Here’s another of my sporadic attempts at writing some fiction. Thanks to @honeydue for the prompt words.
Whenever I see the chess players in the park, I remember my grandfather. I turn away and blink a few times, then walk past with a friendly greeting. I find myself there more and more often these days.
It’s been 15 years since he passed, and closer to 20 since I last saw him, but I still miss him. I sometimes spend an evening on Netflix, watching his old movies.
No, I’m telling this all backwards. I’d better start at the beginning.
As far back as I can remember, every Sunday my mom and I would go to the park together. We would go to the chess tables first for a game with one of the old men there. Then I got to choose what we did for the rest of the afternoon.
Sometimes one of the old men would walk with us, and I began to notice it was always the same one – Mr Jacks. He wasn’t often there, but when he was, Mom always played him, and then he walked with us afterwards. I could run about wherever I liked, as long as I stayed within view of them. I noticed how she lit up when he was there, and how much they laughed together.
When I turned eight, they taught me to play chess, and from then on, I played one of them every week.
Everything changed just before my twelfth birthday. Mom’s dad, my Grandpa Fred, died, and Grandma Clare came to live with us. She loved watching old movies, and insisted on getting Netflix, which my parents had never allowed before.
One day, when I got home from school, I saw a familiar face in the movie she was watching.
“Hey, Mom,” I yelled. “Doesn’t this actor look like Mr Jacks?”
Mom appeared in the doorway, and watched for a minute or two. “No, I don’t think so, dear. His eyes are different.”
Six weeks later, Mr Jacks was in the park. After some time walking, he and mom sat down on a bench and called me over.
“Nicky, there’s something we have to tell you. It might be difficult for you to understand why we’ve waited till now to tell you, but please hear us out, darling.”
Mr Jacks took up the tale. “A long time ago, I knew your Grandma Clare. I loved my wife very dearly, and she loved your Grandpa Fred, but we had known each other since we were children and some things we could only share with each other. There was a time when we were both unhappy, and, just the once, we did something we later regretted.”
“After your mom was born, Clare could see she looked a lot like me. We talked about it, and agreed that neither of us wanted to change our lives. If we spoke about what had happened, a lot of people would be hurt. So we kept it a secret till your mom was about your age, and then Clare started bringing her to the park to meet me.”
“Your dad is the only other person who has ever been told, until now. I love your Grandma Clare, as a very dear friend, and I love you and your mom. Do you think we can still be friends, Nick?”
I couldn’t speak for a while, and finally stammered “So Grandpa Fred wasn’t my grandfather?”
Mom broke in. “Yes, in every other way he was, Nicky. He loved you completely.”
It was a struggle to be polite, but I managed to stiffly say “I need to go home now. Can we put off our chess game till next time, Mr Jacks?”
I spent most of the next few weeks in my room. I could hardly bring myself to talk to Mom or Grandma Clare. Dad didn’t say anything, which wasn’t uncommon, but he occasionally clapped me on the shoulder in a sympathetic way.
In time, I felt a bit less angry and hurt, and wanted to find out more about Mr Jacks. So I agreed to go back to the park. He was waiting there for us, and we walked straight away.
“I have a question. Now that Grandpa Fred is dead, why haven’t you been to see Grandma Clare?”
Mr Jacks started to speak, then stopped, looked at Mom, and shrugged helplessly. She took over.
“Nicky, do you remember that movie that Grandma was watching a few months ago? Look at Mr Jacks again.”
I looked him in the face again and said slowly “You mean I was right? That was Mr Jacks?”
The last piece of the puzzle fell into place.
He was a busy man, and the secret still had to be kept, but he met us whenever he could. Grandma Clare would sometimes come with us, and it was sweet to see how tender he was with her.
Our chess games continued for a few years, and I learnt a lot from them and from him. I learnt about when to be open, and when to be private. How to think ahead, and be devious when it’s needed, but not to hurt people. How to be compassionate. How to love unconditionally even when it had to be in secret. Most important of all, to trust my instincts.
When I was 17, he got me a job as a runner on one of his movies. It was so exciting, seeing him in his element, even though I had to hug my pride secretly inside me.
When he got sick, we were heart-broken that we couldn’t visit him. After he passed, we spent days watching his movies over and over. Grandma Clare faded away after that, and wasn’t with us much longer.
I’m in my 40’s now and I see him in my mirror sometimes. Occasionally, someone will look at me with a surprised expression and say “Has anyone ever told you that you look just like Jack Nicholson?” I just laugh and shrug.
Thanks for reading
Pictures from Pixabay.
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My previous FICTION posts:
Time to buy a Purple Hat
The Broken Man
The Pumpkin Pie Eating contest
Empathy
Kitty and the unicorn
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