Storyteller

The sky through the bedroom window was a rhombus of milky light. I saw it behind my eye lids as I came awake. I felt it sweeping over me, rinsing me with the newness of morning, but I also felt embraced. I floated in the in-betweenness, and let my thoughts meander. I gave silent thanks for the return of day, for the leafy treetops beginning to materialize, for the gray sea in the distance barely separate from sky, for the subtle nuanced gathering of wonders.  

I thought about a particular little boy who in that very moment was braving school in England, a new experience for him.  It was afternoon there; I wondered if he was in the playground or seated at a desk, singing songs, learning letters, feeling important or small. He will never tell us what ensues in this unfamiliar place away from his parents and removed from the predictable and comforting routines of the previous two years.  I know he won’t talk, because just a couple of hours later, we asked him, in a screen chat, how it was.

Theatrical as ever, he contorted his face and growled, “I don’t want to talk about school.” An emphatic and unequivocal response. The mysteries of Felix’s journey begin to unwind, the many adventures he will navigate on his own and later refuse to discuss.

But he gave me a gift, far better than a dutiful summation of what happened at school, which, when you think about it, is usually humdrum anyway. He told me this, and here I transcribe his exact words:

“Nonna, you know you’re good at storybook stories. Can you tell me a story, please? But not a real story. A pretend, please.”

I reeled with delight. Could there be a greater honor than to be deemed a worthy story weaver by one’s grandson? But I was also on the spot. I had to think fast. I quickly invented a boy named Giuseppe and pointed him toward the forest.

But Felix was a demanding director. What was triggering the action? Giuseppe was not alone, was he? There has to be a problem! An emergency, in fact. There needs to be a rescue. He reminded me that a story is not very exciting without a problem to fix or a mystery to solve.

I conjured up a curious and mischievous boy named Oscar, who was urging Giuseppe to venture into the dismal forest despite the waning of daylight, lured by luscious berries, which turned out to be poisonous! Giuseppe sampled only a few, but Oscar ate many, and then, dizzy with the poison, tripped and fell into a deep gulch and could not get out.

A tumble of developments unfolded as Felix peppered me with demands and details. A rescue worker must be summoned, who will drive in aboard a special Forest Emergency Vehicle with rescue tools and ambulance equipment. There were many specifications about what equipment this vehicle would be carrying. We were getting serious here, beyond the level of Nonna’s previous cast of characters. Brassy, fast-talking Stella would be out of her element; she can go home and drink her coffee. And mild-mannered Clyde and Maurice, though proficient at ambulance and detective work, are too slow and easygoing. A rescue worker of higher caliber was called to the scene, working fast, with little dialog.

“He has to be carrying a winch,” said Felix. I wasn’t sure what that was, but he explained. The winch was used to hook Oscar and lift him out of the gulch. He was then loaded onto a stretcher inside the vehicle, which was driven out along a clearing in the forest and back to the town where, with sirens screaming, speeding tires screeching, and a squawking hawk following, Oscar was taken to the hospital.

I suggested that the doctor could turn out to be an actual wizard, but Felix rejected the idea. “No wizard!” he said, in his bossy way. “There are no wizards in the hospital.”  

I will spare you the details about Oscar’s explosive diarrhea, and the graphic cutting open of his stomach, followed by removal of the berries, which were no longer berries but more like a jam or mush, all quite disgusting. The opening in Oscar’s belly was sealed shut with magic glue, the kind they used when Papa cut his leg surfing. Now Oscar was good to go, though in need of new underpants, and I wasn’t sure what Giuseppe was doing all this time, but Felix decided that we could make up the next part during a different chat, because he wanted to go upstairs and watch Bluey now.

It turns out I am a very simple and compliant Nonna, quite susceptible to flattery, and absurdly thrilled to have a role in Felix’s life. To be declared a storyteller is intoxicating! Now I am trying to come up with an idea for this ongoing saga so I don’t disappoint him.

Shall I bring real-life themes into the stories? Facing fear, being kind, learning new skills? Or shall we stick to fairy tales and fantasy, with great infusions of magic? Will animals talk in human language? Is time travel possible? Shall we allocate superpowers? There’s a lot to consider.

Meanwhile, I have a fantasy of my own. I want to slip through that rhombus of milky morning light and find myself in the house of my grandson, sitting on the step with him eating an ice cream cone watching passersby on Hurst Street, or on the living room floor, even though it’s hard to get back up, amidst his chaotic empire of toys, or reading a bedtime story in person. I want to touch his little boy face before he grows up and smell his thick brown hair and try my best to catch him when he runs, as I know he will, fast and far and beyond my capabilities.