The Summer I Learned to Dive - By Shannon McCrimmon Page 0,3

you sitting here so quietly thinking about?” she asked sitting down next to me.

“Nothing,” I lied.

“For thinking about nothing, you have quite a pensive expression.”

“It’s nothing,” I lied again. I wasn’t willing to tell her this, to divulge my most inner thoughts. I didn’t want her to know that I was thinking about my father and his parents, the grandparents I hadn’t seen or heard from since I was two. I didn’t want to share with her that their absence left a void in my life. I wanted to know them so badly and had never gotten the chance. Why they didn’t want to share their lives with me was a mystery I could never figure out.

***

“Finn, you should get dressed. Our dinner reservations are for seven o’clock,” my mother said. She looked at her watch.

She was wearing a charcoal colored wrap dress. Her long light brown hair was wound tight in a simple, yet classic bun. Her makeup was impeccable. My mother was strikingly beautiful. She could wear a garbage bag and still look gorgeous. Although she was in her late thirties, she still looked ten years younger.

“Okay.” I stood up and stretched. I walked into her room heading toward her large walk-in closet. The black dress was zipped up securely in a pale gray garment bag. I unzipped it gingerly, trying to be careful. The zipper was stuck. I tugged on it; it wouldn’t budge. I pulled on it again with more force. Still, it wouldn’t unzip. I grabbed the garment bag in haste and accidentally hit the shelf above the clothes rack. Several envelopes fell to the floor. I picked them up, intending to place them back where they belonged, but when I saw they were addressed to me, I was curious. They were all postmarked from Graceville, South Carolina from Charlie and Lillian Hemmings— my grandparents. I had not seen nor heard from them in over sixteen years. None of the envelopes had been opened. By the size of them, they looked like cards. I immediately sat down on the floor and held one in my hand. It was postmarked from just a few weeks before. I ripped the envelope open, took out the card and looked at it. A graduation cap with the caption “Congratulations graduate” was on the front of the card. On the inside in near perfect script, “Finley, we’re so proud of you and love you very much. Love, Nana and Grandpa.” They had included a check for two hundred and fifty dollars. I forgot about my mother’s dress, throwing it on the floor. I opened another envelope, a birthday card. A picture of a cake with five candles was on the front. Again, inside in perfect script: “Finley, have a very happy fifth birthday. We miss you and love you. Nana and Grandpa.”

All I had wanted for my fifth birthday was to go to the zoo and see the Panda Bear Chow Mang from China. My kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Stevens, had shown us a picture of her and I was immediately mesmerized. I wanted to see her up close and in person. Chow Mang was all that I could talk about for weeks. I incessantly begged my mother to take me to the zoo for my birthday.

***************

I woke up early that morning and ran immediately to her room, jumping on her bed, shouting, “It’s time to go to the zoo, come on!” It was as if it was Christmas morning and I had a slew of presents to open. I was that excited. We got dressed quickly and were almost out the door but came to a halt when someone knocked on it. I opened the door without asking who was there.

My mother fussed at me, “Finn, don’t open the door to strangers.” And then, her body language changed. She became defensive and literally forced me to stand behind her, preventing me from viewing the visitors. Even at the age of five, I could tell that my mother was angry. It was the way she stood in front of me as if she were guarding me from something dangerous, her tone and words angry.

“How did you find us?” she indignantly asked them. I could barely make out their response. They had strong southern accents. My mother refused to allow me to get a glimpse of them, forcing me to stand behind her. I was so curious to see who they were. I peeked my head around her hips and looked up