I'm Sure She Means Well, But...
Disaster follows Imogen wherever she goes
Imogen always meant well, but somehow her efforts to help out always ended in disaster. Her mother said it was because her head was lost in the clouds. Her father said she needed to buckle down and pay attention. Her siblings just laughed at her.
Everyone’s catchphrase had become, “I’m sure she means well, but…” They all just filled in the blank at the end of the sentence with whatever disaster her latest mistake had caused.
Everyone except Gramps. Gramps always smiled and said, “You’ll steady with time.”
The day had started out well. Everyone was excited for Gramps’s birthday. Today he turned eighty years old. Barely sixteen herself, Imogen couldn’t really fathom being that old. But it seemed a momentous occasion to her. So much so, that she was desperate to be part of the preparations for his celebration.
Everywhere she turned, others were bustling about. Mom and her sisters were making Gramps’s favorite dishes while Imogen’s own sister, Mariel, put the final touches on the cake. Her brothers were setting up the tent in the back yard while her cousins put up decorations.
Imogen approached each in turn, offering to lend a hand. Each, in turn, sent her packing, some more kindly than others. No one wanted a disaster on this day of all days. No one wanted Imogen’s help.
“Imogen,” her father called from the front door as he carried in a heavy box of wine bottles.
Finally, someone she could help! She ran to the door, reaching for the box, but her father swung away from her.
“Oh, no. I don’t want these broken,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t get under foot. Why don’t you go sit with Gramps. I’m sure he’d love to tell you some stories.”
Imogen hung her head and trudged away. Not to the living room where Gramps sat reading. She knew Dad was only trying to get rid of her. Gramps would smile and welcome her. He’d even tell her one of the many tales from his youth. But he had already confided in her that what he really wanted today was some peace and quiet before “all of tonight’s hullabaloo.”
Sighing, she retreated into her bedroom. She could at least give him some time to himself. Feeling left out and frustrated, she picked up her guitar and began to play. Music was the one thing she seemed to get right.
Gramps liked her songs, even if no one else in the family seemed to appreciate them. She would have said he was humoring her, but she had overheard him once, talking to his friends about how talented she was. He had even quoted some of her lyrics.
She felt a little better after playing for a while. When she looked up, her bedroom clock said five-thirty. Where had the afternoon gone? She brushed her hair and changed into her dress in a hurry, barreling down the stairs so quickly she nearly tripped. She caught herself, narrowly avoiding crashing into Mariel and the cake she was ferrying to the backyard.
“Watch where you’re going,” Mariel snapped. She let out an exasperated huff and continued on through the door Mom held open for her.
Imogen’s eyes stung and a single tear escaped. She slumped back against the wall. “I’m hopeless,” she said, thinking herself alone.
“You’re anything but,” Gramp’s voice came from behind her. “You’re my amazing granddaughter. You’re just like me.” Joining her at the bottom of the stairs, he took her hand and squeezed it.
Imogen squeezed back. “Thanks, Gramps, but I’m nothing like you.”
He laughed. “Have you looked in the mirror?”
“Well, maybe I look like you…”
“And you’re a dreamer like me.” Gramps lifted her chin up so she had to look him in the eye. “I was exactly like you when I was young, except I didn’t have a lick of the musical talent you have.”
Imogen’s lips flickered in the hint of a smile. Gramps always knew just what to say when she was feeling bad about herself. “Thanks, Gramps. I can’t see you as a clumsy teenager.”
“Girl, I made you look graceful. But I steadied out with time and so will you.”
Imogen stole a glance at the back door. “I don’t want to go out there. They all think I’m useless.”
Gramps also glanced toward the festivities waiting for him. “They mean well. They just don’t understand.” He sighed. “Either of us. They don’t understand me either.” He paused, then squeezed her hand again.
“Will you be my date tonight? Stick close, so we can both feel understood?”
This side of Gramps was new and strange to Imogen. She had never realized he felt out of sync with the family as well. “Sure, Gramps. I’ll stick close.”
“And bring your guitar. I know you wrote me a birthday song. I’ve heard you practicing.”
Imogen’s eyebrows shot up. “I can’t…”
“Did you write it for them or for me?”
“For you, but…”
“Then play it for me. Because I guarantee you, it will be the only gift I care about out there.”
Imogen stifled a giggle as he pulled her into a hug and whispered, “I’m sure they mean well, but…”
This story is a response to a Reedsy prompt to write a story about someone whose intentions are good but who always manages to do the wrong thing. I decided I wanted that person to win for a change.
I was an awkward kid in every sense of the word. I was that kid who was always picked last for teams and who somehow never seemed to fit in. I had to grow into who I am. I “steadied out” with age. I think that’s true of a lot of creatives.
What about you? Were you an Imogen (or a Gramps)? Or were you the opposite—someone who seemed to get things right most of the time?
I was set up to feel guilty all the time. I’d offer help and if it was refused, in my mind I was being tested. “Should I have done it anyway?” Wondering if that’s what they really wanted. I guess that’s why I ended up in the medical field...my way of helping others.
I was the awkward kid, too. I never fit in, and was always picked last as well. I tripped over my own feet. And, yes, I eventually steadied out.
This was a relatable story. Thank you.