Chapter 2 - Heavy Eyes In Daylight
I don't remember the sound of Grandpa Ray's shoes on my bedroom floor. I remember the weight of him. He'd gone still by the doorway with that big purple bag in his hand, and I had my new elephant crushed so tight to my chest its gray ear was damp where I'd been holding it.
He looked down at me and smiled, but it wasn't the same smile he'd come in with. The first one had been big. This one didn't move right.
"You got tired legs, baby?" he asked.
I nodded, even though my legs weren't what felt tired. It was behind my eyes. It felt like daylight was too bright to keep looking at, even with the curtains open and the sun all over my light covers.
Mom's footsteps were going down the stairs behind us. I could hear her phone voice starting up, that low work voice she used when she didn't want me to interrupt.
Grandpa Ray crouched a little so his eyes were closer to mine. His tan jacket bunched at his shoulders. The white handles of the gift bag cut into his fingers because he'd been holding it so long without putting it down.
"Want to sit on your bed a minute?" he said.
I took two slow steps toward the bed. I remember thinking my sneakers felt heavy. Not like when you're sleepy at night and your blanket is warm. More like I was trying to walk through water. I had to catch the edge of the mattress with my free hand to pull myself up.
The elephant slid off my lap when I sat. I grabbed it back fast.
Grandpa Ray set the purple bag down careful against the wall. He didn't take his eyes off me the whole time. He sat on the very edge of my bed, so light I barely felt the mattress move, and his brown shoes stayed flat on the rug like he wasn't planning to stay long but wasn't ready to get up either.
That's when he saw the cup.
It was right there in front of us on my covers. Yellow-orange juice with the white lid and the straw sticking up. I'd left it there that morning. There wasn't much left. Maybe half. I could see the line where I'd stopped drinking, and a little pulp stuck to the plastic inside.
He looked at it, then he looked at me. I saw him do the math without saying it.
"Did you have some juice already this morning?" he asked, easy, like he was just making talk.
I nodded and rubbed my eye with the heel of my hand. The elephant's trunk flopped against my chin.
"Yeah," I said. My voice came out thick. I had to swallow to finish. "Mom said drink it all."
He nodded once. He didn't pick the cup up. He just let his hand rest on his knee near it.
"Did you get a nap?" he said. "You look a little sleepy for morning."
I tried to keep my eyes open because I didn't want him to think I didn't like his present. I hugged the elephant tighter and leaned a little sideways until my shoulder touched his arm. His shirt was soft under his jacket, light blue and warm from the sun in the hallway.
"Kinda," I said. "My eyes feel—" I stopped because I didn't know the word. Heavy wasn't right. Sleepy wasn't right either, because I'd slept. "Funny."
Grandpa Ray put his hand real gentle on my back. Not patting. Just there.
"Okay," he said. "Okay, that's all right. You lean right here."
From the dining area past the hall, Mom's voice got clearer. "Yeah, I'm here. I'm on the call," she called out. "Give me ten minutes, okay?"
She wasn't talking to us. She was talking to whoever was on her phone. But she said it loud enough that we would hear it and know not to come out there.
Grandpa Ray turned his head toward the doorway. The white staircase was empty now. You could see straight through to the table where Mom had her laptop open, I guess, because her voice echoed a little off that hard floor.
He looked back at me. My head had tipped forward. I jerked it up.
"Sorry," I whispered.
"You got nothing to be sorry for," he said quick.
I leaned harder against him. The elephant was between us, squished. I could hear him breathe. In and out, slow, like he was trying to make me match him.
He checked his watch, then he didn't get up. He shifted his weight and settled more onto the bed, his jacket pulling when he moved. He stretched his legs out a little like a man who'd decided he wasn't going anywhere for a while.
"We'll just sit," he said, quiet. "You rest your eyes if you need to. I'm right here."
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I wanted to stay awake and show him I could hold the elephant up by its ears like it was walking. But my eyelids kept dropping. The juice cup sat there on the covers, close enough I could've knocked it with my knee. Neither of us touched it.
Outside my door the house stayed bright and normal. Mom talking soft in the other room. Grandpa's hand on my back, steady. Me fighting to keep looking at daylight.
