t memory I have of my grandpa is my seventh birthday. He’d had the words “Happy Birthday Randy!” written on my cake. My name is Ryan. No one has seen him in years. Mom talks to him on the phone occasionally. She says he’s never been the same since he “contracted” agoraphobia. You can’t “contract” a fear. You always have it. It might not be present for a while. She said I should go meet with him and try to “cure him.” I protested, but she said it would be better to keep it in the family.
I parked in front of the house and walked up the cracked driveway. Before I could knock on the door, a voice from the other side muttered, “You’re late.”
I checked my phone. 9:46pm.
“Only by a minute…Grandpa.” I didn’t know what to call him. Even though he was my grandpa, it didn’t feel like it. I didn’t know his name. It started with a J, maybe a G. I wasn’t sure.
“Still late, Randy.”
“It’s Ryan.” He either ignored me or didn’t hear my correction. He opened the door and looked at me.
“You look like your father,” he muttered.
He was a short man, 5’6, and bald. His head was wrinkled; his eyes very small, like ants on his giant volleyball of a head. His ears stuck out and reminded me of Baby New Year from the old Rudolph Christmas special. He was a pudgy man. He was wearing black slippers and a black robe that tied around his waist. He motioned for me to come in and walked away. I went into the house and closed the door behind me. I noticed how small the house was; it was even smaller than it looked from the outside. There were piles of cardboard boxes everywhere.
I could feel my heart pound faster. I chuckled nervously. “Kind of packed in here isn’t it?”
“It’s fine,” he said sternly. “It’s everything I need.” I chuckled nervously again. His manner became very serious and he raised his voice. “You think this is funny? You know what’s funny? The fact that people walk around outside without any worry of all that’s out there! The world is filthy!”
“So you won’t go outside because you’re afraid of germs?” I was getting dizzy but decided to ignore it. I could only think about how packed it was in that little house, with all these things. I was losing oxygen. Was I losing oxygen? I started to panic. He was talking but I couldn’t hear him. I looked for a window or a door to open. Just beyond him was a small square window with the blinds down. When I pulled them up and threw open the window, he yelled, “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?” He pulled me backwards, quickly shut the window, and closed the blinds. He rushed out of the room and returned with a small bucket full of cleaning supplies. He cleaned the entire area around the window, spraying with disinfectant and wiping it down.
I was still dizzy and panicking so I got up and sprinted towards the door. I ran out to my car and grabbed my inhaler. It took about four puffs before I could breathe freely.
I walked back up to his house and tried the door. It was locked. I heard his voice on the other side of the door.
“I’m not letting you back in, you’re just going to try and kill me again.”
I paused. “I wasn’t trying to kill you. I had a panic attack.”
“From what? There’s nothing in here.”
“I’m claustrophobic Grandpa. I can’t be in small places.”
“Well get over it.”
I could tell he was my dad’s dad. “You get over coming out here.” I smirked. I could hear him on the other side of the door mumbling both my name and my mom’s name.
“You are not going to fix me. I like it just fine in here.”
“No one is trying to fix you, Grandpa. Mom tells me you haven’t been the same since Grandma passed away.”
I heard nothing on his end. I didn’t know how he was feeling. When he finally spoke, it was a lot softer than before. “It was being outside that killed her. If she hadn’t loved being outside and in the sun so much, she wouldn’t have gotten skin cancer.” He began to choke up.
Trying to change the subject, I said, “You know, they say if a person doesn’t talk to someone or something, they can go crazy.”
“And I’m stuck with you?” He chuckled at his own wit.
“Yeah you are,” I replied, “and whether you like it or not, I’ll be coming back next week. Mom says you need me.”
“What does she care? I’m not even her father.”
“She loves you because he did, Grandpa.” He knew I was referring to my dad. There was another pause.
“Come at eight next week. It’s much too late now.” I agreed, said goodbye and walked to my car. On the drive home, I thought about these future meetings. and I felt torn between not wanting to go and being excited to do this again.
I checked my phone when I arrived for our second meeting, I was three minutes early. I walked up his driveway, I noticed a small bag filled with numbered checkers pieces, and a board that had a number for every space. His voice came through the other side of the door, “Do you like to play checkers, Randy?”
“My name isn’t Randy, Grandpa, it’s Ryan.”
He laughed. “Why didn’t anyone ever correct me?”
I thought about the answer to his question, but wasn’t entirely sure. “Maybe because they felt bad.”
“Well, why would they feel bad?”
“Maybe because you’re old.” He laughed again, and I started to chuckle.
“Do you like checkers, Ra…” He corrected himself. “…Ryan?” I opened the bag of tiles and found a small folded piece of paper. It was a hand drawn diagram of where to put the pieces.
“I haven’t played since Dad passed away.” I started to place the pieces on the board. “He loved checkers. Which color am I?”
“You can be red, since I’ve already got my board set up.”
“How is this going to work?” I asked.
“Use the numbers. See? I’ll go first. 14 to 27!” I moved “black 14” to space “27”.
“Seems like a lot of work,” I said.
“Well, you can’t come in here, and I won’t come out there, so this will have to do.” He laughed.
We played ten games before I realized it was 11:30.
“Well, then come by at 7 next week.” I agreed and said goodbye. I enjoyed this meeting. I started to care for this figure who was never there when I was growing up.
The next week Battleship was on his porch. The week after that was a notebook with pages filled with nothing but tic-tac-toe boards. Each week we talked about a different subject. His life growing up, grandma, all sorts of things. One night, we were playing Guess Who? and he brought up my dad. I told him I didn’t know much about him. “He was a great man. I can see why your mother loved him. You were so young when he passed. He would’ve loved to see you now.” He was quiet for a moment. “You are just like him,” he said and chuckled. He began to tell me stories about my dad when he was growing up; like when he taught him how to drive, he almost ran over the neighbor’s dog. He told me about when my dad had three girlfriends at once and how Grandma didn’t like it, so she set him up on a date with all three of them at the same time. Much to her disapproval, he was able to pull it off and not get caught. We laughed. And then my phone rang.
“Who is it?”
“I don’t know. I don’t recognize the number.”
“Hello?”
“Hello, is this Dr. Ryan Carroteli?”
“Yes. May I ask who is calling?”
“This is Officer Daniel Faraday, do you know a Mrs. Gina Carroteli?”
“Yes, that’s my mother.”
“She was in a severe accident on 87. They’re taking her to Good Samaritan. Do you know where that is?
“Yeah.” I hung up the phone.
“Gran
dpa, I need to go now.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Mom was in a car accident. She needs me.”
As I walked away, I heard him shout, “Wait!” I don’t know why I did, but I waited. And then the door opened. He began to walk towards me. He was bundled up in three jackets, a pair of gloves, and a large snow hat.
“She’d want me to be there. It’s the least I can do for her, after she’s made you come and sit with me week after week.”We got in my car and started driving towards the hospital.
When we were waiting at a red light, I looked at him and asked, “Does this mean you can come outside now?”
He scoffed, “No.”
When we arrived at the hospital, we both rushed out of the car and quickly walked to the front desk. “I’m here for Gina Carroteli, she was just in an acci-“ Before I could finish, the woman pointed me down a hall.
“Room 38.”
Grandpa and I ran down the hall. She was wrapped up in multiple places, and the left half of her face was unrecognizable. We approached her bed and she didn’t open her eyes. I grabbed her hand and said, “Mom, it’s me, Ryan.” As I started to cry, her right eye opened. I could tell she was trying to smile. She looked at my grandpa.
“Rudy,” she said softly under her breath. She smiled a little bigger than before. “You are here. You are cured,” she said. My grandpa and I looked at each other. Then she went limp, still holding onto my hand. My Grandpa rushed out of the room, yelling at the top of his lungs, “WE NEED A DOCTOR!” Three or four nurses rushed into the room, one of which escorted us to the waiting room. I could hear them as we were being taken away. They were using a defibrillator. We waited for another half an hour before the doctor walked in and looked our way.
“Mr. Carroteli, I’m sorry. We did everything we could.”
Before he could finish, both Grandpa and I were crying. “You don’t need to finish,” I told the doctor. Grandpa and I walked out to the parking lot. We sat in it for a few minutes before I started the car. We were quiet on the drive home. When we arrived at his house he walked up to his door, turned to look at me, and said, “You’re a doctor?”
I looked at him and smiled, “Not a real doctor, just a psychologist.” He smiled and entered his house. I drove home and laid in my bed all night thinking about my mom.
Grandpa and I met every week for another year until he passed away quietly in his sleep. My wife, kids, and I were the only ones to attend his funeral.