This spigot is attached to my grandmother's house, right outside her side door. The door we always use.
I was raised in this house, many weekends, most, probably, and the people here loved me and nurtured me like no one else.
But something was terribly wrong, and the one person who knew it wasn't talking.
See, my grandmother always played the victim. She was always wronged by someone. At all times. That person was my grandfather for as long as he was alive. And he just took it, even though he knew we all thought he was unkind to my grandmother. And he was, I suppose, but the dynamic in that relationship was really, uh, crazy, for lack of a better word.
She needled and made digs at him. Her passive aggression was, and still is, fierce and deep-rooted.
(in progress. i feel we are all close enough for me leave part of a draft up here.)
Comments (5)
Now you have to see it through. Nice start, don't leave us hanging.
Great photo.
Secrets, ivy and red spigots...excellent combo.
Posted by lu | September 22, 2006 9:30 AM
absolutely. and great photo.
Posted by marian | September 22, 2006 9:59 AM
I can't wait to read the rest. You're a very good writer.
Posted by Heather | September 22, 2006 7:35 PM
I feel like I am growing harder and meaner and more like that every day. It frightens me....
Posted by Anne | September 25, 2006 7:56 PM
I like the draft idea. Except that this is a very interesting beginning, and now I'm shifting from foot to foot waiting for the end. Rescue me.
Posted by Karla | September 26, 2006 1:00 PM