Pictures On A Wall

Joe and max were best friends, in fact, they were inseparable, one was rarely seen without the other. Never mind that Joe was somewhere around 80 years older than Max, a little rough around the edges and occasionally said a four-letter word or two, in front of 7-year-old Max. We moved to the neighborhood about three years ago, trying to escape a rather frustrating “small town” mindset that set Max and I apart from the rest of the families. Max’s father, Sam, died in a car accident, drunk driver, and being autistic and non-verbal at that, Max struggled with everything. He was bullied by the school kids and out of frustration he often seemed angry and aggressive even though he never hurt a single person. Even the adults in our lives would walk a little farther away when passing by in a store or on the street. No one knew how to be compassionate and caring to someone who couldn’t communicate. We seemed to just, stall after Sam died. It became hard to even say his name. He was the glue that held it all together and he was gone. 

 Everything reminded me of Sam. I was heartbroken, lost in my own thoughts and Max was the same but without the ability to have a good heart to heart with a friend. I couldn’t reach him, and it seemed he was slipping farther away from me and into a world I couldn’t find him in. Sam loved Max in a way that no one could understand. They often sat in the back of his pickup truck and just watched the world pass by. Neither talked, they just knew, and understood each other.

I knew we needed a fresh start. When we moved to Dublin Georgia, I finally felt a sigh of relief escape from my mouth. It was small and everyone knew each other but we didn’t know any of them and that was good. No one knew about Sam and everyone saw Max as the sweet little boy that they went out of their way to accept and love. I could tell max was at ease. Coming from Alabama, we felt at home on Decatur St and soon found a little house to rent right down the street from The New Direction Church. It seemed like life was taking a turn for the better this time and all the signs were pointing to right here in Dublin. 

I quickly found a job and enrolled Max in school. But as most mothers know, juggling a job, a child, and doing it alone is very difficult, sometimes it felt impossible. That is when Joe entered our lives.

It was Saturday afternoon, about 6 months into our new lives and I had all the windows open in the house trying to get the smell of bleach and Pinesol out of the house before we passed out from the fumes. It was an old house and the landlady was too frail to make repairs or have the place cleaned before we moved in. I was not afraid of hard work and assured her if she would forgo the last months rent I would make sure things got fixed and cleaned. She was more than happy with that arrangement. Max often pitched in with smaller tasks. He enjoyed organizing….. everything. Even things I didn’t know could be organized, he organized them. It’s quite a talent. The pine floors were close to maybe 100 years old and as I picked up the rugs, the age of the floors became more apparent. In the old days it was cheaper to only stain or wax the floors around the carpet. The carpet covered the floor so you were often left with a square where the old carpet was with just the outsides of the floor stained and waxed. I didn’t have the means to fix them at the moment so squares in the middle of the floor it was.

When I clean, I often walk around just talking. Part of me hopes that one day Max will just start talking back, but I know it won’t be that way this particular day. I stopped talking when I saw Max staring out the window. He was organizing a small box of books, meticulously setting each one in order by color on the shelf when something caught his eye outside the window. I will never know exactly what it was, but there he was, staring out into the side yard facing the neighbors house. I walked up behind him and looked for myself. A white car had pulled up with two people. The driver was a younger guy probably in his late 20’s and the passenger was much older, had to of been around 85 or so. The younger man ran around to the passenger side door and opened it, waiting patiently for the elderly gentleman. The older man was hunched and his gray hair was blowing around in the summer afternoon wind. Like a good guardian, the younger man held his arm and walked with him. Just as they were to walk up the steps, the elderly man looked over directly at Max as though he knew he was there. He stopped and stared and I knew that look. There was no mistaking it, he spoke “Max.” When their eyes locked, Max who had previously been resting his chin on his crossed arms in the window lifted his head up and sat straight up. Max felt it too. That was Joe.

It wasn’t long before Max and Joe met for the first time. Joe had moved out to the front porch and was sitting in a chair watching the street. Max, who had been sitting by the same window, the window with the best view, stopped what he was doing and walked over to the window. The AC was on full blast and it was a hot day but Max didn’t care about any of that. He opened the window and stood there staring at Joe. Now, to some that might seem a bit creepy but for Max it was his “talking.” I felt the heat rush in the house and it didn’t take long before I knew what was happening. I walked over to Max, shut the window and took him by the hand. I guess now was as good a time as any to meet the neighbor. I always had fresh baked cookies, I couldn’t make much else, but cookies were easy. My mother told me that having something baking in the house made it smell like a home. I grabbed a bag and filled it with cookies as I told Max we were going to meet the neighbor. Max wasn’t much for touching and rarely gave a hug, but that day he took my hand. It was almost like an unspoken thank you.

Joe had his eyes closed and was enjoying the sun when we walked up. I didn’t want to scare him so I made some noise as we approached. He opened one eye then closed it again as if he was expecting us, like a visit from old friends.

“Hi” I said. His eyes were still closed. “Umm, we live next door.”

“Well I figured as much when I saw you come from next door.” He said, eyes still closed.

I frowned then realized, long lives often have long stories and not all of them were happy, so I tried again.

“I made some cookies, I thought you might like to share.” We walked up the steps and I placed the bag down on a little table beside him. Max felt right at home and sat down in the chair opposite of Joe. I didn’t feel like sitting. “My name is Annie and this is Max. Max is 7.”

“Does Max talk or do you do that for him.” Joe said rather gruffly.

“Well, Max is autistic and he doesn’t speak.” I didn’t know how to explain other than, “He can understand and is a very sweet boy but he can’t communicate with words.”

Joe opened his eyes and looked right at Max, they stared at each other for just a moment and there was that look again. He understood.

“We saw you, well, Max saw you drive up the other day, you and that younger guy.” I was usually always prepared, ready for everything and able to speak about anything at a moments notice but, something about Joe made me stop. I couldn’t find words, there was a sadness about him that I couldn’t put my finger on, just…..something.

“That was my grandson. I’ve been….away for a little while and just got back in town.” Joe leaned forward in his chair and pulled his cane in front of him to lean on. He glanced over at Max and then back at me. Max listened intently even though his eyes wandered around the porch. “You both must be new here. I’ve lived here a long time and that old house,” he motioned to our very old and run-down rental next door. “Well, that old house has been empty for a long time. It will be nice to look at lights on in a window instead of just pitch black.”

I smiled and looked down at the painted wooden floorboards of the porch. “My husband Max’s dad, passed away and I work a lot. It’s just me and Max so I won’t be home much during the day, but if you need something, I will be happy to try and help.”

Joe didn’t say a word, he just leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers across the handle of his cane. He looked at Max who was busy tracing the wood grain on the armrest of his chair with a little car he had pulled out of his pocket. Joe studied Max for a moment, “Does he go to school? What do you do with him while you work?”

I felt my body tense up with frustration. This. Again. Max was a great kid and I did not travel all the way from Alabama, not knowing a single soul, only to have someone judge Max for something that was not his fault. I clenched my fist. “Max is a good boy and he doesn’t bother people, Max!” I motioned to Max that we needed to go but just as Max began to sit forward in his chair, Joe slammed his cane down. Max jumped then sat back in his chair rolling the car wheels over his little fingers. It felt like the boards would crack under the pressure, shaking me to my soul.

“I’m not worried about him bothering me.” Joe started, then looked down at the ground as though the words were difficult coming from his aged lips. “I thought maybe…maybe he needed a friend, while you are working that is, just to, just to help out till school starts in the fall.”

It felt like the air was sucked from my lungs and words just completely escaped me. I didn’t have parents and Sam’s, well, Sam’s parents were the kind you didn’t want around a child. Drugs and alcohol had been their life and they were pretty much nonexistent for Sam and then when Max came along it was the same song and dance. We had a church but when Sam was killed, they didn’t know what to do with us. Sam’s drunk driver was the deacon’s son. It made for difficult church services, and we could not do it anymore. Now a complete stranger was concerned that Max needed a friend. 

“You want to help me with Max?” I was surprised by his offer, but even more surprised that I heard myself considering it.

“No, I want to help Max and in turn he may learn a thing or two from me.” He looked at Max and gave a halfhearted smile even though Max wasn’t watching. “I’m old, I rarely get visitors and maybe Max and I could keep each other company. One less thing for you to do while you get settled.”

That’s all it took, we spent the rest of the afternoon sitting on the porch, eating cookies, talking and learning. Max was his usual self, seeming to not notice or listen but in fact he was constantly learning, constantly soaking it all in. Not being able to speak, I had no idea what was actually sinking in but, I knew, he was getting something from all this.

Day after day, I walked Max next door, with two lunches, two snacks and two Cokes. Joe was always sitting in the chair by the door. Most days Max walked right past Joe and into his house. Joe would sit for a few moments, then slowly get up and follow Max inside.

About two months into this, I came home from work a bit early one afternoon. I placed all my stuff down in the house then walked next door to get Max and check on Joe. My biggest fear was that I would come home to find Joe dead and Max waiting. For weeks after Sam died, Max pulled a kitchen chair to the front door and would sit. Sometimes for an hour or more waiting on Sam. But of course, he never came home. So, unbeknownst to Joe I would often text his Grandson just to make sure that Joe was okay or alright. Matt, was Joe’s grandson and although he didn’t live with Joe, he dropped by or called daily to check on him. I knocked gently on the door expecting Max to come, but he didn’t today. I pulled the screen door open and stepped inside the front door. Joe had a beautiful home, old, and full of antiques. Old books were piled high on almost every table that had a corresponding chair. The rugs that lined the halls and filled the rooms seemed ancient, but were clean and well kept. Joe had one special room that was filled with family photos. Max loved that room. I could hear the gentle muffle of voices. Joe and Max were standing staring at one of the walls filled with photos. Joe was telling Max all about the people in the photos. I stopped short of the door, still in the hallway, listening, trying not to bother them as Joe chatted away about another time.

“This is Samuel and Rebecca. The best parents a kid could ever ask for.” Joe pointed to a beautiful picture hanging to the right of the window. There was a smile in his voice. The couple were elegant in their wedding attire. Rebecca had a lovely lace shawl around her head, crowned with a wreath of small roses. Samuel looked a bit stiff, but his little smirk of a smile told me he was more than excited to be marrying young Rebecca. “Now these, these right here.” Joe used his cane and pointed to a picture of two boys to the far left. He shook his cane at the photo and smiled as he leaned down to tell Max about the pair. “These two were the best brothers I ever had. Crazy! and so mean” He chuckled then his voice trailed off, “but wonderful.” He paused for a moment, seeming to remember something far off. He turned slightly and flopped down with a sigh into a bright red armchair. Max didn’t move. He stared endlessly into the pictures. I would have given anything to know what his little mind was thinking as he looked deeper into each photo. Joe seemed to have slipped into a memory of some kind. He looked out the window into the back yard. It was not the most well-kept backyard, but it was “Joe”, simple, clean and full of old stuff that brought interest. Joe sat his cane down against the wall just within reach. He leaned back in the chair and began to rub his arm. As his sleeve went up I noticed a small tattoo on his forearm. I never noticed a tattoo or any tattoos on Joe before. I honestly could not remember ever seeing his arms or legs. He always wore long jeans and long sleeve button up shirts even in the heat of the summer. Was he covered in tattoos or was it just this one?

The floorboard creaked as I shifted my weight. Joe looked up quickly as the sound snapped him out of his thoughts and back to today. I smiled at him and stepped into the light of the room.

“Annie.” Joe’s greetings were always simple. He reached for his cane and leaned into it to stand up. He groaned a little. Why did he look so old all the sudden? I did not remember him being this way. That curious little tattoo was a bit clearer now. A number. Seemed familiar but I couldn’t place it and after a day of working for what seemed like an eternity, I just didn’t have it in me to remember anything of real importance. My thoughts were a bit hazy.

Max continued to study the images. He always seemed to know when I was there and was never startled.

“Max its time to go.” I was so tired and today I didn’t want to sit and talk. “Joe, thank you so much for watching him again today. He loves…. this…” I motioned to all the photos. “I can tell he loves being your friend too.” I smiled a weary smile as I took a few steps forward to tap Max and let him know it was time to go.

Joe didn’t say much, he still seemed so far away. He nodded his head and started to shuffle out into the hall. He seemed to move even slower today, maybe it was just me, Maybe I was the one who was overly tired and was starting to see things move like they were stuck in tar. As he passed a small table in the hall he stopped and placed his hand on a blue and white scarf that lay on the table. I never noticed that table or the menorah before. It looked like a small shrine. He gently ran his hands over the scarf and brushed the tassels hanging from it. I saw his shoulders lift and fall heavily with a sigh. Max stepped beside me and we both walked quietly behind Joe to the porch and then home.

Summer turned into fall and it was back to school for Max and some possible overtime for me. The summer had been miserably hot and work on the outside of the house had reluctantly ground to a halt. I was busy painting and fixing odd little things inside the house but now the weather was changing and the outside needed my attention, once again.

Joe was a constant. I hurried around after work everyday to paint, patch, fix, and declutter the outside of the house. Joe would holler at me that the house was a rental and I didn’t need to do all that myself, but it was a passion, a passion to make the house a happy place for Max. Sam was my happy place, the love of my life and my rock. With him gone, I had to keep some sort of a constant for Max. I want him to come home to a house that is lit up, that is warm and where I am always there.

The first school break was upon us and I had a few days off from work. I decided Max and I needed to spend a little time together. Seeing Joe was always on the list and I couldn’t break Max’s schedule too much. It was a Saturday again and I tried desperately to sleep in but Max showed up at my bedside and just stood there. It used to startle me, being stared at while I slept, but now, I understand it’s Max’s way of telling me the day had started and he was ready to meet it. I reluctantly sat up on the side of the bed and gently smiled at Max. I sighed.

“Okay Max, okay.” I threw the covers off and put both feet on the cool wooden floors. “Let’s get started with the day.” Max turned and ran down the hall to the kitchen: he was dressed, it was the same shirt and pants he chose to wear every day but he was dressed. I wandered into the kitchen and began pulling out the cereal; I was not a cook and I definitely was not a cook in the morning when I would rather be sleeping.

I started the coffee pot and pulled a cup down from the cabinet.  As I closed the door to the cabinet I glanced out the window, the one Max sat at the first time he saw Joe and the window I always look out every morning where, just like clockwork, I could count on Joe to be sitting on the porch, biding time till Max would race out of the house, up the steps and take his place beside Joe. There they would sit for an hour or so as Joe told story after story, most of which involved every person in the picture room, while Max stared off in the distance or appeared to be mindlessly playing with his car. But today, Joe wasn’t there. I frowned and reached for my cellphone. Matt was always quick to answer but today he didn’t answer, so I left a voicemail then sent him a text. Something was off.

“Max, I’m going to run next door. You finish your breakfast first.” Max was always good about keeping things in order. I knew he would not set foot outside the house without having finished his breakfast first. I grabbed my jacket and quickly walked out the door, down the sidewalk and up Joe’s steps. The door was shut, usually the screen door was the only thing between anyone and the inside of the house. I opened the screen door and knocked on the house door. No answer. I tried the door, it was locked. Now, I was a bit worried. I tried Matt again but still no answer. Max would be finishing his breakfast soon and will get his coat and start to walk over. What was wrong. My phone ringing broke the silence. I fumbled to answer. It was Matt.

“Matt, Matt? I don’t see Joe and he isn’t answering the door.” I heard a small amount of fear in my own voice and every memory of the night I received the phone call about Sam flooded back. I blinked back tears and turned to look over at my house. I could see Max as he lifted his bowl sideways to get the last bit of cereal. He would be done any moment.

“Annie… I… He passed in his sleep last night.” Matt’s voice cracked. From that moment on all I heard was a soft muffle of what must have been words. I felt like I couldn’t breath. Joe was gone? I just saw him yesterday and he was fine. He didn’t say or do anything unusual and he was getting around fine. “Joe, my grandfather, he was an amazing person, with an incredible life.” I started to make sense of the words Mark was saying. “He passed peacefully. The doctor is checking now to see what the actual cause of death was but he said, grandpa just…. fell asleep. He was at peace.”

I choked back a cry. I wanted to fall apart but I assumed Max would only be confused and upset by my actions. How could this happen. Finally we had someone in our life that was a friend to Max and a gentle guide for me. I felt safe and comforted, Joe spoke “Max.” He got through to him, and Max was actually making some improvements in his school as a result. I thought we had more time.

I hung up with Matt and walked slowly back to the house. Max had just put his coat on and was standing in the doorway. Max always seems to know, he has this sixth sense about him where he really does not miss a thing. Today he looked directly at me, then walked past me and down the steps. I watched the tears streaming down my face as he slowly walked down the sidewalk and up the steps to Joe’s house. He stood in front of the closed door, watching, listening. Like he waited for Sam, I wanted to run to him, scoop him up and tell him everything was fine, cry and have him understand in life’s “normal” way of grieving. I wanted him to find comfort in me, but he just stood there. I sat down on the front porch in a heap. The wind was out of my sails. In fact, it wouldn’t have mattered if there was a wind because I had no sails left. I watched as Max slowly turned and sat down at his usual spot on the porch. He sat alone and watched the morning. It took me quite sometime to regain my composure. It wasn’t just Joe, it was Sam, it was a friend Max lost, it was the thought of Max going backwards or closing down. I could not bare one more devastating hurt for me or Max. It wasn’t long before Matt pulled up in Joe’s driveway. He turned the car off and sat for a moment, eyes closed, head bowed as if he were in prayer. I saw his chest heave a heavy sigh as he opened the car door. He was always kind to Max but he wasn’t like joe; no one was like Joe. He was just special. Matt walked up the steps and sat down beside Max for a few moments, arms stretched across his knees, head down. I saw Matt’s lips moving as he occasionally wiped a tear from his eyes. He continued to speak to Max then after a brief pause he stood up, placed his hand on Max’s shoulder and walked inside, slowly closing the door behind him. Max waited to hear the click of the door then he stood and walked home. I followed Max inside. Hearing my footsteps he quickened his pace, shutting his bedroom door behind him. My heart sank. I needed Sam. A knock on the front screen door brought me back to the present. I turned to see Matt standing with a box in his arms.

“Come in Matt.” I called to him from outside Max’s room. He shifted the box to one arm and opened the door, stepping inside. He nodded at me and hung his head.

“Annie, I …. I am sorry, I know Max is probably taking this pretty hard.” I crossed my arms and lowered my head to keep from crying. “Max and Joe had a really specially relationship.” Matt shifted the box in his hands.

“Yeah…. Come on in the living room.” I motioned to the room on the left one of the only rooms I had completely redone with all new furniture from the local thrift store, Matt gave a weak smile and moved past me with his box. He placed it down on the coffee table and sat down on the couch in front of it. After what seemed like a lifetime, I slid into the chair beside Matt and whispered. “Matt, I am so sorry.” He began to repeat again and again how amazing his grandfather was and what a life he had. His voice and words reminded me of the hours Joe would sit and talk to Max and I. Tales of yesterday, of wonderful people, crazy friends and far off places.

“I know that my grandfather would want Max to have these.” He pushed the box toward me. I hesitated for a moment then opened it. The pictures.

“Max and Grandpa spent so much time in that room going over each picture as he told story after story.”

“Matt….we cannot take your family photos.” I pushed the wedding picture of Samuel and Rebecca back down in the box and shut the lid.

“No, no, Annie. It’s not that at all.” Matt opened the box again and started to lay the pictures out. He motioned to them. “These are not my family, not really.” He finished pulling all the pictures out. “You see, my grandfather survived the war in a German concentration camp. Everything he owned, everything his family owned was taken from them. Nothing was left.”

It all started to make sense now, the menorah, the blue and white scarf. Matt pointed to the wedding photo. “His parents were Samuel and Rebecca, but this is not them. His parents, his crazy brothers, his aunt and grandparents all died. There was nothing left. Not even a picture.”

I sank down into my flowered armchair with a heavy plop. “then….then….”

Matt continued. “About three years ago, just before you both came, grandpa went back to Germany. A team of researchers from a local Jewish University were always running DNA tests trying to locate family members and reunite them even if it was only in death.” Matt glanced from picture to picture and as a little smile passed over his lips. He halfway laughed. “He loved these pictures.” Then his face fell again as he continued to relay joe’s story to me. “I went with him to Germany and after a month of testing, sampling and waiting for results to be read we left empty handed. None of the bodies from the latest mass grave were related to Joe. His family was still lost.”

I was so involved in his story telling that I missed when Max came in. I suddenly heard his little cars wheels on the wooden floor and there was Max, seemingly unaffected, laying across the floor with his chin in one hand and his car in the other. I knew he was listening. Matt glanced over and smiled warmly. “Saying a name is important, it keeps the person and their memory alive, so, over the years since he came to the States he began collecting old pictures. Just random things he found in antique shops, yard sales and such. People would ask about his family, and it was much easier just to point to a random picture and say this was one person or another.” 

“The number on his arm, his tattoo…” I heard my voice trail off as I finally remembered my 8th grade history class and the discussions about WW2. Matt nodded.

“So!” Matts voice shattered the flood of thoughts. “Joe and Max spent long hours talking about these photos that’s why Max should have them.” Max looked over at the pictures and scooted closer to us. Matt hung his head and spoke softly. “He told me about your husband and how it was so hard for you to even speak of him. He spoke to Max often, not only about these pictures and their representation, but he listened to the few things you would say about Sam and would repeat them over and over again to Max. He really felt like Max needed to grieve just as much as you did.” I couldn’t hold back the tears now and I began to sob. Matt reached over and placed a hand on my shaking shoulder. “My grandfather used to say, “We cannot take away the memories of the past, but in remembering, we learn how to better live today.” Matt stood up and walked toward the door. “Annie, remember Sam, say his name often, and tell Max all of your stories, good and bad”