The Summer I Learned to Dive - By Shannon McCrimmon Page 0,72
“It’s just, I was alone for a long time and I’ve recently made friends and I like it,’” I admitted.
“That’s good. Mom told me you’re going to college to be a doctor,” he said. He shifted in his chair nervously.
I almost began biting on my nails again, but stopped myself. “I am. I’m not so sure about being a doctor anymore, though,” I told him. I realized I was telling him something I had not told anyone else. It was a realization that I had come to recently but was afraid to admit to anyone else, let alone myself. All my life I had said I was going to be a doctor and lately, the idea didn’t seem appealing. It didn’t feel like a good fit. When I was at the hospital visiting Grandpa I nearly froze at the sight of him in the ICU, feeling sick to my stomach. I was starting to rethink it all.
“You’re not?” He frowned.
“I don’t know if it’s the right thing for me,” I admitted. “I’m still trying to figure out who I am,” I said.
“It’s hard being your age,” he replied and didn’t press further. He offered me something to drink. We drank sweet tea quietly, staring at each other, awkwardly smiling. I didn’t know what to say or even how to begin to know what to say to him.
“I’m sorry I left,” he said. I didn’t respond. He added, “I was very sick for a long time but I’m better now, a lot more stable. The meds that I’m on help me stay balanced.” He laughed nervously gauging my reaction. “I want to get to know you if you will let me,” he said looking at me, seeking my approval, curiously waiting for my answer.
“I’d like that,” I said quietly.
“Good,” he said and breathed a sigh of relief. “I was nervous to meet you.”
“Me, too.” I smiled, pleased that we were talking. “I didn’t know what to expect,” I said.
He smoothed his hair and shifted in his chair. “I thought you would get here and tell me off and then leave.”
I shook my head. “I don’t resent you. It’s not your fault,” I said.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I was sick for a long time. When I finally got better, I wanted to know you so badly, but didn’t know how to contact you. And, well, I didn’t think you’d want anything to do with me if I did.” He tapped his fingers on the chair, playing Beethoven’s Fur Elise. His hand had a slight tremor. I wondered if that was a side effect of his medication.
“I want to get to know you,” I said. He slightly smiled at my response.
“Would you like to go outside?” he asked.
“Okay,” I said. He stood up and Jack followed. I walked with him outside. It was a warm day, but not humid. I stood next to him on the porch looking around at the trees, noticing the odd metal sculptures randomly placed throughout his yard. One that was completely made of kitchen utensils caught my eye. It was a little girl. He noticed me staring at it and said, “That’s you when you were little.”
I walked over to it and bent down to look at it. “It’s beautiful,” I said admiring it. Nana had said he was talented. I thought she was biased but I could see I was wrong. His art was amazing.
“It was the first sculpture I made,” he said.
“You’re very talented,” I said standing up facing him.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, almost embarrassed by the compliment. He walked a little and then stopped. “Mind if I smoke?” he asked gesturing to his pipe.
“No,” I said. He put the pipe to his lips and lit the tobacco. He inhaled the smoke, puckering his lips, his hand shaking a little.
“Do you garden every day?” I asked.
“I try to during the spring and summer. It helps keep me grounded, keeps my mind off things.” He sucked on his pipe again, inhaling more smoke. I didn’t mind the smell. “Let’s take a walk,” he said. We walked toward his garden, Jack eagerly followed.
I stopped and admired the daisies. “Do you like daisies?” he asked noticing me.
“Yes,” I nodded. “They’re my favorite flower. Something about them makes me happy,” I said. He took a pocket knife out of his front pocket and cut several from the ground and handed them to me.
“Here. You can put them in a vase when you get home,” he said.