Mike stood in front of the cedar chest in Grandma’s attic. It was the last item to carry downstairs, place in the rented U-Haul and then off to storage. In a few weeks his aunts and uncles would return to town, and along with his dad, determine who got what. The house that was once filled with life, laughter and love was now completely quiet. The only noise was orchestrated by a few creaking rafters as an early fall wind played its song on the roof of this century old house. Grandma had passed, and it was time for her lifelong keepsakes to move on. He took a rag from his jacket pocket and briskly swept aside the dust layer that had accumulated over many years. It was obvious the chest had been ignored for a very long time.
As a kid who loved sports, Mike hit the jackpot. He had grown up in Cincinnati during the glory years of the Big Red Machine. All summer long, he and Dad rarely missed an inning listening on the radio to the heroics of Johnny Bench, Joe Morgan, Pete Rose and a full cast of other stars. He had plenty of neighborhood friends and enjoyed playing pick-up baseball, basketball and touch football at the playground down the street. He loved snagging catfish in the Ohio River on camp outs with his Scout troop.
His childhood was everything a boy could ask for. Life had also provided him with a very special best friend . . . Grandma Anna. She was all that a grandma should be and more, good listener, guiding light, moral compass, confidant, and cheerleader. She had been the one who held his trembling hand and walked him to his first day of school. Grandma Anna was the first in line to hug him at his graduation twelve years later. She always showered him with unconditional love. And he always felt it. Grandpa MacKenzie, on the other hand, was a complete stranger.
All Mike knew was that his grandfather, Charles MacKenzie, was drafted into the army in June of 1943 and died in Germany during the Battle of the Hurtgen Forest on the Belgian German border in late October of 1944. Mike learned in high school history class it was the second longest battle ever fought by the U. S. Army. Dad was two when Grandpa died and had no lasting memories of Grandpa either.
Grandma rarely spoke of Grandpa, never remarried, and kept no pictures of him around her house. Regardless, she was the most joyful person Mike had ever known. On the few occasions he inquired about what his Grandpa was like, or how he looked, or whether he was a hero, she momentarily became quiet and then, with a forced smile, she quickly changed the subject.
“Let’s not talk about the past honey, let’s talk about the present.”
Then she would rattle off choices from her memorized “let’s change the subject” list.
“How was school today?”
“How do you think the Reds will do this year?”
“My boy, you are getting taller!”
The only glitch in his almost perfect childhood was a reoccurring dream or, more accurately, nightmare. In this illusion, it was pitch dark and silent. The only sound he was aware of was the rapid beating of his own heart. Suddenly, the sky exploded with flashes like multi-pronged lighting. The resonance of his heartbeat hidden by the deafening rumble of loud explosions surrounding him and his comrades. Next to him was a fellow soldier he had met in boot camp training in Georgia. The two had instantly become best friends. Although they were recent acquaintances, both felt like they had known each other their entire lives. Throughout the six-week basic training they were inseparable. Always enjoying each other’s company. Always looking out for each other. In the dream, his comrade’s name was Charles, but Charles told everyone he went by the name of Skeeter. It was a name he had been ‘christened’ with by his grandpa in jest because, growing up, he liked catching mosquitoes in a jar. His grandpa paid him a ‘whole nickel’ for every ten he caught. Skeeter joked that he was the family’s version of pest control.
Skeeter had a warming laugh and a great sense of humor. He often chuckled.
“If we make it home, I’m going to hit my grandpa up for all the mosquitoes we have killed over here. I will split it with you. We will both be millionaires.
Inside these night terrors, Mike was in a horrific battle in a deep, dark forest. He and Skeeter were on their bellies on the ground shielded by a dirt mound. In each dream, suddenly, a shell would burst close by. When he raised his head to check on Skeeter, half of the boy’s skull had been blown away. At that point he would tremble and scream,
“Skeeter! Skeeter!”
On each occasion, Mom and Dad would dash to his room to fully wake him and calm him down. They had always assumed that “skeeter was the result of his shaking body and trembling lips causing him to emit the word as “skeeter’ instead of the intended “I’m scared”. Either Mom or Dad would crawl beside him to comfort him back to sleep, or on rare occasions, they would transfer him to the safety of their king sized bed to extract him from the sight of his hellish dream.
As he got older the frequency of the dreams lessened but the waking memory of having them survived. On rare occasions when they entered his mind, he could still recall many of the details, but of course the fearful emotions were no longer there. He chalked them up to the usual imagined childhood demons.
Mike grabbed the straps at either end of the cedar chest and hefted it off the unfinished hardwood floor. Curiosity got the best of him. He pondered what the chest contained, and which of Grandma’s five children would be the new custodian of the items inside. He returned the chest to the floor and popped the unlocked latch located on the center front. He slowly lifted the lid as the hinges groaned from many years of static rest. The inside of the chest emitted the distinct slighty sweet and earthy aroma particular to cedar. That one upward gesture unlocked many chapters of a family history that he had never known existed. There were childhood pictures of all of his aunts and uncles, including those of his dad and, of course, Grandma. There were various grade school papers with A’s boldly marked at the top and decorated with colored stars. He found one of his dad’s fifth grade report cards with all A’s and B’s except for a D in English. He chuckled as he made a mental note that he would have to confront Dad, who had demanded A’s and B’s from his own children, about this.
As he delved to the bottom of this family history treasure trove, he saw a picture of Grandma in a wedding dress, smiling her special smile. The one he would always remember her by. Next to her was a man he was seeing for the very first time . . . Grandpa Charles. Although this was the very first time Mike had seen his grandfather’s picture, for some reason he looked vaguely familiar. It must be due to common traits in the family gene pool. With each picture he uncovered, his grandpa seemed more and more familiar.
His fingers scraped the bottom of the cedar chest, he lifted an envelope. The edges were marked with alternating red, white and blue diagonal stripes. These signified that it was a U. S. military envelope. It was postmarked September 10, 1944, from Belgium.
Mike extracted the folded letter from the envelope, a picture dropped to the floor. He picked it up and turned it over. It was a photo of two young soldiers smiling with arms draped over each other’s shoulders. He held it closer, he immediately recognized one of the soldiers in the black and white photo. It was the same person who appeared in all of his nightmares of years ago. On the bottom in the white border it read,
Mike and Skeeter – Belgium, September 1944
The soldier with the big grin beside Mike wasn’t just his grandfather, it was Skeeter, the young man from all his childhood nightmares.
At that moment the thought hit him that perhaps Grandpa was not a stranger at all. Perhaps Grandpa had been much closer than he thought. Just in a different lifetime.