The Ballad of Michael & Beulah

It's hard to believe that several months have gone by since I left off from where I was, here, in my grandparent's attic. The photo albums and box of letters are all where I left them; untouched by anyone else in our family. It's almost as if I'm the only one who cares about this stuff.

Somehow, everything I've accomplished in my twenty-two years thus far seems virtually insignificant compared to all the experiences my grandfather and grandmother Pritchard experienced in their own lives.

The places they'd seen, the people they'd met, the things they'd done; it was surreal. And, although my parents, uncles and other surrogate family members seemed to follow in the footsteps of their parents before them, I was raised away from it all.

My mom and dad divorced when I was three, after only eight years of marriage; having been a couple for twelve years at that point. They were in a band together with my uncles Bailey and Vegas. And with the divorce, my mom also quit the band and leaving the only place she'd known all her life.

California's East Bay.

She uprooted my older sister Morgan and my older brother Simon, moving us across the country to the most bumfuck of all places, in my opinion, even though it was also the most beautiful place to grow up in.

New York's Adirondack region. Specifically, the town of Peru.

My mom eventually remarried and went back to college to take some photography courses at Clinton Community College, and by the time I reached my teen years and was a matriculated high school student, my mother was a well known photographer along the eastern seaboard, with her photographs showcased in several art museums.

As for my father, he remarried as well and had one more child, another daughter; a half-sister for me. Her name's Julie. She's ten years younger than me.

I didn't get to see much of my grandparents when I was growing up in New York. They flew out to visit my mom, siblings and me when they could and, to be honest, it broke my heart a little because I longed to see them more.

As soon as I could graduated high school, however, I moved away for college to UC Berkeley to major in Creative Writing. And, instead of moving into a dorm, I more than gladly took my grandma up on her offer to let me live with her while I went to school.

Her and I became so close; closer than I could've ever hoped for. But even the bond we formed in the last four years didn't explain all my unanswered questions.

And this is why I'm here, in the attic...searching for the who, what, where, when, why and how.

* * *

Beulah stood in the waiting room of the maternity ward of Children's Hospital in Oakland; her arms folded as she bit at her bottom lip. She'd been pacing around for a good hour or more. There was no way to be for certain exactly how long because time seemed nonexistent at this point.

With a frown, she turned her face to look at her age worn husband, Mike, who was sitting in a chair beside Tre; both men looking rather calm and collected, whereas Beulah felt like a nervous wreck.

"How can you two be so damn calm?" she questioned, dropping her hands to her sides and stepping in front of Mike.

At sixty-eight years of life, the thin bassist's blue eyes failed to maintain that spark they'd once held in his youth. His hair was so gray it was silver. He'd given up trying to dye it and pretend he wasn't an old man some years ago, unlike Beulah who, at the age of sixty, still covered up any sign of her hair turning its natural white with blonde dye.

Mike shrugged as he let out a small cough which he covered up with his hand. The years of smoking when he was a younger man was finally catching up with him.

"Years of practice, babe. And it's not like this is the first grandchild we've experienced the birth of."

Beulah sighed as she turned and sank down into a chair on the other side of Mike. "I know, but somehow this one feels different."

"How?"

"I dunno. It just does. Don't second guess my woman's intuition."

Laughing slightly, Tre shook his head at the couple just as Claudia slowly walked into the waiting room with two cups of coffee; one of which she handed to her husband.

"Here, honey," she spoke with a shaky voice. Three years before, Claudia had suffered a stroke and was just finally getting back to her old self.

"Thanks," Tre replied, taking the warm Styrofoam cup and patting the seat to his left for her.

Beulah smiled at the other set of grandparents as they awaited news from Frankito -- Tre and Claudia's son, Mike and Beulah's son-in-law.

And, as if on cue, the double swinging doors burst open and a 39-year-old Frankito burst out into the waiting room, smiling like a school boy who'd just seen his first pair of breasts.

Beulah jumped up as quickly as she could at her age and smiled at the younger man. "How's Rory? Is she alright? How's the baby? Boy or girl?" came the slew of questions from Frankito's mother-in-law.

"Rory's fine, the baby's fine...and the baby is a girl."

Mike and Tre grabbed each other's hands and squeezed them tightly. "We got ourselves another granddaughter," Mike commented to his last-remaining best friend.

"What name did you two decide upon, Frankie?" Tre asked of his son.

Frankito placed his hands on his narrow hips and smiled. "River. River Wright."

"That's a beautiful name, sweetheart," Beulah cooed. She had another granddaughter and she knew deep in her gut, in the cockle of her heart, that this little girl would be special to her.

"So, can we see her yet?" Mike questioned anxiously.

* * *

Dearest River,

Today you came into our lives and it was a beautiful day. I held you in my arms with your mother, my daughter, tiredly laying in her hospital bed after hours of labor. A labor of love at its best.

Now, I love your brother and sister, as well as all of your cousins equally, but you are, for reasons I cannot explain, the most special.

I am looking forward to the years to come so I can watch you grow up and spoil you rotten, since that is my job as your grandmother. Even though you also have Grandma Claudia, I hope I will be your favorite.

You are so beautiful. I love you dearly, sweet child.

With all my heart,
Grandma Beulah

I stared at the letter for several minutes as I began to cry my heart out; alone there in the attic. Folding it back up, I decided against putting it away in the shoebox I'd come across and instead held it to my chest.

I tried to recall some memories I had of my other grandparents: Grandpa and Grandma Wright, as well as Grandpa Mike. But they were foggy and sparse. The three of them had all died when I was younger.

It was Grandma Beulah who had been more a part of my life. Like in her letter to me that I'd never known about until now, that she'd written on the day I was born, she was my favorite grandma. No other could beat her in a million years.

Biting my lip and wiping the tears from my eyes, I leaned back slightly from where I sat Indian-style on the attic floor and placed the folded letter in my pocket.

After collecting my thoughts and taking a few calming breaths, I smiled ruefully at a photo of Grandma Beulah and Grandpa Mike holding an infant me in their arms.

"I love you both, too."