The Invisible Family

Mr. and Mrs. Graham were an odd couple, people said. Not weird, not strange, but odd in the way of that word that doesn’t get used much nowadays. They could be called eccentric. But eccentric people are usually wealthy or important in some way. You would know what I mean if I said, “that eccentric old woman who lives in the Greentown Mansion and who hasn’t mowed the grass in several years.” Oh, that woman, you’d think. Or the former lawyer who only represented murderers and who lives alone in a log cabin in the back of his private forest, and plays the violin on Thursdays for himself. Yes, that man. He’s eccentric.

But Mr. and Mrs. Graham lived in a brick and cedar-sided tri-level built in 1952. Their home was the model for the new suburban community that land deveolpers created for post-war families. Gateway Gardens it was called. The suburb was in a good neighborhood in a nice city and came furnished with wall to wall carpets, modern appliances and a freshly-seeded green lawn. They planted rose bushes, Japanese maples and dug a small garden for tomatoes, carrots and green beans. Their daughter came a year later and their son was born the next. The children had names, Patty and Brien, but the parents just called them sweetie, or darling, or baby, son, and my girl. The neighbors knew the couple had children, yet nobody could ever remember their names. “That boy” and The girl” were all they were ever called until they grew up and went off to college somewhere. No one could recall the name of the university or what the young people studied, but whatever the field, they were good choices. Maybe the boy studied accounting and the girl was going to study elementary education. People weren’t really sure.

Mr. and Mrs. Graham had average sensible jobs. Mr. Graham was a manager for a medium-sized life insurance company that had a branch near Gateway Gardens. Mrs. Graham was a homemaker and volunteered at the local nursing home doing arts and crafts with the residents. Mr. Graham bowled once a week on the company team and took the family out for brunch every Sunday after church. So they did mix with people but didn’t make friends. They didn’t have relatives visit on holidays, and spent a lot of time in their yard in the summer. In winter, they watched television. The neighbors could see the tv lights flickering in their darkened living room.

Their car was a new Chevrolet that lasted them until the children left home since Mr. Graham did regular maintainance and upkeep. They shopped at Gateway Gardens supermarket and the department store for clothing and household items. Neighbors never heard the couple argue or raise their voices to each other. The kids were polite and no problem to anyone. The boy dribbled a basketball on the paved driveway. The girl liked to climb trees.

Yet, if you asked people to describe the couple, they wouldn’t have much to say. Mr. Graham didn’t talk much. Mrs. Graham was polite and somewhat personable, yet mostly kept to herself. This went on for years even when the boy and girl left for college. For five more years, things stayed the same. Their children graduated and began their careers.

Then one daÿ, the couple vanished. Neighbors didn’t see them leave. Mr. Graham never said anything to his coworkers and Mrs. Graham never came back to do arts and crafts with the nursing home residents. It was a week before people noticed their absence. Maybe they went on vacation. Florida was a popular destination at the time. Mr. Graham had been working at the insurance company for twenty five years and he had unused time off and vacation days. The office just thought he’d forgotten to inform them about his vacation. He communicated by inter-office memos and notices on the break room bulliten board. Finally Mr. Graham’s coworkers searched the company for evidence or information. The accounting manager went to his home, knocked, but nobody answered. He left a note taped to the front door to contact him.

After two weeks, the regional manager notified the police and made a report. Detectives went out to the house a week later since it didn’t seem like an emergency. Probably went down to Florida, took one of those cruises to the Bahamas that had been promoted so much lately.

Neighbors noticed the grass getting tall and rolled-up newpapers piled on the front porch. Mail began falling out of the mailbox, mostly store ads and bills since they never recieved cards or letters. Weeds grew up in the garden and covered Mrs. Smith’s vegetables. In the fall, when the leaves fell off the Japanese maples and oak trees, neighbors called a meeting. They decided to take out ads in newspapers and tack up missing posters all over town. It was hard to track down the children because no one could recall a bit of information. Was it Jane, or Maggie, or Glenda? Was the boy named Edward, or Paul, or William? Not one person had an image of what tĥey looked like. There were disagreements of the children’s hair color, body shape and whether or not they wore glasses. In fact, many neighbors in Gateway Gardens had forgotten the couple’s first names. The committee went to the courthouse to learn more about the house and the owners so they could continue the search for Mr. and Mrs. Graham. By that time, everyone in the neighborhood was retired and had a lot of free time. After several more years, the house was taken by the county though no one ever moved in.

I heard about Mr. and Mrs. Graham when I got at a job at the County Courthouse. My first project was going through all the real estate records and entering them into the computer.

It took me two years to get everything recorded in the computer, then I got promoted to the County Historical Department. Once I moved all my stuff upstairs to the top floor to the office with the big window, I began to switch my mind over to history of the county. I loved looking out that window while I worked. The view was amazing. How the town had grown and changed. To the east, I could see Gateway Gardens. I decided to research that suburb. I decided to learn more about Mr. and Mrs. Graham and write a story.

That year, my husband and I took a vacation to Florida. We toured a swampy forest-like area and came upon a small cemetery. There were about 7 or 8 graves there. One looked like someone had hurriedly dug a hole on the side of a hill and hung up a metal door. There was a name carved above the door. Graham. It seemed like the people crawled in the hole, slammed the door shut, bolted it from the inside forever. Leave us alone. Go away! Don’t bother us anymore! That door seemed to talk to me. I have a vivid imagination that my husband said never rests. That would be crazy if Mr. and Mrs. Graham were in there! Their bodies, I mean. They couldn’t cope with human interaction. Still their spirits live on. They didn’t talk much about their feelings, or dreams, or fears, or their hopes for the future. Were they scared of something? Were they being pursued by demons? Did they have a fatal illness or just wanted to go somewhere else? Maybe Gateway Gardens wasn’t the right place for them. After all, it was sometimes very boring and seemed to kill people’s unique personalities. The same store on the same day, the same experiences in the same place. No wonder they stopped talking. They never went anywhere and shut themselves up in their house to watch tv night after night after night.

I can see them getting in that car one early morning. They started driving and never stopped until they reached the tip of the country. They saw that small hill and thought how perfect a place to retire from life. They would be different. They’d do something spontaneous. They felt free and eager to begin their new life. I can see them hugging one another after they lock them selves in. Who would imagine they would ever do something so reckless and insane? Who would ever dig their own grave and carve their own tombstone? The neighbors of Gateway Gardens wouldn’t look down on them or whisper behind their backs anymore because they didn’t talk much. And after more time, people would stop looking for Mr. and Mrs. Graham.

But I’ll remember them.