grandma Read online

  Chapter 1

  She was dying.

  Caleb struggled to accept the fact that his grandma was dying.

  Sighing, he leaned back against the frayed fabric of his old recliner and closed his eyes. Threading his hands behind his head, he tried to herd his thoughts into one pasture. Caleb felt his blood pressure rising. Clenching and unclenching a fist, he wiped abruptly at his face then stood up and began pacing back and forth across the dusty wooden floor.

  He grimaced at the gray clouds lingering like a bad joke on the horizon just outside his large, dirty window. “Always with the rain,” Caleb muttered.

  “Fuck the rain.” Monty said.

  Chuckling, Caleb turned to the plump green parrot. “Language,” he admonished, making a tsk sound and wagging a finger at the bird. Monty responded by bobbing his head and moving closer to the thin black metal grates of his box-shaped cage. “Do I need to feed you?” Caleb asked. He peeked into the tray and saw that it was full. Shaking his head, he resumed his anxious pacing.

  A doleful silence descended. Walking in a thin, taut line, back and forth, back and forth across the chestnut-colored floor, Caleb grappled with his thoughts. His head bent low, he could feel the muscles in his jaw twitching. It all felt so unfair.

  His eyes caught something. He paused in front of his desk. Looking at a faded black-and-white picture of a smiling young woman wearing glasses, a tear shimmied out of Caleb’s eye. He felt the lachrymal liquid as it slowly slid down his cheek.

  The woman in the photograph, of course, was his grandma. Mary Elizabeth Conway. She’d come over to the United States from Argentina in the early 1900’s with her husband at the tender age of fifteen. She’d been a secretary and even a welder during the Great War, and had taken care of her seven children as a single mother after Caleb’s grandfather had died fighting the Nazis. Mary Conway had outlasted emigrating across the world. She’d endured the Depression, two world wars, and then the Vietnam era.

  But now she was dying.

  Trembling, raw emotion dancing in his veins, Caleb wiped his face once again and then jerkily retreated to the bathroom. He needed to get ready.

  Turning on the shower, he stood in front of the mirror and looked into his green eyes. Caleb searched for something there. Some hidden truth. Some secret part of her. His grandma had raised him. She meant so much to him. He didn’t want this to be the end.

  The steam rose up and conspired to conceal any buried gems of wisdom. He turned and stripped, stepping into the hot stream. Caleb hummed as he washed himself.

  Finishing up, he got out, toweling off. His movements were from rote. They lacked purpose.

  Dropping the emerald-colored towel on the wet floor, his skin still beaded with bits of moisture, Caleb waked naked through the wide hallway to his bedroom. Pushing the thin door open so hard that it bounced off of the wall with a sharp thud, he strode to the closet. Plucking out the first thing he found, he started to put it on. But when Caleb realized he’d selected a purple blazer, he shook his head and made an irritated sound.

  Shaking it off, he struggled with the arms. He almost ripped the garment as he fought to get it off. “Stupid jacket,” he muttered.

  Just then, Hunter appeared. “Meow,” she said.

  “Not now, cat.” Caleb said.

  But Hunter would not be denied. The chubby calico feline offered up a loud and aggressive purr. Trotting to the edge of the bed, she reached out a paw and tapped Caleb on the elbow. Then she got up on her two back legs and stood, leaning forward and putting her face right by her owner’s ear.

  Laughing, Caleb swiped a hand at the creature. “What, now, Hunter?” he asked. “I know I fed you,” Caleb said.

  Hunter meowed in response. Then she made an eccentric circle, as if chasing her own bushy tail. Finally, she collapsed onto the forest green sheets. She stared at Caleb with her yellowish eyes.

  Moving his mouth, Caleb wanted to say something, but couldn’t think of anything. He shook his head. Smiling, he returned to the closet. He blinked. “What was I…” Looking down, he saw the purple blazer on the floor. The pugnacious sadness punched him in the gut. It returned with force.

  Deciding on a simple polo and tan slacks, he got dressed. He felt almost trapped in a fugue state. Caleb almost experienced a sense of being detached, completely disassociated from his present body. Everything seemed to be a chore. He operated- barely- based on what his brain remembered to do in such instances.

  Caleb almost left the room, but then briefly paused in front of the small mirror affixed to the back of his bedroom closet. He touched his earlobes. Fondling the large circular black ear rings he wore in his gauged ears, he wondered if he should remove them. His grandma never said anything, but the questions and mild disapproval almost always revealed themselves in her features. “They’ll just look weird if I take them out,” he said.

  Going to the door, he paused at the threshold, almost unwilling to accept that this could be his last visit with his grandma. Caleb surveyed the inside of his loft apartment. Finally, with a deep breath, he grabbed his yellow rain poncho and backpack and walked out. “Bye,” he said as he closed the heavy door.

  “Fuck the rain.” Monty replied.

  That gave Caleb cause for laughter as he retreated down the narrow carpeted hallway. He stared at the bright light of the elevator button as he waited for it to arrive, wrapped in his own worries and the silence of the building. Everything seemed so dim and somber, in contrast to the plastic, arrow-shaped button. The elevator offered a soft, pleasant ding as the silver doors slid open. He stepped in and began his descent.

  He paused at the door. Rain cascaded down from the gray skies above. A sodden fast food wrapper did cartwheels across the wet pavement. The wind howled as it stormed past on its way to fight someone. The cacophony of midday Portland traffic filled the humid air.

  Caleb felt a familiar sense of dread descend upon him. His chest tightened. His heart rate put its foot on the gas. He hated going out into public. Dark memories haunted him. His past threatened to sucker punch his sanity with each moment he spent outside of his humble home.

  Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes. He waited for a second, allowing himself to focus. Caleb needed to go visit his grandma. She’d called. She was going to die soon. Fighting the urge to retreat back inside, to hide behind the big door and intimidating façade of the warehouse building that now housed his renovated loft, he reminded himself of the importance of his mission. He cast aside the decaying memories, trapped as they were in the silent mausoleum of his mind. They’d be back soon enough.

  They always returned.

  Walking briskly out into the rain, he felt it hitting his neck and head as he bent to unlock his bike. His fingers slipped as he tried to get the key in the hole. ‘Fuck,” he said. Caleb fiddle with it several more times, shaking, biting his lower lip. He glanced around, halfway bent over and muttering curses to himself in the cold rain. He almost threw the keys on the ground, but then got it. He unlocked the U-shaped security device and gripped it one hand. He stared it, his glare laced with accusations. Then he quietly shook his head and put it in his back pack.

  The wind shrieked. It caused his poncho to flap around. Caleb put one foot on a pedal and looked out into the gray cityscape. Then he took off.

  He rode through Portland traffic with the ease and confidence of someone familiar with the city. His grandma’s nursing home was in the southeastern part of the city, near a park with an extinct volcano. Caleb had grown to enjoy biking. It required a certain level of focus that took him away from his own anxieties. Even today, when he was slicing through traffic amidst a biting rain and incisive wind on his way to talk to his dying grandmother, had to maintain a heightened awareness of his
immediate environment.

  Stopping at a red light, Caleb panted and looked down at his watch. “Damn it!” he screamed. He flipped off a bearded man in a small rusted white car. The guy had given him a look. He didn’t have time to dwell on the fact that he was going to be late, however. The signal turned green.

  Before he could get his foot on the pedal, someone was already angrily honking at him.

  Caleb tried to cycle faster, leaning into it and pushing his straining legs. His side hurt. His eyes felt tired. He could feel treacly sweat as it slithered down his back. He was supposed to be there at noon. It was 11:45, and he still needed to get across the Burnside Bridge.

  Breathing hard, ignoring the searing pain in his thighs, he pushed himself. He swerved in and out of traffic, his steel frame bike bumping up and down and swaying as he darted through the mists and noise. The urban behemoth belched out the noisome stench of industry, and Caleb rode into the gray, putrid mist of its warm halitosis breath. Pulling his shirt up over his mouth and nose, he rode on. But, after a second, he realized this just made it harder for him to inhale, so he jerked the cloth back down.

  Finally, he arrived in front of the tall dilapidated building that housed his grandmother. Caleb stretched, taking a moment to catch his breath and allow his heart to recover from the rapid ride. He allowed his gaze to linger on the aging structure. Caleb wondered if there might be a metaphor in that: the geriatric building fading much like those that it confined.

  A tear formed in the corner of his eye. He didn’t bother to wipe it. He’d fought guilt over the years. It’d been inordinately difficult to help make the decision to place his grandma here, in Tabor Pines. She’d been here five years, and it seemed like everything had just gone down hill almost from the day she’d arrived.

  Shaking these thoughts off, Caleb looked at his watch. He smiled smugly. 11:56. He’d arrived on time. “You’d be proud,” he said, sniffling. He was talking to Mary, of course. Even though his grandmother wasn’t there.

  He walked past two fat, balding security guards in wrinkled light blue uniforms. They subjected him to their passive gaze as Caleb strode past. They didn’t say anything. However, there was still something vaguely offensive about their probing looks. He paused in the small interior corridor, one foot tapping nervously on the dirty carpet, his hand lingering on the black metal handle protruding from the door.

  The blacked-out glass doors buzzed. Caleb went through without acknowledging the guards. He rushed, hearing his footfalls on the gleaming white linoleum floor. Caleb ignored the signs and arrows pointing to various units. He took the first left, almost bumping into a distracted black nurse carrying a wobbly stack of file folders that almost went over her head. “Sorry,” he said hastily as he pressed forward. His grandma had few pet peeves, but a lack of punctuality was one of them.

  Stopping, leaning against the thin wooden doorframe, Caleb gasped. Sweat moved down his forehead. He felt hot. He wanted something to drink. But he collected himself and pushed open the door to room 207.

  A smile streaked across his face. His soul lifted.

  Sitting there in a tattered gray upholstered chair next to a dusty air conditioning unit that hadn’t worked in five years, Mary Elizabeth Conway looked out of partly open blinds. A courtyard was there. In the small green space, there was an emaciated tree. “The birds still come,” she said.

  “Hi, gra’ma.” Caleb said.

  “’Bout time you showed up.” Mary said. She smiled and opened her arms for a hug. They embraced, sharing a moment of warmth before the older woman finally broke it off. “You stink. Get off of me,” she said. She waved both of her hands towards the large bathroom off to the side, by the door. “Go spray some deodorant on or something.”

  Blinking, Caleb could only shake his head and smile. He, of course, went to the bathroom to comply without talking back. She’d raised him. He knew better than to give her any sass. In a small clear plastic travel bag he’d picked up at the dollar store or some such place off to the side of the large tub was a stash of toiletries for times like these. Extracting a little cylindrical tube that was cool to the touch, Caleb sprayed it on himself. A little bit of the thick mist got in his mouth. He coughed. Gagging, he wiped his face and replaced the black cap on the deodorant.

  “Hope you’re…” he coughed. “Hope you’re happy, gra’ma.” Caleb called out. He took a moment to look in the mirror. The minty fragrance lingered in the air. Caleb didn’t think he looked bad, but he never knew what others thought of him. Of course, most of the time, he refused to care.

  “So, you wanted to talk about your will?” Caleb asked, walking back out into the bedroom. The natural light filtering in from the courtyard seemed out of place. The thin, wrinkled sheets on the bed appeared jaundiced. The glare reflected off of the metal. It got in the way of the thick television hung at an angle from the ceiling.

  “Well, no. I just wanted to trick you into actually coming to visit me for once, you ungrateful little shit.” Mary said.

  Caleb bit his lower lip. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Unfortunately, his grandma’s cynicism and sense of humor was almost always hard to read. “I was just up here last week.” Caleb said.

  “For five minutes, and the Mexican food you brought gave me diarrhea.” Mary said.

  “It was Taco Bell, gra’ma. It gives everyone diarrhea.” Caleb said. He struggled to say that with a straight face.

  “I love that little dog they used to have on the commercials. Do you remember those, Caleb? The little dog?” Mary asked.

  Chuckling, Caleb indicated that he did, indeed, recall those adverts. “So, why am I here, gra’ma? I’m pretty busy,” he said.

  “Can I just see my grandson without needing to feel in a hurry?” Mary asked, sniffing. “You ever going to get a damn girlfriend? You have all the ear stuff and the tattoos… aren’t you hip? You have a job. That’s pretty important.”

  “I don’t drive,” Caleb pointed out.

  “Yeah, well…” Mary waved a wrinkled hand dismissively. Papery thin blue veins rippled beneath the surface of her sallow skin as she rested her gnarled old hand back in her lap.

  Her expression became suddenly somber. Staring silently, distantly at some abstract spot on the wall, Caleb’s grandma looked inward. She sat in the frayed, geriatric chair wearing a tattered shirt with a plunging, stretched-out neckline. The garment might once have been white, but now it struggled to maintain an awkward shade more reminiscent of a habitual smoker’s teeth. Mary wrung her hands in her lap even as she quietly struggled with whatever it was that weighed so heavily on her mind.

  Shifting his feet, Caleb looked around. He fought the urge to extract the slim phone resting in his hip pocket. Playing on mute, the television showed a Seinfeld re-run. Smiling, Caleb reached out and fumbled around on the bed, trying to find the remote. He and his grandma had watched hours of the comedy show when he was younger.

  “Forget the damn sit-coms, Caleb,” Mary said. She sighed. “You might come to a point where you begin to cherish quiet,” Mary said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean? Gra’ma, what’s up? Just spit it out.” Caleb said. “You giving the will to National Geographic or something? Got a new beau? I don’t care. It’s never been about the money.” Caleb said, his voice strained. He peered at his grandma.

  “Oh, phooey. If I had money, you know damn well I wouldn’t be in a shithole like this. I’d be in Costa Rica or something, hootin’ and hollerin’ at cabana boys. Fuckers won’t even put salt on anything. You’d think they’d want to have some turn over. Just kill us off and keep the morale up.” Mary said.

  Caleb fell into a fit of laughter. Tears stung his eyes. He almost knocked the fake tulips out of their cheap decorative vase. Steadying himself with one shaking hand, Caleb lowered himself onto the bed, where he sat down. “You’re crazy, gra’ma,” he said.

  “Caleb, I really do want to talk to you about something.” Mary sai
d.

  Hearing the difference in her tone, Caleb got sober real quick. He shifted his position so that he was facing her. “Okay,” he said.

  “I need you to promise me something.” Mary said.

  “What?” Caleb asked.

  “Well, this is my final wish. It’s the only thing I want from you.” Mary gulped. She began to shake. Paroxysms rippled through her. She gripped the edge of her chair and took a breath. “And I don’t think I’ll be around to see you finish it,” she said.

  “Of course, you will, gra’ma. Weren’t you just joking about the will?” Caleb asked. His heart raced.

  Mary shook her head slowly. She moved her mouth, but only a doleful moan escaped. Summoning her strength, she finally found the will to force words to walk the plank of her tongue. “I’ve got cancer, Caleb. But…” she began to cry.

  Caleb got up. He rushed around to comfort her. Getting down on his knees, he hugged the frail old woman who’d given him life. She meant so much to him. Cancer? His vision blurry, he thought he heard ringing. It took a second for the sound to die down, and it was replaced by the horrific sound of his grandma quietly sobbing in his arms.

  “When did you find out? There has to be some treatment,” Caleb said.

  “No! I don’t want it.” Mary said, speaking in a harsh, forceful whisper.

  Stumbling backwards, Caleb cartwheeled his arms. His face went slack. He could feel himself going pale. Experiencing a wave of nausea and dizziness, Caleb almost fell. Reaching out with one careful hand, he found the edge of the bed and slowly positioned himself down onto it. He saw that his grandma’s mouth was moving, but he couldn’t hear anything she was saying.

  Inhaling deeply, trying to avoid the urgent urge to hyperventilate, Caleb chased a black, whistling vortex of thoughts. His mind raced. He wanted to scream, but his throat felt constricted. Blood pumped through his veins in a heavy flow that he experienced right behind his ears. His chest was tight.

  Gradually, Caleb felt his faculties returning. His senses reawakened by some arbitrary facet of the reality he was so desperately trying to avoid, he saw his grandma struggling to get up. Tears glistened in her kind brown eyes.