Jessica Risch, a Junior from Boise, Idaho
Sitting on a shelf above my desk in my room is a bright teal pitcher. Greek-esque paintings circle the barrel of it, depicting figures in white paint.
My great-grandmother lived behind me when I was very young. There was a chain-link gate that connected our backyards. My cousin Shae was over nearly all the time. Along with my brother Jake, Shae and I never failed to cross from one backyard to the other, and pry open my grandmother’s back door to parade into her little white kitchen. Grandma would help Jake fix a peanut butter and jelly sandwich after unlocking her glass display cases so Shae and I could admire her ceramic vases and figurines.
The teal pitcher’s vivid color stood out among the neutral and pastel palates of the ceramics.
One day, I simply didn’t want to put the teal pitcher away. Instead, I tucked the pitcher underneath my shirt and left her house. Shae and I had just crossed through the gate when Grandma came out and demanded we return the vase. To the amusement of my mother and Grandma and to the dismay of Shae, I pulled the pitcher out from beneath my shirt and promptly blamed her for stealing it. Grandma, somehow endeared by my mischief, returned that pitcher to its display case, where it remained for me to play with, so long as it never left her house again.
My childhood was defined by that gate between my home and Grandma’s. If my mother couldn’t find us, she always knew that we were at Grandma’s, and would greet us as we walked back home with messy faces and baby blankets in tow. The two backyards, in our minds, were one giant playground. My warm spitfire of a Grandma, with her grey curls and her gold jewelry, delighted in seeing our faces nearly every day. She enjoyed our visits so intensely she adamantly refused to move to assisted living. She couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Jake, Shae and me.
But with each passing year, my red brick house on Pond Street grew smaller and tighter, and though I couldn’t see it, my great-grandmother grew older and frailer. When Grandma finally surrendered and moved to assisted living, my parents packed us up and moved to a bigger home. However, at seven years old, I complained about how small the yard in our new home was. In reality, it wasn’t really any smaller than our previous yard, but it lacked a chain-link gate into Grandma’s backyard with all its trees and places to hide.
Grandma died when I was ten.
I was on a family vacation in Mexico, but my parents didn’t say a word until after we returned home. I released a red balloon at her funeral so it would float into the sky and she could have it in Heaven.
I inherited three things in her will. The first: a small gold necklace with an H charm, because one-third of my full name was chosen in honor of her. The second: a small gold ring with a blue stone in the center of a heart that I wear on my pinky. The last: a bright teal pitcher.