Every Game Has A Midnight
My grandmother on her 85th birthday was asked to make a toast, and protested. No, no, just carry on yourselves. My cousins pressed her: Say something, Grandma. They made her stand up with a glass of champagne in her hand, and they sat smiling, expectant, while she looked around the table at the enormous family that came from such an improbable past. How did you all get here?
I found her sitting in a billow of cigaret smoke one afternoon, posed in shadows of gold and rose, a character out of a movie. Her living room might as well have been a barn, with dust speckling the screen, the way Hollywood makes loneliness seem: Bits of drama glinting in a vacuum of boredom and routine. Without looking at me but knowing I was there, she says “Old age is hell,” and I watch her in this long scene, but she stays firmly in character and does not glance up, not for a moment.
When she is most alone she asks me if I am still playing games. I am always an athlete, Grandma, always looking for angles, always aware of when to attack, and how to defend to help myself attack, and I know there is no opponent in any sport except the game itself, its angles and boundaries; I am learning how to break rules, how to beat the actual game. “Good for you,” she says, “Keep playing games.”
My grandmother played nothing. Her life was rigid and narrow, a score always hung overhead: Six children and a boozy husband working for the railroad and the world a puzzle never quite coming together into a good fit.
In between her Hollywood cigaret scene and her birthday toast, I told her whenever she wanted to we could go to Poland, on a lark, just for fun, and she looked at me as if I was crazy: “I never once thought about going to Poland, but I like the idea that you will take me if I get nutty and decide I need to go there.”
But we went nowhere. I was studying new geometries in my games, new formulas for scoring or retreat, and one day, recently maybe but I cannot remember, the game told me I could create new rules if I wished to. Make it a little harder for myself, if I wished to.
That night I wake up on a train to Poland. It is snowing.
My grandmother lifts her champagne but does not speak. A light blows out at midnight. She falls into her cake and then onto the floor and her family is screaming. Until the paramedics come for no purpose and find themselves paused, looking at hands and knees and uniforms: What is all this icing and cake? Why are we coated in sugary frost?
My cousin says: “Nobody wanted to touch the cake, because you couldn’t look at it without seeing Grandma’s face, and we secretly wanted to laugh but of course you couldn’t do that right then.”
That was years ago, and the world is still a puzzle: my cousins too late are learning to break rules. They would laugh now, if it only could happen again.
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(first of two parts)
In the story My Secret Nicaragua.
26 responses
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Cindy Coubrough gave props (7 May 2008):
Seanie, you are an amazing photographer and writer. Thank you.
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Mojca Savicki gave props (7 May 2008):
:) yeah
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Paul Lavallee gave props (7 May 2008):
amazing capture & your words leave me speechless, Seanie!
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Laurie Search gave props (7 May 2008):
Love it!
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Ronnie Ginnever gave props (8 May 2008):
great capture, you're "in tune" with the elements...
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Chris Whitney said (8 May 2008):
The hardest rules to break can be our self-imposed conceptions of the world. Your stories make us ask questions, and questions lead to expanding perspectives, and maybe, finding new horizons.
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John Linton gave props (10 May 2008):
Yeah! It rocks! If that's a soccer ball (more properly-football) then that rocks too!
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judy fouse gave props (11 May 2008):
My father died the day after his 88th birthday. He had been in a hospital until that day. He was able to die at home. His brother died the week before. I remember them wheeling him out of the regular hospital room into the icu. The last thing he did was look over his shoulder out the window. He loved the outdoors. He operated heavy machinery, mostly monster cranes. He was offerred supervision and desk jobs but wanted nothing to do with it. He loved working the big machines and being outside. He would have liked you. Thanks for sharing. Judy
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Carl W. Nunn gave props (11 May 2008):
Good to have you back
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Mario Scattoloni gave props (12 May 2008):
U write beautifully...& cannot wait for the second installment of this story...U really need to publish a book Seanie. I think it would be a best seller...I hope 1 day 2 C a beautiful portrait foto of your grandma posted here to bridge the gap...although visually U already did paint a wonderous picture & scene of her 4 us with your writing....
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Konrad Ragnarsson gave props (12 May 2008):
Yeah,it rocks!!!!!!!!!!!Very good and beautiful pic Sean,always traveling?
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Vicenç !!! gave props (12 May 2008):
Una captura genial Seanie!!!
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Gabriel McGrath said (12 May 2008):
amazing! wonder and awe
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Jen Mah said (14 May 2008):
what a gorgeous hang out. has my vote!
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! Slimeface said (15 May 2008):
Well done and well seen!
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! !! Eton !!!! gave props (15 May 2008):
wow! everytime i come back to this picture it seems just as unbelievable amazing as if it's my first time seeing it!!!!! wow again! what a shot!
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Audrey Kanekoa-Madrid gave props (15 May 2008):
Wow!
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maria tizon gave props (16 May 2008):
beautiful and moving words and image. as always as always as always.
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Ulices Noris gave props (17 May 2008):
Amazing shot~ my vote!
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Courtney Brown gave props (20 May 2008):
STUNNING photograph! Everything about it is perfect and it has my vote. I loved the description as well. :)
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Ashley Parsons gave props (21 May 2008):
gorgeous.
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Dario Saltari gave props (22 May 2008):
great colors and contrast ;)
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Jessica Martinez gave props (22 May 2008):
Incredible, both the story and the photo!
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Michael Stafford gave props (1 Jun 2008):
lovely light Sean
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Lindsay Lou gave props (19 Jun 2008):
LOVE this. the sun is in the perfect spot.
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Abhishek Majumder gave props (13 Dec 2008):
excellent shot.
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