The Mandela Effect

Ch. 12

 He isn't sure what to expect, but the room exceeds his expectations. It is sizeable: with a living room area, a breakfast nook, a full kitchen and a hallway towards the rear, unseen bedroom. It is more condominium than nursing facility. His grandmother shuffles in and gestures to the couch in the living room.

Jon doesn't want to sit, but one look from his grandmother and he moves across the living room to the couch. She moves into the kitchen and grabs a teapot.

"Can I help you with something Ugogo?" Jon asks.

"No, sir," she chides him without turning around, "I'm just putting on some tea and then I'll find your picture. You sit there quietly."

Jon smiles, "Yes ma'am."

He continues to sit quietly while she lights the stove, fills the pot with water and places it over the flame.

"Now then," she says, turning towards him, "let's find that thing."

Jon jumps to his feet and follows her shuffling gait down the hallway.

After passing a generously sized bathroom in the middle of the hall, his grandmother pushes open the door at the end of it. A large bedroom area comes into view. Inside, Jon sees a small twin bed, a night stand and a dresser all lining the wall with waist to ceiling windows. The afternoon sun is pouring in the windows, casting long shadows inside but illuminating the room well.

As Jon enters, he realizes that the room is bigger than it appears, spreading to the right and away from the door. While his grandmother has a few hundred square feet to work with, all of the necessities are crammed into one corner and against that wall. As he looks to his right, Jon realizes why.

In the center of the floor, there is a tangle of work out equipment: a kettlebell, some dumbbells, ankleweights, a yoga mat, and a small bicycle pedal. Against the far wall is a small TV table with a 25 or 30 inch screen television on it. But most of the expanse of the space is taken up by bookshelves and tables. There is a few books, but most of the space is occupied by row after row of picture frames.

Jon stands back and tries to take in the sight. The matriarch, so proud of what she leads, has created a shrine to her family: children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, great-great grandchildren, and maybe even further down. And outward as well. There are old pictures of her parents, her siblings and their children, even cousins and more distant family members. Jon audibly gasps when he sees.

His grandmother, who must have been used to the sight by now, turns towards him.

"The best stories," she says, "are told by pictures."

She gestures to the wall before her.

"This is the story of our family," she finishes.

Jon is drawn to a particular picture and he's not sure why. He steps forward and reaches towards the frame. He looks towards his grandmother, who nods. He picks up the frame. He can't see but his grandmother is smiling watching him examines the picture.

"I don't know why," Jon says, "but I feel drawn to this one."

"It's funny you would pick that one," his grandmother says, gesturing to the wall, "out of all of these pictures."

"I'm pretty sure I don't know them," Jon says, staring at the picture.

"Here?" his grandmother says, looking at the frame as well, "No. But you'd meet them a few years later."

Jon turns to her confused.

"These are your parents," his grandmother smiles, "just after they started dating."

"Wow," Jon says, "I can't believe I've never seen this picture before."

"I've had it for a long time," his grandmother says, "It may have never actually been at your house. It's always been with me."

Tears started forming in the corners of Jon's eyes. He had forgotten how they looked this young. All the pictures he has are from years, decades even, later.

"But, that's not the picture you came for," his grandmother says, "is it?"

Jon chuckles, "no its not.

Jon places the frame back in its spot. He steps back and takes a deep breath. His grandmother puts her hand on his arm before stepping in front of him.

"Now, let's see," she says, examining the wall.

For minutes, his grandmother looks at row after row of pictures. Some, she moves through quickly. Others, she pauses, as if searching for the memory that identifies the picture. Jon spots another picture and moves away from her, picking up the decorative frame.

"I remember these boys," he says looking at the picture. It's five pre-teen boys sitting on a picnic table under the canopy of a tree.

His grandmother looks over at him and seeing the picture, she smiles. Slightly distracted from her search, she steps over next to him.

"When this was taken," she begins, "your shoulders might have been to my hips.

She leans the side of her head against his upper arm, nuzzling slightly, before looking away from the frame and up at him. Jon is head and shoulders taller than her now.

"Now, look at you," she says wistfully, "you sprung up like a tree. I think you're even taller than when you left for boarding school."

"Well, I was only fourteen then," Jon says, "so I'd bet I'm at least a little taller."

His grandmother sighs, "you've missed so much Jongikhaya. But, I'm glad you're here now."

Jon leans down and kisses her on the head.

"Oh!" she exclaims, "the picture!"

She playfully slaps Jon on the arm, "stop distracting me!"

Jon smiles and moves the frame back into its position. His grandmother shuffles back to where she had been searching before. Jon's eyes try to follow hers along the shelves.

"I know it's here somewhere," his grandmother mumbles.

After a few minutes of searching, his grandmother's search turns to the rows of frames behind the front. Jon turns to another part of the shrine and starts looking on his own, despite the fact that he isn't exactly sure what he's looking for.

Some time passes while the search continues. Finally, its interrupted when the tea kettle whistles. The noise startles both Jon and his grandmother. She blinks several times before she realizes what the noise is.

"Cup of tea, dear?" she asks him.

Jon wipes his face and blinks his eyes, "Yes. Yes, please."