By Ty Mays Kelty
It was all-too-familiar chaos. Frances spent a few extra minutes corralling matching mittens, an assignment that had escaped under the table, and a wayward apple that had missed the cutoff signal of a lunchbox slamming shut.
“We’re going to be late!” Frances scolded.
Alicia bounce-landed into the kitchen, disheveled but dressed, with a grin as crooked as the part in her hair. She grabbed her coat and backpack from her mother’s outstretched arms.
“I’m ready,” she announced triumphantly, if only to convince herself.
Moments later, Frances and the eight-year-old tumbled out into the daylight, feet drumming quickly against the sidewalk in a cadence composed to make up for lost time.
“Pop is going to pick you up from school this afternoon and take you for ice cream,” Frances said.
“Yes! I’m getting chocolate. No, vanilla. Well, maybe if I’m real sweet, Pop will let me get both, a double scoop in a sugar cone, maybe with sprinkles.”
“Don’t be greedy. Be grateful that he’s taking you to have a treat at all. You two are the only ones that I know that still go for ice cream in the dead of winter.”
Pop had been the maintenance man in their building for as long as Alicia could remember. On nights when Frances worked late, Alicia ate dinner with Pop upstairs in apartment 3B. He had mastered all of her favorites, including fried chicken and meatloaf with extra ketchup. After dinner, she’d do her homework, his strained eyes over her shoulder, peering down at her often-sloppy work.
Pop didn’t have any children or grandchildren of his own. He and the eight-year-old had forged a firm bond, glued by comfort food, 70s sitcom television shows and impromptu dance parties to jazz on vinyl.
Alicia added a bop in her step, and grooved down the sidewalk at the thought of spending the afternoon with one of her favorite people in the “whole wide world.”
It wasn’t long before they began to catch up with the other families marching briskly toward Asa Philip Randolph Elementary School. An older man walking towards them in the opposite direction caught sight of Frances and Alicia and stopped.
“Well, I’ll be. Look at what a little young lady you’ve become,” the man said to Alicia. “Hello, Frances.”
Frances stopped. “Hi, Joe.”
“How are you,” the older man said.
“Making it.”
“Well, you look good. And it’s good to see you.”
“Good to be seen. Take care,” Frances responded with a chill that made the older man pull his coat a little tighter.
Alicia nearly tripped as Frances dragged her at a near-run pace. She tried to peer back at the man who was still in the same spot looking back at them. He offered a little wave, but with one hand in her mother’s and the other clasped around her backpack strap, all Alicia could offer was an errant smile of acknowledgement.
“Who was that,” Alicia questioned, nearly out of breath.
“Your grandfather.”
“I thought your daddy passed away when I was a baby.”
“That’s Joe. Your father’s father.”
“How come I’ve never met him before?”
“You have, you just don’t remember.”
“Well, why don’t I know him?”
“Maybe you can ask him one day,” Frances snapped, instantly regretting it. She stopped short. Alicia’s sneakers nearly left skid marks on the concrete as she was forced to a halt.
“Baby, I’m sorry. One day I’ll explain. But right now, all you need to know is that you are so loved by so many, all the people that matter. Okay?”
Alicia wanted to protest. She had more questions. But she didn’t want to frustrate her mother any more.
“Okay, mommy. We can talk about it another time. It’s fine.”
In just minutes, they arrived at the school. Frances hurriedly kissed Alicia goodbye and the little girl was swept inside of the double doors with the wave of other students rushing to make the morning bell.
The conversation with her mother still weighed heavy in her ears, so much so Alicia missed her name at roll call. And praise for a homework assignment done well did little to ease the morning’s angst. She spent the day unfocused, inattentive and irritable. She later reemerged from the school’s doors, her spirit and her backpack heavy with a note for her mother about how she’d shoved Marcus into a desk when he called her a Beluga whale after getting a whiff of the tuna salad sandwich Frances had packed for her lunch.
Her morning bop and groove had been replaced by a labored amble on heavy legs that might as well have been sinking step by step into the asphalt.
Pop was standing out front to meet her.
“What’s with the long face, Pumpkin,” Pop called out. “That doesn’t look like the face of a little girl that’s about to have ice cream. Long day?"
He put his arms around her tiny shoulders and squeezed.
“Did you know I have a grandfather, one that’s alive,” Alicia questioned pointedly like a seasoned detective.
“You don’t say. No, I didn’t know that.”
“Well, I do. And his name is Joe.”
“What’s he like?”
“I don’t know. I just met him today. But he probably likes checkers. And buys lots of presents. And makes funny jokes. And gives big hugs. And tells funny stories. And acts silly sometimes. I guess he is probably a lot like you.”
“Well maybe he can come get ice cream with us one of these days. In the meantime, what do you think about a double scoop today? One chocolate and one vanilla in a sugar cone with sprinkles on top for good measure? How does that sound?”
“Aww Pop, that’s my favorite, how did you remember?”
“Because you’re my favorite, that’s how.”
Alicia flashed a lopsided grin up at Pop and grabbed his hand tight. She shimmied off the heaviness of the day, and the pair trotted off, excited to share a treat and the rest of the day together.
Photo Credit: Dylan Ferreira