Vinnie’s Game
Vinnie’s Game.
Granddad had a dream. He called it a sign from God. He had never been a religious man: you couldn’t count enforced bible reading, hymn singing and prayers before lunch at school as a religious background. Granddad had come to God, or God had come to Granddad, late in life. Several huge personal crises had pushed him , during middle age no less, into the arms of the Lord. Nothing unusual there. He found a peace and clarity, and according to my mother, left Nan in peace for the first time in years. Yes, faith had given Granddad a focus and his frustration and quick temper an outlet. Unfortunately, like most things in his life, Granddad took it to the extreme. No quiet Church of England congregation for him, oh no, he went full throttle; hell, so to speak, for leather. Big time. Roman Catholic. Roman Catholic all the way. With the big man, his boy and the see through guy. I don’t get it. The guilt, the sinning, the praying and the whole holier than though trip. But apparently it helped him and if that made Nan happy then it was left alone.
I just wish Granddad could have got on the God bus a little later in life. Like after I was born.
So this dream, this sign from the big guy. The night my sisters and I arrived in the world. Mum was in a critical condition, she had lost a lot of blood. Nan was called out of the waiting room into an hospital office by some high ranking official.
It’s touch and go, I need you to sign these forms, just in case your daughter doesn’t make it the triplets will be in your custody. We’re doing all we can.
Nan called Granddad and of course Granddad went into RC mode big time. The prayer-thon. He prayed and prayed, asking for a sign, anything. Anything for his daughter to be spared and his granddaughters to keep their mother. And, apparently, according to Granddad, the Lord heard.
I doubt this. I have my own opinion. I think Granddad was so addled, stressed and sleep deprived that he hallucinated. But who am I to steal an old man’s glory?
God came to Granddad and gave him a sign. Granddad was dozing on the couch, waiting for a call from Nan. He awoke to a bright light shining from the kitchen. He walked in and saw, standing at the pantry, an angel. The angel did not speak but removed one item from each shelf of the pantry and placed them on the table. He then turned to Granddad, smiled, whispered Your daughter is safe and disappeared.
I have a game. I have played since the first day of year 3 when the kids found out my real name. I had come home from school boiling with the late summer heat and rage. I threw open Nan’s pantry door. Three shelves stacked with bottles, jars, boxes and bags. There was so much in there. It wasn’t fair. Why did I get such a stupid name?
Later that night I crept out of the room I shared with my sisters and opened the pantry door again. I dragged over a chair. I closed my eyes and grasped the first thing I touched.
Mango Chutney.
Choc Ice
Family Selection
Tetley’s
Bread Mix
Dried Apricots
Nan found me sitting on the chair sobbing into my knees, a sack of sugar at my feet. Why couldn’t he give me a different name? Why? Why?Just be thankful it wasn’t the first aid box, Nan said, ruffling my hair and feeding me a biscuit, It was full of antacids. Pepto-Bismol Johnson, imagine that. I love you just the way you are Vinnie.
I played the game when Nan and I went shopping. I scanned the shelves for exotic sounding dry goods, condiments and food.
Tarragon, Saffron ( oh how I pined for Saffron), Ambrosia, Nectar, Peaches. Even pasta was acceptable ; Linguine, Cannelloni, Ravioli.
Through my teen’s and into adulthood I played this game writing my new names on scraps of paper and work books and leaving around the house. Nan would get frustrated with it and she would thump a can or bottle in front of me while I sulked. So shall we change it to Bicarb of Soda? Dettol? Beef Stock? Is that what you want Vinnie? I would howl my frustration through floods of tears and she would hug me hard against her. Granddad and I love you just the way you are. Our Vin.
On the morning after we were born Granddad woke and found a jar of honey, a packet of rosemary and a bottle of vinegar on the kitchen table. At that moment Nan rang to tell the good news. Mum was safe, she had stabilized.
Granddad filled out the birth certificates himself.
Honey Johnson, Rosemary Johnson and Vinegar Johnson.
Three shelves. Three sisters. Three miracles.
Heather Blakey
Lori
Anita Marie
imogen88
gwenguin1
Chefleur
traveller2006
kvwordsmith
gailkav
cronelogical
shewolfy728
espirit07
dcevaal
amazon3
Raven
thalia
woodnymph
porchsitter
shelbloom
thecricketonthehearth
laralorelei
spacemonkey1996
Jill
Alexis
It does work better in first person, and you’re right. Vinnie begs her story to be told in full.
Welcome to the family!
GwenGuin
I think you’ve made a cracking job in writing this piece. It’s unusual, witty, flows well and the conclusion is excellent.
Terrific story with a great twist.
This is a wonderful story, and yes, it does work better in the first person. I eagerly look forward to more of your stories!
Bravo, Chefluer, this is wonderful, I wouldn’t change a word. And I think the Big Guy would like it too, we’re never so close (and so pleasing) to our Creator as when we are Creating.
My Grandfather was a ” Mid-Wife ” and use to deliver babies out in the Canefields- and when my mom and her brothers were born he named my Mom and all of her brothers-
Catalina,
Anacilito
Eustakio
Antonio
Not after what he found in the kitchen but unusual…so this story spoke to me.
Anita Marie
Loved the last line,but was there really a VINEGAR JOHNSON…like Anita Marie it resonated with me as my Grandmother delivered babies and also laid out the deceased in their own homes….when I did my thesis for Gerontology way back my Mother told me stories (she was then 80) I had never heard before…..like the time when there was a flu epedemic in 1914 and parents and children died at similiar times so they were laid end to end in the casket due to cost and also needing very quick burial due to infection ,my Mum then only a girl of 10 helped her Mum……
I think we need to write about the past because we sometimes forget how those times were and how strong so very strong our forebears were……delivering triplets was a major hurdle especially when all did not go well….like the availabilty quickly of Caesarean Section Delivery.
I pay homage to them and thank them for my GENES……..Lois (Muse of the Sea) 19/4/07
Wow! You have left me gasping Chefleur. I think this is an amazing portrait and like Mari I think the creator would be most impressed with you. Don’t change a word.
I love stories to do with names and thought this was a great story. The local accent of the city of Bristol in the UK, where I come from, has a tendency to add an “L” to the end of words ending with a vowel and the story goes that guy once named his 3 daughters
Norma
Ida
and Eve ……
This was intriguing and kept me reading. You have done well. I enjoyed it.