ruby

i hate that name.. ruby
i hate that gem
i have a lot of hate
distaste
anger
fear
sadness

im glad her name wasnt garnet.. thats a gem i really love

there's a picture of my grandfather down on one knee, that hereditary twinkle in his eye, with a basket of wild mushrooms at his feet.  a tall heavyset stern hard looking man stands at his left..  his father-in-law, my great grandfather.  a steamthresher.. farmer.. the father of i think 5 girls and 2 boys.  i dont even know his name. 

there's another picture.  she is standing at a distance, hair shortish and unkempt.. blonde.. in overalls.. against a backdrop of flat ohio farmland.  if i didnt know it was her, i would mistakenly think she looks.. nice.

they say the girls all possessed a mean streak.  the boys.. well, one hung himself in the barn, and the other doesnt talk much.  ruby was the one who took a pitchfork to the horses in the barn.  her father caught her in the act.   

ruby.  i dont know much about her, yet i feel i know enough.  mostly peripheral hearsay.  i realize how unfair it is to judge her.. having never had an actual conversation with the woman.  its too late now though.  she died.  she died after my ma took her in when she had nowhere else to turn.  when she was left with bedsores, uncared for in a home.. my ma took her in.  my ma gave her a comfortable place to wait to die.  my ma.. the one child she would have given up for adoption because she wasnt the much wanted boy.  the child she abused verbally and emotionally and physically.  the child who she refused to acknowledge by name.  the child she farmed out for weeks at a time to other family members when they needed a hand in the fields.  the child who's husband she hit on.  the child who was left unmentioned in her father's obituary.

this is all i know.

i know she abused the other 3 children too.  her oldest escaped.  my wild child aunt.  my ma's favorite sister.  everyone's favorite.  three children out of wedlock.  a glorious smile.. thrilled to have curly locks after the chemo.  i remember my ma was crushed when she died.

the second daughter, the only surviving sibling.. depended on my ma for so much.. failed in school so she could be in the same grade.. such an unfortunate girl.  abused to the point she became a mere shell of the person she might have one day become.

the son, 9 months younger than my ma.  the golden son ruby wanted so badly.  a gay hairdresser.  oh, the irony in that is just too much.

when we were kids, ma had to take my brother to easter seals and the shriners for his prosthesis.  my sister and i were often left with ruby and grandpa.  we were left pretty much on our own.  we played in the basement or rode bikes out on the paved driveway.  i was too young to really remember much.  my sister remembers very little.

i know my ma threw ruby out of our house when we were very young.  told her if she couldnt control her mouth around her grandchildren, she wasnt welcome in our home.  they never came back.  my grandpa, the man who ruby threw butcher knives at, whom my ma adored, never once made any attempt to keep contact.  no phone calls.  no letters.  no visits.  no birthday cards. 

just whispers among the many many relatives.

she had dysphonia.  i remember her voice.  i wish i could erase it.  i see her sour wrinkled face and fake blonde hair.  i blot her face out with images of my grandpa laughing.. eyes twinkling and tongue lolling out.. i hear his laugh.. i see him reaching in his pocket and pulling out a butterscotch for me. 

i found my ma curled up in a ball in the closet.  she read his obit in the paper.  she didnt know he had died.  no one called. 

dad says ruby was thankful ma took her in.  ma laid down the law and had words with her.. many many many words.  i never came home to see her.  she died and none of us went to her funeral.  i got the phone call and that was that.  i just didnt care.  im fairly sure this disappointed my dad somehow.  but he never said a word about it to me.  he understood.

my sister said to me one day after ma passed.  'i dont want to have kids.'  i asked her why, but i knew the answer.  she was afraid.  she wanted ma to be there..  and she was afraid of being like ruby.  like there was some chance it was hereditary to be so.. awful... so... ugly.

the day of ma's funeral.. my aunt, the shell, the last left standing by her open casket.. turned to me and said the words my ma never would have wanted said.  'she looks so much like mother.'  i know she meant it out of comfort.. but..

it took everything i had not to scream.  not to drop to my knees and retch.  instead, i took her hand and gently guided her out of the funeral home.

im done for now.