texts to lizzy, #02

when my grandfather died, my siblings and i went around his house—the one in Hilton Head, the one where he sat my sister and i down and gave us all a New Testament Bible and a talking-to that fixed all of the behavioral issues we had been demonstrating in the days prior—and collected some things that my grandmother (his wife) said she didn’t want and would be grateful if we took off her hands. somehow i got a high quality vacuum cleaner out of the deal, as well as some books, and a pair of shoes. he wore those shoes when he would mow the lawn. now i do the same.

but the most inconspicuous item i obtained was the fully-unopened 15-pack case of Orbit spearmint chewing gum. i’ve been working my way through all fifteen packs of that gum for over a year, which means my grandfather has been dead for over a year. and to be honest, unlike the shoes, i don’t think of him every time i use a piece of gum. it’s become normal now, the green-tinted white strips of some chemical mixture that makes my stomach turn in anticipation and my mouth pretend that it’s fresh and clean.

but when my coworker asked me for gum during my second day on the job, i told her that i got these from my grandfather—he’s dead. i explained the background, and there was a light chuckle.
that was a month ago.

today, that same coworker asked me—almost desperately, i might add—for a piece of gum. oh for sure, i say, pulling the green pack out of my backpack. i toss her a piece, and she catches it.

“thanks, grandfather” she says.

“gone, but not forgotten.”

i think i get what they mean now.