Palms
Five little fingers laid out on a table
Two are for you, three are for me. Maybe the other hand could do us some good,
Sprinkle on pepper and sesame.
You can have one, but you must save the other
Earth’s hungriest men are known only for hunger.
—
Mealtime with my family; my grandparents have gotten older, so they tend to eat dinner earlier and earlier. This night, dinner’s at five o’clock sharp, and though I’d rather wait a while longer for dinner, I decide I can’t object to their desired schedule. I have to be courteous while I’m around them, mother told me, and I’ve done well understanding and keeping with that rule.
Grandma’s been fine through the past week. I saw her out in the garden when I arrived, and she showed me the new flowers and plants she’d gotten around to growing all along the property. She told me she had gotten into a bit of a tulip craze (mentioning more than once that her being Dutch must have something to do with it) and had gone wild for squash and tomato plants, of which she had multiples. The garden had been laid out sprawling across the entire perimeter of their lawn, and mixed into those top interests of hers were other flowers she had gotten into caring for. She toured me around the lawn in a proud manner that lead me to only be able to congratulate her accomplishments and tell her that I was proud of all she had done. She seemed overjoyed to show it all off to me.
Grandpa, sadly, remained rather worse for wear. From the moment I walked inside up until now, he’s been in bed. He’ll get up occasionally but only really for the bathroom, for a meal, and then back to bed. Grandma told me that he moved around much more than usual last Friday when he walked to the shed and fixed up its busted doorknob. I couldn’t help but realize that even an activity such as that required almost minimal effort; grandpa’s scaring me, and I know he doesn’t mean to but his condition’s gotten much worse than assumed. I hope he’ll be okay. I miss when he would take me fishing and out about the town to gas stations and to lots where he’d make money for tree branches he’d send in. He’s got that heart still, I know that much, but his physicality, that’s where it hurts most.
Every time I visit their house, it seems to grow smaller. I’m sure this has to do with the fact that I’ve gotten older and taller, but it’s still so strange being here and seeing all the furniture. The space is so limited in comparison to how I remembered the place. When I could run around and climb up these metal poles they have in the basement and wander up to the attic without even having to duck my head down. I truly must have grown, must’ve grown a lot. Of course, that’s what grandma told me when she saw me, before showing me around the garden. The second thing she asked, of course, was about my left arm.
“My, my, what happened to your arm?”
For the past four months, my left arm’s been placed in a sort of cast, a cast specifically tailored to me. Of course, it’s embarrassing to talk about and even to think about, so I had them get me a cast I could wear so I wouldn’t have to be seen out in public without a hand, even after healing. And obviously, I hadn’t thought to tell my grandparents. I couldn’t have them know about it; grandma would probably make fun of me or something.
“I fractured my hand playing a game at school,” I lied to her. “I have to be in this cast for a couple of months while it heals.”
“Oh my, that’s awful,” she responded with some tone of disgust. “How long ago did it break?”
“A few weeks ago; it hasn’t been very long.”
“I see,” she said. And then suddenly, “May I see it?”
A thousand thoughts ran through my mind, most thought-provoking of all, what do hospitals do with amputated limbs like that? Do they just throw them away immediately, or..? But I was also completely confused about her wanting to see and told her that my hand would be that much better kept in the cast and not moved around too much. She seemed content with the answer and didn’t bring it up anymore. Instead, she turned to plants and said:
“Look what I’ve done!”