Chill

Chill

Martha sat with her young grandson Edward. He was only eight, but very intelligent and loved spending time with the old lady. The two would sit for hours as time swept past them. Often and especially when the news was on Martha would sigh and say, “He has lost The Chill.” Edward wasn’t sure what The Chill was so decided to ask her. When he did, all he got was a distant look, shake of the head and another deep sigh. What was this Chill? Time past and still his Granny made the profound statement. Edward gave up trying to find out what she was talking about and asked his mother and father about it. “Oh The Chill, I’ve still got it!” His mother would admit as his father raised an eyebrow and stated, “I hope so.”

Edward noticed that whoever his Granny pointed out without it, appeared lost, alone and in trouble of some kind. The more time past the more frequent she said it so Edward had to ask. “Will I lose it?” For the first time her wise old eyes studied him on the subject. After a long pause she replied, “You are a fool if you do.” Any hope of finding out more fell on stony ground. So Edward gave up trying and sauntered off aging on the way. The years were kind, brought a job, a lovely wife and a couple of children. Life was good. Granny Martha remained with them and offered the same oasis she had given Edward.

One day Edward took his son Luke over to visit the old lady. Nothing much had changed and the same warmth of character still touched all in her wake. That is all but the young boy standing beside his father. Now eight years old and the same age Edward had been at the time he became focused on The Chill. Luke appeared uncomfortable around the elder and shuffled from foot to foot. Granny Martha studied him with curiosity, her eyes never left him. He pulled at his father’s jacket then demanded a game of football in the park. The strange development puzzled Edward, because until that moment his son had never reacted like this to his Great Granny. Why? What had changed?

Edward refused the kick-around and told his son to sit down. This they did despite the heaviness in the room. The news came on and Edward knew what to expect. As per usual, a face presented itself on screen, as did a long list of criminal activity. The words that Edward knew all too well left his Granny. “He has lost The Chill.” He was used to them and didn’t flinch, but his son did. He could only watch the interaction take place between two generations. Luke’s head stayed down, but her words reached him, “You are in danger of losing it.” Shocked, Edward thought about defending his young son, but couldn’t. Finally it was his chance to find out exactly what The Chill was.

Edward kept his mouth shut while Martha interrogated the youngster. Even when a teardrop fell from Luke’s eye onto his hand his father didn’t intervene. Eventually, ashamed at his lack of fatherly instinct he prepared to stand up for Luke. Nothing was worth seeing his son upset, not even origin of The Chill. Just as he was about to speak, he heard Luke whimper, “I’m sorry.” The old lady gently patted the young hand still wet with teardrop and murmured, “Use it and grow. Lose it and die.” Luke raised his head, made eye contact and said, “I know.” Edward felt invisible as the conversation flowed while Luke admitted being part of a young gang that bullied the vulnerable. “I cry myself to sleep at night, because I feel so ashamed.” He sobbed.


Being hugged wasn’t one of Luke’s passions, yet he moved over and sat cradled in the frail, old arms. Martha held him and soothed, “Of course you do. The Chill is the compass of direction. Luke cuddled into her and whispered, “Is that what it is called?” A firm nod was the answer so Luke added, “I always felt The Chill when I was cruel or when anyone else was.” Edward’s voice left him, “Conscience?” Her eyes met his and they danced with illumination.

Annie Frame Copyright September 2013