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The Chesterfield
By Deb Jones
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I was ten years old when I went to live with my maternal grandparents.
My grandmother was a tall caramel colored woman with a soft mellow
voice, My grandfather was also tall the color of charcoal. And he
spoke with a sluggish South Carolinian accent. Everyone who knew me
commented on my weight because I weighed about ten pounds more than a
cartoon character Olive Oil Whom I had become familiar with by
watching the popular cartoon series Every Saturday morning . My hair
was always kept tightly braided with an Occasional loose end sticking
out , a hair style that my grandfather said Reminded him of Poochie,
a puppy he once owned as a child and with Whom I shared the same pet
name . Oscar more commonly known to me As granddad and hen-pecked to
most of the other residents in our apartment Building, because he
eagerly nodded in full agreement to everything that Was said by my
grand mom . We lived in a five story tenement building that was located
on one hundred twenty-sixth street and Lenox avenue in Harlem a
borough of New York city , the apartment building consisted of
People from West Indian descent and other people who had come from
various states in the south in search of better jobs and opportunities.
My summers were filled with the carefree spirit of adolescence,
playing sometimes into the night as my grandfather watched from the window
simultaneously .
Each evening he waited until the sun had gone down before he joined us on
the stoop because he said That the rays from the sun gave him a headache
and on occasion made him dizzy,
But the details oh his prognostic ailment did not concern me because all I
knew was when he came out it was the signal that the good humor man was
about to make his final rounds . Most of the kids in the neighborhood
were made to share their ice cream with brothers , sisters or other family
members
And the fact that I had no siblings , cousins or other wise with whom to
share my daily quotient of Three ice cream bars always pleased me , and
this among other reasons was the cause for many to believe that my
grandfather would be sorry one day for over indulging me the way he did ,
But I say that he was only expressing love in the only way that he knew
how .and the fact that he could not read or write had no bearing on my feelings
for him.
I trusted and depended on him for many things such as his teachings
about pride in one's self ,his warnings about the dangers of drugs ,
The importance of education , and to beware of strangers,
And I knew that his personal philosophies would be the navigating force for
my survival in Harlem .
What would I ever do without him to spoil and to protect me ?
One day my grandmother asked me to go to the cleaners for her ,
I hated going there for several reasons one was because the cleaners was
operated by a light skinned man who was not only mean in his mannerism
and was in a wheel chair to boot but years later I found out that the man
whom I had ecretly referred to as creepy, was non other than Roy Capanella
the famous baseball player ,
The second reason is because it was located on one hundred and twenty
fifth street which was a commercialized area and the main artery
for many establishments and businesses such as the Apollo,
soul food restaurants , minority owned shops and bars where winos
often conjugated and huddled together as if discussing a play in a football game
While they held the bottle of wine tightly as they passed it from one to
the other ,and the salutation of " hey baby" was addressed to every woman and girl
that passed them ,
But as always without saying a word I passed them hastily just as my
grandfather had previously instructed me to do . In the winter months to follow I was
called upon to run many errands some of which required me to pass the corner where
the pathetic winos occasionally stood These errands also included meeting
my grandfather at the Lenox avenue station on the days that he got off of
work early.
Today was one of the days that I was to meet him at the station but it was
no ordinary day it was. Friday march 4th one day away from my birthday the day
that I would become a pre teen. I would be eleven wow .
I watched anxiously as he exited the turn stop , bet you thought that
I forgot About your birthday tomorrow , what would poochie like most
in the whole world
The smile on my face widened slowly as he said, "I know, a
Chesterfield coat." I had asked for they grey tweed coat for Christmas but
received an easy bake oven instead , I will have to get it tonight because
I won't be here tomorrow
I looked quizzically into his face and said "Where Are you going?"
He answered in his usual stern voice. "I am going on a trip."
Although I could not imagine him going on a trip without either
of us. Thoughts of his mysterious trip were soon replaced by visions of
me owning a new Chesterfield coat .
Early the next morning I was awakened by the sound of my
grand mom's cries. I slowly entered the room where
they slept and found Him on the floor in a kneeling position
with her standing directly above.
The room was filled with a foul smelling odor that she said was caused by
him releasing his bowels his eyes were tightly closed with dried white s
tains in the corners.
And my grandmother's usual soft voice was now shrill and high pitched
as she asked me if I would stay with him until she could get help
And since we, along with most of the tenants, had no telephone
I was obliged to help in anyway I could.
I bent down helplessly beside him, pretending to understand
the new game that he was playing. She returned fifteen minutes later
accompanied by two men who were dressed in white. My grandfather
was now the color of dull black leather. One of the men placed two
fingers on his neck and looked into her swollen tear filled eyes and
then said to the second man, "Let's get a stretcher." As the men inched
their way down the equiangular corridor of our floor that was lined with
curious tenants, they retrieved the stretcher from the ambulance and
returned to the apartment to remove the now stiff body that was still
kneeling on the floor .
The man I knew as my grandfather was dead.
I mourned his death silently .while realizing that the Chesterfield coat could
never replace his gift of love .
