Finding Calypso

The Humble Home

Chapter Four

~Calypso~

I went down stairs to start some coffee. The nutty smell was beginning to fill the house when the phone rings. I was surprised. Who would be calling our home phone so early? Right before I reach the old yellowed phone hanging on the wall, the ringing stops, and I can hear my fathers voice rumbling in the other room answering the call.

It wasn't long before my parents began to stir, and I poured each of them a cup. My father came out first, and I handed him his steaming coffee. He takes a sip and sets it down. Then puts his hand on my shoulder as if he is consoling me like something bad was going to happen.

"Get in the car" is all he said.

We drive in silence, and I'm wondering where we are going. The tone and look on my parents tell me not to ask. Before long I realize we are headed to my Gramair's just on the other side of town, and I get a little excited.

My gramair is a unique lady. Her skin is the color of cinnamon and her eyes a striking blue. Her home was always filled with the smell of cooking food and tobacco. Every time we would go over she would fill my head with the legends of our family.

Mainly revolving around her favorite grandmother who was apart of the first nation and the spiritual leader of her tribe. She had passed down many traditions to her that Gramair still upholds today.

As we pull up to her old run down house I see her on the porch with a woman that I have never seen before. It didn't surprise me that she had company. She had lots of customers coming in and out of her home.

She stands at attention puffing away on her cigar with the woman next to her watching us as our car approaches. I hop out and greet my gramair with the biggest smile. I walk up the stairs to her porch and embrace her with a hug. It seems we are the only ones happy to see each other today. I look at the woman and reach my hand out to introduce my self.

With a chuckle she grabs my hand and her eyes seem to flash. As our hands touch I feel faint memories creeping into my mind. For some reason her touch reminds me of something familiar.

My father walks up and says

"Mother let's go inside."

We all shuffle through the door inside. My Gramair's home looked the same as it always has. Lights dim, the air filled with a fog of smoke, spiritual decorations hang across the wall, and her tarot cards lay out on the kitchen table as they always do. Coffee is brewing and I go to sit down in the kitchen. My father and Gramair stay whispering in the living room. My mother pouring herself a cup of coffee, and the unfamiliar woman comes to sit across from me.

This is when I finally get a good look at her. Her hair is a soft brown with streaks of grey running through it. Her skin glows, and her face looks youthful but her demeanor shows she is much older. She gazes into my eyes and I look back.

I feel a connection with her as our eyes lock. I feel as if I'm communicating with her with out words. When my Gramair and father walk in.

"How are you my granddaughter?" My Gramair asks.

"Oh you know" which she does. We are very close and I tell her most everything.

"Well come outside and tell me all about it" I felt like this was more of an excuse to give my father and this new woman space to talk privately, but I didn't care. It gave me a reason to chat with my Gramair.

When we get out on the porch I start exploding all the things that I haven't told her. About James, the beach, the anxiety I've had, and how for some reason everything felt weird.

Gramair listened and then went on to ask me what I had been dreaming.

Dreams have always been a topic in Gramair's house. She is curious of what lies behind the curtains of someone's eyes. I go on to tell her I have been dreaming of a prison. Of being lost from the world. Feeling defeated and angry. I see myself as if I'm out of body in these dreams. I talk to her, "This Me" in my dreams, as if somehow I'm separate from her but I know I am the same. "This other Me"

And gramair has always been interested in this internal relationship I have with myself. She tells me she has never heard anyone dream quite like I do.

I see her mind trying to dissect the dreams I tell her. When I speak them aloud I try myself to understand and relate the meaning of them to my simple life, but rarely find the connection.

We talk all morning until I hear my mom call breakfast is done.