family. Several late nights were spent with the kids
as well.
Each family decision was
well-thought out. There was honesty and each person’s feelings were known. That
is, the relevant people to the situation. Grandma was his soulmate and helped with
the decision to make memories and gamble happiness as a cure. She’d taken his
hand to tell him everything would be alright. He vowed to make it special for
their children.
----
Inevitably time
would run out. They used to know whose time it was by passing the towel. When
they’d attended couples therapy, it was recommended they have an object to
hold. This would identify who’s turn it was to talk. These conversations helped
smooth out all their troubles.
Grandma’s lucky towel was actually
with them through so many milestones of their partnership. From the beginning
when the towel was physically bridging the two, this was the original safety
device between them. They would release their hold and pass it to and from,
solving so many of their communication issues.
Some linen hand-offs led to the
secret they shared with each other, but not with their kids. When they stopped
seeking medical help, his wife was half of that decision. She even helped
develop ideas for when the kids snuck Dad away to play hooky from treatment,
Mom knew before they did.
----
A few weeks
after the tug of war, they were separated. The chance encounter by the pool was
while both were home from different colleges. When the distance increased,
there were uncertainties that seemed to break the relationship. That’s when his
Thanksgiving plan took shape. He would see her where they first met. They could
go for a walk and talk it out.
Pointing to a pile of leaves, he howled
with laughter and tumbled into them. She wasn’t sure what to make of this-
until he rose out of the leaves, extending a branch off the tree; asking her to
pull him to safety. Instead, she tackled him and as they collapsed, colors flew
into the night. Kisses followed… and eventually they had to find their buried
clothing using the moonlight.
They were the key topic of
conversation at Christmas. Sharing the news of their coming child. Though everyone’s
first questions surrounded her new jewelry. “I told her she could open one early,”
he said laughingly.
Met coming out of the shower the
night before, he knelt and asked… if she’d play tug of war with him. Slightly
disappointed, she grabbed that lucky towel and pulled, propping him up. As he
rose, he started to reel her in. With one arm, he pulled her close, and wrapped
his arms around her.
Dancing in the raw, he swayed and
spun her. An arm over her head, as she turned around. When she faced him again,
he was back to knee with a box in hand. Covering her mouth, she started to
fall, he guided her to sit on the edge of the bed. They returned to school, engaged
and headstrong.
Summer’s child brought them both
so much joy. He’d arranged to transfer schools, she kept her scholarship, and they
alternated working nights. This was not a test, nor was it difficult. Having
shared their dreams during the long nights before conception, they came
prepared.
A new child, and a new lucky
charm. The single imperfection happened while she was resting after delivery. Her
husband had left to prepare the house for baby’s homecoming. He performed cleaning,
laundry, and a few surprises. However, his wife never saw her lucky towel
again. He lost it.
----
His widow didn’t get excited. She
just stood over him and surveyed the casket from the waist upward. He wasn’t
smiling up at her, but down on her. She could feel that. But, Rigor Mortis? How
did this final tug of war happen? After all, this is how they met. This is how
it would end. Everything full circle. Surely, there’s a divine explanation for
not being able to get her lucky towel back from the husband. She would lose this
when they bury him.
Those kids. Someone, maybe all of
them, decided to superglue this towel into their father’s hand. When she turned
to ask them for some help, her son held up the bottle. Each member of her
family saw her laugh. That was the sort of thing his father would have done. The
question in her mind was, are they the culprits or did her husband do this as
his final prank?
----
Certain things
around the house had tenure. A few sentimental objects that had made their way
from one home to another. They were married 53 years; Next week was her
birthday. As she sat on the bed clutching a pillow he made for her. He told her
that his heart and soul went into it.
This was going to be a difficult
transition for everyone. Her granddaughter came in for a word and rocked
Grandma’s tears into a shoulder. The young woman asked about all the secrets
the people in the family keep from each other. Even in these moments, a woman
has a desire for dignity. Grandma excused herself and stepped away to dry her
face.
She came back to sit on the bed
clutching her hand towel and granddaughter holding this birthday pillow… They
began to discover that each of them already knew what the other was going to
say. About how there was a trunk of special towels in the basement her late
husband had hidden away; that each of the households has extras. Because their
color-blind mother, or grandmother, considers it a superstition. This lucky
linen which is part of so many special memories.
“Remember back in high school when
you’d bring the good luck charm to all the games?” she asked. The Matriarch
gazed down into her hands and rubbed her thumb across the towel… Then her
granddaughter corrected her. “No, here…” as she handed her the pillow. Grandpa
took the pillow to sit on, for his back. At least that’s what he told his wife.
She stared at it closely…
The old woman seemed confused and
she closed her eyes thinking of all their good fortune. Her granddaughter
continued, “Grandpa told me to make the most of every opportunity, like
college. That’s when he told me his favorite secret. The one about this pillow.
Do you remember the dog he had when you first met?”
Grandma covered her mouth and
thought back, then said, “Yes, I do.”
Her grandchild continued, “Well,
he was bad dog, and that towel you guys used to have from the concert and the
tug of war and everything. Well, he ate that towel and tore it to shreds. That’s
why Grandpa kept extra towels or lucky towels and always tried to keep you
smiling. He told me how happy he was- you fell down that hill coming after him.
Because he hadn’t figured out what to say to you first.”
The old woman surmised and felt
relieved. She said, “That’s what this inscription on the pillow is about?… I
think I understand now.”
The young woman finished by
saying, “Its deeper than that. He told me how you were the object of his affection.
After he was gone you could hold onto your birthday pillow. He told me to tell
you to rest easy and laugh yourself to sleep, and dream…
About how that mean old dog tore
your lucky towel to shreds. He was grinning so big. He said, ‘can you imagine a
young man sitting there: cursing his dog, while half-crying, and stuffing all
the tiny parts of this towel into a pillow he stitched?’
He had this pillow almost finished
when you went into labor. Then Grandpa filled it with your lucky charm, for you
to keep forever.”
The Grandmother just closed her
eyes, bit her lip, and shook her head. Thinking about that old rascal and the
dog too. Tears rolled down her face. She’d known that in the last five decades,
they’ve kept a game going of replacing her lucky towel. But, never imagined
that it was there all along. She clinched two fists full of pillow and read the
words her husband stitched: The Stuff Dreams are Made of.
In My Secret Life
Leonard Cohen
