The Cute Reverse

I was sitting at the dinner table with my father a few nights ago. When he's on his day off, this isn't an unusual sight. The food was still hot, and wonderful. The bottle of wine sat between us. Our glasses were full. It's something of a custom for my father and i to sit and have deep discussions between ourselves. It's strange, but there is a clear division of character one can see, in my family.

My father, older sister and i are all alike in character. My mother, older brother and younger sister are exactly alike. Sometimes, these characters clash, (it's like the titans attempting to besiege Olympus). Total mayhem. Whether or not this clear distinction is "healthy" or not i don't know. Needless to say, we all possess characteristics of both our parents. I know that i have my father's patience, but i share my mother's ability to get very sensitive, and angry.

Anyway, it was just the two of us. With no older sister to complete this Un- Orthodox trinity, it was better than nothing. It was just the way i liked it. Food, drink, company that i always loved and never got tired of, and never will. It was in these amiable sourroundings that my father relayed to me the events under which my paternal grandfather and grandmother got married.

My grandfather wasn't from a rich family in Greece. Quite the contrary. My grandfather knew nothing but poverty, even when my father was born, and during my father's childhood. It was touch for my grandfather, and the lack of support he recieved from the people who lived in the village, whom my grandfather had helped, is the reason why he refuses to return to the village today. It was my grandmother who came from the rich family. After seeing her a few times, my grandfather approached my grandmother's father and asked for her hand in marriage. (Like most old stories, filled with romance and drama), My grandfather was turned down for his lack of money, hence, it was believed he had no means of providing for my grandmother; rather, that he would have to be provided for.

My grandmother was presented with many suitors before. Naturally, she was reaching the age to be a perfect bride and wife. It was time. Apart from this, she was rich, there was bound to be someone out there that would take her. However, my grandmother turned them all down. She only wanted one; my grandfather. During the night, on the day when my grandfather had asked for her hand in marriage, my grandmother crept out of her house, having no cars back then, she organised a walk to the next village. She went to my grandfather's house, woke him up and, literally, stole him. They eloped and went to the next village to be married straight away. They got married in the village called Orma, and stayed there three days after their marriage.

They returned after three days a married couple. Neither family knew, thus, there was nothing to be done, but to accept the union. It was blessed and sanctified after all. However, my grandmother and grandfather were faced with dissappointment by my grandmother's brothers, mainly. They remained that way towards her and my grandfather till the civil war of democracy and communism broke out in Greece. By this time, the men were being shot, beaten or taken prisoner by the Greek army. My grear- grandfather, John, was one of the relatives shot by the Greek army. It's unclear as to why, when he actually helped the Greek army fight against the communists. My grandmother spend some of her time trying to track the bodies of her brothers, to no avail.

My grandmother wasn't one for riches and extravagence. She loved simplicity. It's what made her beautiful. At least, from the pictures that i've seen of her. The simple life she led from then on was all that she could have asked for.

I couldn't help but laugh all through this story. It was cute and funny and romantic all at once. At the same time, though, whilest my father was busy remembering, i was busy painting a picture. I was, unfortunately, un- born at the time before my grandmother's passing to have any memories of her, (May She Rest In Peace). The story, thus ending, my father and i realised that the bottle was empty and that we were all eaten out, to the point of bursting. We'd eaten, we'd drunk, we'd spoken, we'd laughed.

The memories remained, and the good times left once more. Reality struck, but the nostalgia remained in my dad's eyes. Within me, the memories only sparked a sort of unhappiness. An aching in the heart, a longing, a desire. To have been able to see, just once, to have a memory of my own would not have caused this unhappiness. I didn't see her though, and i will always have this longing, this desire. It may be for this reason, that i hang on to every memory that others have. They all help me paint a picture of my grandmother.

If things were anything like "Harry Potter" it would only be to easy to steal the memories of my relatives and delve into them at my own leisure. Things, reality, however, is not like "Harry Potter", no matter how much i want or hope or wish it to be. It's a simple fact of life that i have to deal with. Stories like this "cute reverse" are all i have to go by. Rather than sit here and soak in my own misfortune, i'll try and make the most of what i have to work and go by. Who knows, if there is a God, and there is a Heaven, maybe i will have the chance of seeing her in passing. Even if it only for a moment, i think it will be enough to see her and hear her voice.