Antique Bastards
16. Ruth
16. Ruth
I’m curled so tight my spine might fuse. The stage floor is cold through the leotard. I can hear people settling into seats. Coughs. Whispers. Someone’s phone buzzing until someone else shushes them.
The house lights go down.
Ariel’s voice fills the space. I know she’s speaking into a microphone from somewhere in the wings but it sounds like she’s inside my head.
“We spend our lives in shells we didn’t choose. Performing versions of ourselves we’ve been told matter. Necessary. Useful. Required. But never quite seen. Never quite real. The question isn’t whether we can break free. The question is whether we remember how.“
The music starts. Cello. Discordant. Beautiful in the way broken things are beautiful.
My finger twitches.
I didn’t plan that. My body did it without asking. Testing. Checking if movement is still possible.
Another twitch. My elbow. My shoulder. I’m tapping now. Knuckles against invisible shell. The sound echoes. Or maybe I’m imagining that. Hard to tell.
I push. My whole body pushing against walls that aren’t there but have always been there.
Something cracks.
I unfold. One vertebra at a time. Discovering I have a spine. Discovering I have ribs. Discovering I have lungs that work.
Around me the eggs are hatching. I can hear Marcus breathing hard. Oona making small sounds. Dev silent but moving. All of us emerging.
I stand.
My legs don’t work right. Too new. Too wet. I take a step. Almost fall. Don’t fall.
I look around. The stage. The audience. Shapes in darkness. I can’t see faces but I can feel them watching.
There’s a canvas on the floor. Black. Huge. In the center of everything.
Someone is attaching something to my back. A harness. Metal clips. Fabric straps. I don’t look to see who. Doesn’t matter.
The harness pulls. My feet leave the floor.
I’m flying.
Not metaphorically. Actually flying. The harness is lifting me above the stage, above the canvas, above everything. My arms are out. Not because I planned it. Because that’s what bodies do when they fly.
In my hand is a paint packet. Bright orange. I squeeze.
Paint streams down onto the canvas below. A line. A mark. Proof I was here.
The harness pulls me across. I squeeze again. Blue this time. The colors are mixing on the black. Making something. I don’t know what yet.
Third pass. I’m crying now. When did that start? Doesn’t matter. The tears are just happening. Like the paint. Like the flying.
I see him.
Tom is standing in the corner by the support beam. Wearing his Steelers sweatshirt. The one I wore to answer the door when Luke and Chris arrived. The one that still smells like him even though I’ve washed it twice.
He’s just standing there. Watching. That look on his face. The one that says: you’re doing the thing.
I know he’s not real. I know he’s dead. I know he’s in a box in the ground on a hill overlooking the Allegheny.
I also know he’s standing right there.
Fourth pass. More paint. Red. Yellow. The canvas is becoming something. I still don’t know what. The harness is pulling me faster now. Or maybe time is moving differently. Hard to tell.
I hear a voice. Small. Clear. Cuts through everything.
“Papa Luke! look, Grandma is flying!”
Lucy. That’s Lucy. I can’t see her but I know her voice. She’s down there watching me shit paint while crying and flying and I should be embarrassed but I’m not. I’m not embarrassed at all.
Fifth pass. Green paint. It’s running down my hands. Getting everywhere. Making a mess. Good. Let it be messy.
Tom is still there. Still watching. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just stands there being dead and present at the same time.
Sixth pass. The paint is running out. My hands are shaking so hard I can barely squeeze the packets. The crying is harder now. Not sad crying. Not happy crying. Just everything crying.
I understand something. Right now. Mid-air. Paint dripping. Tom watching. Lucy’s voice still echoing.
Danny is gone. Not dead. Just: not mine anymore. He’s Angie’s. He’s his train town. He’s his own antique bastard mythology. And I’m this. Whatever this is. Flying and shitting rainbows and crying and alive.
Hannah is down there somewhere. My hurricane. Who documented wars and came home and chose wrong and got back up anyway. She’s down there watching me break open. Maybe learning something. Maybe not. Doesn’t matter. We’re finding each other again.
Junie and Lucy. I can feel them down there. Two small people who don’t know yet that the world tells you to stop being ridiculous. Two small people who will learn it anyway. But maybe. Maybe if they see me do this. Maybe they’ll remember you can hatch whenever you choose. Maybe they’ll remember flying is possible.
Seventh pass. Last one. The harness is slowing. The paint is gone. My whole body is shaking.
Tom is still there.
I open my mouth. The words come from somewhere I didn’t know existed:
“I’M HERE! I’M ALIVE!”
Not in the script. Don’t care. It’s true. I’m here. I’m alive. I’m sixty-four years old in a leotard covered in paint flying above a canvas I just shit art onto and my husband is dead and my ex-husband is letting me go and my whole family came to watch me and I’m here and I’m alive.
The harness lowers. My feet touch the stage. The lights shift. The music changes. I look at the corner.
Tom is gone.
I exit stage left.
Ruth walked into the wings on legs that didn’t feel like hers. Someone unclipped the harness. She stood there breathing like she’d run a marathon.
Behind her, the performance continued. Marcus was doing his piece with the rusted metal. The sound of industry. The sound of collapse. She didn’t watch. Marcus did a fine piece, but she just couldn’t.
She found a folding chair in the dark. Sat down. Put her face in her hands.
Everything came out. Tom in the garden. Tom at the funeral. Tom in the corner watching her fly. Tom everywhere and nowhere. The crying wasn’t performance. Just grief. Raw. Unfiltered. At last I’m letting go grief.
Someone sat next to her. She knew without looking it was Hannah.
They didn’t talk. Just sat there. Mother and daughter. In the dark. While the show continued on the other side of the curtain.
After maybe three minutes Hannah said, “You okay?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
Ruth wiped her face. Her hands were still covered in paint. Blue and orange and red smeared across her palms.
“Did I ruin it?”
“Ruin what?”
“The show. By yelling.”
“Mom. That was the high point.”
“Was it?”
“Yeah.”
Ruth looked at her daughter. This woman who’d learned to document without interfering. Who’d learned to witness without stopping the thing.
“I saw him,” Ruth said.
“Tom?”
“Yes.”
Hannah didn’t ask where or how or if Ruth was sure. Just: “Good.”
They sat there until the applause started. Loud. Long. The kind that means something landed.
Ariel appeared in the wings. Makeup smeared, grinning like she’d just won an Oscar. “Ruth. Jesus. That was—you need to come out. Take your bow.”
“I can’t.”
“You can. Come on.”
Hannah stood. Pulled Ruth up. “Go. I’ll be right here.”
Ruth walked back onto the stage. The lights were up. The audience was standing. All of them.
The Residue Collective was lined up. Ruth took her place between Marcus and Oona. They bowed together.
Ruth looked at the audience. Really looked.
Luke and Chris in the third row. Lucy and Junie sitting together between them, both girls clapping. Junie was jumping. Lucy was very serious about her clapping like it was a job she’d been assigned.
Danny and Angie on the side. Danny clapping like someone had told him to. Angie clapping like she meant it.
Sage in the back corner. Already halfway to the door.
Mrs. Kowalski crying. Tom’s sister Janet crying. Ruth’s sister crying.
The canvas on the floor was covered in paint. Swirls of color. Blue and orange and red and green and yellow. Abstract. Chaotic. Actually beautiful.
Ruth had made that. While flying. While crying. While Tom watched from the corner. While her granddaughters learned that breaking open is what a person who cares does.
The lights went down. Ruth went backstage. Changed into jeans and Tom’s sweatshirt. Washed her face in the small sink. The paint came off in rainbow streaks.
Ariel found her by the stage door. “That was fucking fearless.”
“It was fucking terrifying.”
“Same thing.” Ariel hugged her. Hard. “You were exactly what we needed.”
“I screamed.”
“I know. It was perfect.”
Ruth went to the lobby. Everyone was waiting.
Junie ran up first. “Grandma you FLEW! Like a bird! Like a magic bird!”
“I did.”
“And you were CRYING!”
“I was.”
“And making COLORS!”
“Yes.”
“Can I fly next time?”
“Maybe when you’re bigger.”
Lucy walked up holding Candace. “Candace said the show made sense.”
“Good. I’m glad Candace understood.”
“She said you were very brave.”
“Thank you, Candace!”
Luke hugged her. Didn’t say anything. Just held on for maybe five seconds then let go.
Chris hugged her. “That was extraordinary. Really.”
Hannah was standing back. Letting everyone else go first. When there was space she stepped forward.
“You did it,” Hannah said.
“I did it.”
“You broke.”
“I shattered.”
“But you finished.”
“Yeah.”
They hugged. A different kind of hug than before. The kind that means: we’re finding each other again. Slowly. But finding.
Ruth’s sister appeared. “I don’t know what I just saw, but I’m pretty sure it changed my life.”
“Mine too.”
Tom’s sister Janet touched Ruth’s arm. “He was there, wasn’t he?”
Ruth looked at her. “Yes.”
“I thought so. I felt it.”
The crowd was thinning. Sage tried to approach Hannah near the door. Said something Ruth couldn’t hear. Hannah’s response was clear: “No.” One word. Flat. Final. Sage left.
Good, Ruth thought. Hannah doesn’t need saving. She never did.
Danny and Angie were by the exit. Waiting.
Ruth walked over.
Danny looked at her. Actually looked. “Well fuck me that was weird.”
Angie swatted his arm. “Stop being like that.”
“Like what?”
“You know like what.”
Danny turned back to Ruth. “It was good, Ruthie. Really good. You looked—I don’t know. Free.”
“I was.”
“I’m sorry. For calling it ridiculous. For not getting it. For—everything.”
“You’re always you, Danny.”
“Yeah, that. Unfortunately.”
“It’s not always unfortunate.”
Luke walked over. “Hey Dad.”
“Hey kid. Hell of a thing, huh?”
“Yeah.”
Danny turned to Hannah. “You okay?”
“Getting there.”
“Good.” He looked at Junie and Lucy, who were comparing stuffed animals very seriously. “Those two are something.”
“They are,” Hannah said.
Danny stood there for a moment. Then: “We’re gonna head out. But I’ll catch up with you guys tomorrow. Maybe take the girls to the park or something.”
“You don’t have to go,” Luke said.
“I know. But tonight’s Ruthie’s night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He hugged Luke. Then Hannah. Knelt down to Junie’s level. “You keep teaching that fox, okay?”
“Okay Grandpa Danny.”
He stood. Looked at Ruth one more time. Nodded. She nodded back.
Then he and Angie walked out into the March night.
Ruth watched them go. Watched Danny’s hand find Angie’s. Watched them disappear around the corner.
She felt it then. The final letting go. Not angry. Not sad. Just release.
Outside the Brillobox, the air was cold and clear. Stars visible despite the city lights.
“Where to?” Luke asked.
“Food,” Chris said. “The girls are going to crash soon but we need food.”
“IHOP?” Hannah suggested.
“At 10 PM on a Friday?”
“You have a better idea?”
Lucy tugged on Chris’s hand. “What’s IHOP?”
“Pancakes.”
“Candace likes pancakes.”
Junie grabbed Ruth’s hand. “Grandma can I stay at your house? Even if Grandpa Tom doesn’t live on the floor anymore?”
Ruth’s throat closed. She knelt down. “Yes, baby. You can stay at my house.”
“Good. Because Fox wants to stay too.”
“Fox is always welcome.”
They started walking to the cars. Ruth between Hannah and Junie. Luke and Chris with Lucy between them. The girls holding hands across the adults.
Ruth looked at them. These two small people. Lucy humming something. Junie chattering about flying. Neither of them knowing yet that they were learning something tonight. That they were watching their grandmother hatch at sixty-four. That they were seeing what’s possible.
They drove to IHOP. Loaded into booths. Ordered pancakes and eggs and coffee. The girls colored on placemats. Lucy showed Junie how to make a cat. Junie showed Lucy how to make a rainbow.
Ruth sat there watching her family. Covered in paint she’d missed. Hair a mess. Eyes puffy from crying. Exhausted. Exhilarated. Alive.
Tom was gone. Danny was gone. The shell was gone.
What was left was this. Pancakes at IHOP at 10:47 PM on a Friday night in March with her children and grandchildren and the person her son loved and two stuffed animals and the memory of flying.
She’d flown and shit rainbows and screamed that she was alive.
And she was.
Even I'm freed by her performance! Wow.