Melissa

It’s funny sometimes how childhood memories surface. My grandfather owned a rather large duplex with a little store at the front. Next door was a formidable house made out of stone with a huge back covered porch. The stone seemed to keep the heat at bay on summer days which were the only days I sat there, talking to Melissa.

 She was a warm, kind-hearted older woman who’d sit on her porch on late summer afternoons after her housework was finished. She wasn’t there every day. I know because I looked for her. When I saw Melissa on the porch, I’d run through my grandfather’s small garden, hop the little fence and jump up on her porch to visit.

Melissa was obese. Her girth was very unusual back then. it made her a kind of local celebrity – an interesting neighborhood character.

Melissa was patient with me. She listened to my inane chatter and musings and sometimes offered advice but always offered a smile. I suppose I would’ve become an annoyance had I lived there, but I only saw her occasionally when I visited my grandparents in the summers. 

The two homes took up an entire side of a short block. Next to Melissa’s home was an alley, so maybe the block continued. Nevertheless, the reason I cut across the garden was because it was a shortcut. 

Melissa rarely ventured from the house. On rare occasions, she’d walk down the few steps of her porch, then the few steps down to the alley, and walk around her home to the sidewalk and down the block to Perez’s Market (my grandparent’s store).

People came out of their homes or peeked through their windows to get a glimpse of a rare Melissa sighting. She didn’t seem to care.

Although her weight prevented her from taking this walk often, she liked to visit the store now and then to see what was new. If she ever really needed anything, she only had to ask my grandfather across the fence when he was in his garden. It was only a few short steps from her porch. 

She and my grandfather often chatted when he was tending to his plants. She spoke Italian and he spoke Spanish. Sometimes it was easier to speak to each other in those similar languages than to try to find the words in English. Their cultures were very similar. They talked about vegetables and olives and grapes. I think Melissa made her own wine.

I hadn’t thought of her in many years. Then the other day I was driving and happened to catch a reflection of my arm in the window. And I thought, “Oh, my goodness!  Melissa!”