“Virginia is a beauty but it’s raining like hell.” – Travel diary entry, Harrisonburg, VA

A Short History of Whales

I have always wanted to write a story about Shenandoah National Park. This is not that story.

I am in Harrisonburg, Virginia. It’s close enough to Shenandoah in terms of miles, but right now it’s the farthest place from Shenandoah in terms of rain. Of course water can only be measured in volumes, not just length, because water is not one-dimensional.

Then again, that’s what they say about time, or people.

Your grandmother, who is at least 102 years old, lives in Waynesboro, Virginia. She used to be a nurse, but now she is just an old woman. She also used to make excellent pecan pie. I say “used to” not because the pies have become worse, but because these days she uses her finger to taste the pie, instead of a spoon or knife. That fact may discourage you, or me, from eating the pie.

She uses her white old woman’s finger to cut through the fresh crust like she’s performing heart surgery on that pie; like she’s a surgeon and her finger is a scalpel specifically designed for pies.

Your grandmother still pronounces Shenandoah like “shenanigans”. She claims to be Mexican, but even after 40 plus years in America her pronunciation is so violent I think she may secretly be from Eastern Europe. There are also some serious vocabulary glitches. For example, she is convinced it’s a “hunchback whale”, and every time I correct her and say it’s “humpback whale,” she looks at me like I’m the devil.
“Hunchback whale,” she’ll say very seriously, like she’s mentioning the name of a government official.
“Yes, humpback whale.”
“Hunchback!” she’ll hiss.

Your grandmother also thinks that “to have a hunch” is the same as being round-backed.
“I don’t think he loves me anymore,” I said, “he” being “you”.
“What?” she said.
“I just have this hunch,” I said and shrugged.

She looked concerned. She put her hand on my upper back and stroked my spine. She kept patting it gently, like I was in pain and needed help.

I was. I did.

I don’t know why sitting in a car in Harrisonburg makes me think of your grandmother, but it does. It’s been three hours of rain, or seventeen miles of rain, and I am as far from Shenandoah, or you, as I think I will ever be.