Day 3: Cast Lots
Something — even something life-changing — decided at random.
She had not intended to go back to the farm for the picnic. She was scared to see Geemaw, for some reason. She had created a story about the animosity she imagined coming from her, based on no facts at all. The rest of the family was fine, and not intimidating. But little 80 year old Geemaw loomed so large.
When the children were little, her own and her sisters’, the farm was a carnival with clowns and rides and petting zoos and unhealthy snacks and games and challenges and independence. The annual visits, usually in the summer, were a wonder. There would be Grandfather and Geemaw, waiting for them at the airport and arms open wide for big hugs and children's joy. Finding the car and navigating the exit was always a momentary struggle as Grandfather yelled at Geemaw who ignored him, mostly.
The drive to the farm was full of child-grandparents chatter:
“Are there any new horses? Can I feed the chickens? Can we play in the haymow? Do you still have the three wheeler? Can I drive it? Can I have the top bunk? Can we play Rummikub?” Are there still mice in the pool? Are Jane and Mary coming?”
The answer to every question was yes. What a miracle of life.
Somehow, she had managed to turn all that into snakes and mice and filth and slaughter and chiggers and animal shit.
— Gina
Something — even something life-changing — decided at random.
She had not intended to go back to the farm for the picnic. She was scared to see Geemaw, for some reason. She had created a story about the animosity she imagined coming from her, based on no facts at all. The rest of the family was fine, and not intimidating. But little 80 year old Geemaw loomed so large.
When the children were little, her own and her sisters’, the farm was a carnival with clowns and rides and petting zoos and unhealthy snacks and games and challenges and independence. The annual visits, usually in the summer, were a wonder. There would be Grandfather and Geemaw, waiting for them at the airport and arms open wide for big hugs and children's joy. Finding the car and navigating the exit was always a momentary struggle as Grandfather yelled at Geemaw who ignored him, mostly.
The drive to the farm was full of child-grandparents chatter:
“Are there any new horses? Can I feed the chickens? Can we play in the haymow? Do you still have the three wheeler? Can I drive it? Can I have the top bunk? Can we play Rummikub?” Are there still mice in the pool? Are Jane and Mary coming?”
The answer to every question was yes. What a miracle of life.
Somehow, she had managed to turn all that into snakes and mice and filth and slaughter and chiggers and animal shit.
— Gina
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