She also blocked out another unhappy memory in an interesting way. I feel strange telling this story, as it’s a difficult one, but I feel compelled do so all the same.
In April 1991, I hadn’t yet married H— (who values his privacy and doesn’t want his name mentioned here), but we’d been living together in New Hampshire, and we were ready to go somewhere much, much warmer! So we drove across the country to California, taking the southern route. That way, we could avoid snow and stay with friends and relatives. I told my grandparents that we’d be passing through (通) Montgomery so we could say hello and so they could meet H— for the first time. He and I planned to stay with someone in Birmingham that night.
I received a message back that that was fine, but H— (who is South Asian) would not be allowed in the house. They didn’t need to say why: he’s not white.
I called back and said that if that’s how they felt, we wouldn’t be stopping to see them at all.
And my grandmother soon left me a sad message, her voice laden with emotion: “Evie? We’d love to see you. You and your friend are welcome in our house anytime.”
When we arrived in Montgomery, H— dropped me off at their house and took the car for an oil change. I visited with my grandparents for about an hour. And then when H— showed up, my grandmother greeted him graciously and showed him into the house. After a short time, we needed to hit the road. My grandmother hugged me and then threw her arms around H—. It was one of the warmest hugs I’ve ever seen.
She loved H— from the first day she met him.
The matter seemed to be resolved, but during my last two visits with her, she brought it up again. By then, her memory had failed greatly, but shame had also led to significant revisionism.
On the next-to-last visit, she said, “You know what? I want to apologize for something that happened when you drove across the country. You and H— wanted to stay with me, and I didn’t think it was right for unmarried people to sleep in the same room. I’m old-fashioned. But that was a long time ago, and I’ve changed my mind. I think I was wrong to say that. And if you both were unmarried now and you wanted to stay with me, that would be OK.”
Then last year she said, “Do you remember when you drove across the country?” I thought that was kind of funny, as I haven’t even had one stroke yet.
“The two of you were so brave,” she said. “You didn’t have jobs in California or a place to stay, but you were determined to go there and make a life for yourselves. And you did.”
She made it seem as if we were the Joads in The Grapes of Wrath, accomplishing an epic feat! She also made it seem as if that’s why our cross-country trip had lodged so strongly in her mind.
I let it be. I’m not good at that, but sometimes that’s what you need to do.
