Cloud Reader

A young boy grows up sharing a special bond with his grandfather.

“Hi, Grandpa,” the small, brown headed boy said as he tried to climb up on the porch swing.

            “John!”  Pleasure evident in his voice, George Loudfoot reached down and lifted the boy up to sit beside him.  “Whew!  Either you are getting too big, or I am getting too old.”

            “You’re not old, Grandpa,” John said emphatically shaking his head.

            George smiled and tousled the four year old’s hair.  “Thank you, John.”

            “What are you doing out here?”  John squinted up at the late May sky in the direction his grandfather was peering.

            “Looking at the clouds.”

            “Why?”  John asked and George laughed.  Insatiably curious, John still asked ‘Why?’ to almost everything.  George handed John a Pepperidge Farms Double Chocolate Milano cookie, “Because clouds can tell you wonderful, amazing and interesting things.”

            “Grandpa you’re silly.  Clouds can’t talk!”

            George inclined his head, “Just the same, they can tell you things.  Look up there,” George pointed to a large, fluffy white cloud.  “What do you see?”

            “I see a big white cotton ball, like mommy uses when she cleans her face.” John replied, screwing his face up in concentration.

            “Now, when I look up there at that cloud, I see a bear track.”

            “What’s a bear track?”

            “It is like a foot print, but in the shape of a bear’s foot.  It is a good sign, there is power in you.”

            John cocked his head to the left, then the right; he practically fell off the swing as he tried to turn his head upside down.

            “Whoa,” George exclaimed catching him.  “One day, you too will see.  Then you will understand.

 

            As the summer wore on, it became a common occurrence to see George and his grandson sitting out front on the old wooden porch swing, staring up at the sky.  George would ask, “What do you see?”  John’s answer would vary; he would see a snowman or an ice cream cone and would say, “That means we’re going to get ice cream tonight!”

            George would smile patiently and say, “You are not seeing clearly, that cloud has the shape of the cougar, one day you will be a great leader among men.”  George would pat his grandson’s shoulder, “One day, you too will see.  Then you will understand.”

            John was never discouraged, he loved the time he spent with his grandfather and was disappointed whenever the sky was heavy with rain, so full of dark clouds that they could not pick out individual clouds to read.  His grandfather would look at him with that wise, gentle smile on his lips and would tell him to be thankful for the rain clouds because they symbolized good prospects.

 

            Summer came to a close and John, now five years old, was starting kindergarten.  Though he enjoyed school, John looked forward to coming home.  He would throw down his book bag just inside the kitchen door and race to the front porch where his grandfather would be waiting.  They would share an afternoon snack of cookies or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches while they gazed at the sky.

            One afternoon, while chewing his Fig Newton, John asked, “How do you know so much about the clouds, Grandpa?”

            “Oh, well, I suppose because my grandfather taught me when I was just a little older than you are now.”

            John was quiet, his forehead puckered into a frown, then, “Could you ‘see’ when you were my age?”

            “No, John.” George replied reassuringly, “Not until I was much older.”

            They sat contentedly, in comfortable silence, for several minutes. 

            “How was school today?”

            “Oh boy!  We had so much fun.  We played cowboys and Indians.  I was real happy I got to be a cowboy because my friends told me that Indians are the bad guys and that cowboys are the good guys.”  John animatedly told his grandfather.

            “Eh, did they now?” 

            John dramatically nodded his head up and down.

            “Do you think that they were right?  Do you think that Indians are the bad guys?”

            John shrugged his shoulders, “I’m not sure, I don’t know any Indians.”

            “What?”  George responded sharply in disbelief.  “John, I am an Indian, a Native American, so is your mother and so are you.  Do you think we are bad people?”

            “’No!  I didn’t know.”  John thought for a minute, “Do I have to tell my friends that I am an Indian?  I don’t know if they would still like me.”

            George closed his eyes and shook his head, “No,” he said sadly, “but one day you will understand who and what you are, and you will be proud.”

 

            The years passed by and life grew busier for John, there was homework and football games and an after school job at the mom and pop convenience store down on the corner of Wrenwood and Main.  Visits out on the front porch with his grandfather became less frequent, but because of that, all the more special.  John would share with his grandfather all that was happening in his life from the physics project he was doing on centrifugal force, to the incredible 57-yard touchdown pass he threw in last Friday night’s game.  Grandfather would invite John to read the clouds and his eyes would narrow, his brow would furrow in concentration, but try as he might, he could not read them.  Grandfather would pat him on the back and say, “One day you too will see.  Then you will understand.”

 

The wooden screen door banged shut behind John as he went out front to join his grandfather on the porch swing.  Summer was quickly coming to a close and John would be leaving for college in just one week. 

George was stretched out, dozing on the swing; a warm summer breeze ruffled his snow-white hair.  His tanned, craggy face was slack in sleep, and his liver spotted hands were folded on his belly.  John eyed his grandfather critically and bemusedly wondered when his grandfather had gotten old.  “Hi Grandpa.”

“Oh, John,” George sat up to make room for John on the swing.  “You startled me.”

“You know, Grandpa,” John said as he sat down, “I’m really going to miss this when I go to college.  I’m really going to miss you.”

George nodded and patted his grandson’s knee.  “Look, there,” he said pointing to a large cloud hanging near the horizon.  “What do you see?”

 After a moment, he answered, sounding more like he was asking a question, “A dog?”

“I see a horse.  You will be going on a journey.”

“Of course I’m going on a journey.  I’m going away to school.”  John laughed.

“That is one kind of journey, John.  But that is not the kind of journey I mean.  I am talking about a spiritual journey.  One day you will see,” Grandpa nodded sagely, “and then you will understand.”

The next week passed in a hectic blur.  There was much to do and though he had hoped to, John was unable to sit out on the swing with his grandfather before he left.  The car was loaded, ready to go, and as there wasn’t enough room, Grandpa was staying home while his parents made the two hour round trip to drop him off at school.   As the car pulled away, John happily waved out the back window; George whispered, “I will miss you too, John.”

 

It was a crisp Friday afternoon in late autumn, John and his girlfriend, Heather, were walking hand-in-hand aside the campus pond watching a single white swan glide across its surface.  There was a wrought iron bench and John sat, pulling Heather down beside him.  He brought her hand, still locked in his, to his lips and kissed it.  Leaning back he looked into the sky; it was mostly clear, dotted here and there with great, fluffy clouds.  Clouds always brought thoughts of his grandfather to mind and these were the kind that his grandfather liked best.   John smiled; grandfather always said that cumulous clouds spoke clearest.  Suddenly John leaned forward, for the first time he saw a cloud as his grandfather saw them.  One of the clouds looked just like a hawk, the great messenger; he was certain that was what his grandfather would see as well.  Excited, he was about to point this out to Heather when the cloud started to change shape.  As he watched, the hawk’s wings shortened and the shape became more long than wide.  The cloud took the form of a butterfly, symbolic of metamorphosis and everlasting life.  It was as though years of listening to his grandfather interpret clouds suddenly kicked in.   Realization dawned.

“Oh my god!” John’s voice was filled with dread, “We have to go.”  John stood, pulling Heather up with him.  “I have to call home.”

John raced back to his dorm room and frantically dialed his house.  His dad answered the phone, his voice sounding as if he had a head cold.  “Dad, it’s John.  What’s happened?  Where’s Grandpa?”

“John?” Dad’s voice wavered, “Oh, John.  Your mom went out front to check on your grandfather.  She thought he was sleeping, but he wouldn’t wake up.  John, I’m so sorry, but your grandfather’s passed on.”

 

Author's Note

This is the first time I'm sharing my writing. I'd love constructive feedback. Thanks!

Reviews

[Jack Wolfe]

I saw this one on my feed earlier, and then got your review on 'Lost', figured I'd have a look. Hope you don't mind.

I knew it! At first I thought, okay grandfather is a hunter, then, sprite guide/Indian decent, and though I don't care for the common trope or stereo-type, I've always been fascinated and inspired by their spiritual insight.

This story has so much going for it, the wise grandfather trying to pass his traditions onto his grandson, the child, with innocent eyes wanting to see, but unable to because he lacks the experience, “one day, John, one day,” the depreciating value of kinship lost to the modern world (less frequent visits) and then the realization, too much time has passed, his grandfather passes, but he will forever remain, because he can now see with open eyes. I loved this piece . . . and I hate to add the but . . . I feel I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't

The story is 'told', which you could get away with if not condensed into sections. The opening scene could have been much richer, if told from the grandfather's point of view, the porch lessons, from the grandfather, then into John's as time passes . . . through out you insert several dialogue tags, a lot which are 'ly' adverbs—if you remember from lesson one, I mentioned this, often writer's feel their meanings won't come across unless they add these, but its the context around them that should dictate the emotion felt.

I'd recommend going through, counting your 'ly' adverbs, trying to work around them and omitting dialog tags.

I hope this doesn't come across the wrong way, because I really did enjoy this. In fact, its one of the few I read today where I enjoyed reading. I read it the first time (like most works, I read twice, unless glaring) and loved the story, but things popped at me, second time, I noticed everything. I don't want to discourage you; your story was heart-warming and fun, but it could be so much more.

[Arutha]

I really enjoyed this story. The way you built up a foundation of wisdom for George's character was mind-blowing. I was really impressed with how he came across. I'm used to reading novel chapters, so reading through more than a decade in the span of a few pages took some adjusting for me. I did feel like there were times where I would have liked a bit more from the transitions between time periods. I don't think it would hurt in the slightest to make this a bit longer and let us get to know John a little better, beyond just his attachment to his grandpa.

It actually gave me chills at the end when John had his epiphany. I'm not sure if you wanted this to be a mystery or not, but I should mention that I saw grandpa's death coming after about a quarter of the story. I don't think it's a bad thing personally, but I just thought I'd mention it.

One thing I would point out is that fact that John, a 5-year-old, doesn't know he's an Indian yet. That feels like a stretch to me, but as someone with little perspective into the matter, I suppose it's possible that there is some cultural nuance there that I'm unaware of.

Overall a very well-written piece. You are definitely a writer to keep an eye on, and I wish you all the best!

[Sharon Kim]

Thank you so much for your review! (I've been away for several days so it took me a while to respond :) ) I appreciate your comments. It's great to have a fresh eye.

As for the 5 year old not understanding that he is Indian, I imagined it as though John is the son of a "mixed" marriage between an Indian and a Caucasian. George is living with the family. I believe a five year old would be exposed to some of the traditions but not possibly understand the label. Adding more to the story could definitely develop this idea more.

Thank you for the encouragement. I'll be checking out your story-I took a peek and it's just the kind I like-fantasy! Can't wait to read the whole thing.