The Man on Grandma’s Couch

Hazel is a mother of five whose home has became a refugee for not only her children but many of close family. The couch was an old 1950’s beige and dark brown seating for four. It was itchy and smelly, but everyone who sat there, found comfort and a sense of belonging. That couch has been slept on by many including me, every time I slept on it I would wake up feeling like I slept on rock in cold desolate desert. In elementary I walked home every day and after that journey I never knew who could be or even would be sitting on that couch. It was not to my surprise when one cold rainy day I walked home to grandma’s and found an extremely tall man sitting on my grandma’s couch. As I walked into the door because it was always open and stared at him because not only did he not speak, he didn’t smile. He was bundled up in a snow coat which I remember thinking was odd because we lived in San Diego, the saying was true it never rained in southern California or at least long enough to really get wet. He had dark blue jeans and a black beanie. His hands I couldn’t see while his all black boots which were wet and muddy. My grandmother was sitting in her favorite chair which sat immediately to the left of that couch and said “Come here; Let me introduce you to your uncle Bunkie, my eldest son.”

My mother had two brothers, my uncle Malcolm and Junie. This was confusing because I never knew he existed, I sat down next to him he said “Hi!” I sat three spaces away from to insure that I could turn all the way around and make sure to look him in the eye. He spoke fluently and with stature, confident in everything that was coming out of his mouth. He told me of saltwater fishing and the princess cruise line he worked for. I recall loving the way his stories were always adventurous and full of humor, not using typical adult language editing. This man was intriguing and full of intrepid heroic like stories. He showed me how to hold a fishing pole and even scared me with the bait. The bait was the worst part smelling of dead bugs mixed with a sour smell, the bait looked like worms from the ground that wiggled around and made the faintest of screaming noises. The time I spent with him made feel as though I traveled the world with him, in the 5 hrs I was there his stories made me feel like I visited five different countries.

His story began in Alaska where he had just been fishing he told me it was night most of the day and he stayed in a wonderful bed in breakfast which was a mom and pop business. The wife made their meals and her husband showed them around the lakes. He jumped from place to place telling the funniest story of being in an Indonesian supermarket and his entire head going through the false ceiling while the locals laughed hysterically at him. He recalled being in Jamaica where he suffered a mild heart attack when he was too married and took it as a sign not to do it. This man’s stories amazed me and I never knew that his stories would lead him to becoming one of my closes uncle and friend. Till this day I depend on his stories which are always filled with life stories to help me in my understanding of the world. Of all the moments had on grandma’s couch, and of all the people met on grandma’s couch that one moment, that one person has in actual fact change my life.