grandma Page 3

“Well, I grew up hard, Caleb. I’ve always said I have more balls than that… oh, what’s his name?” she tapped her head and looked at the ceiling.

  “John McCain?” Caleb asked.

  She waved a hand at him. Mary smiled, but she gave him a wry look. “No, silly. Though he did seem a bit droll, didn’t he?” She tapped her foot n the floor. She sat forward. “What was HIS NAME?” she asked. Then she snapped her fingers. Her face lit up. She beamed triumphantly. “Manchin. That Joe Manchin character, from West Virginia?” she said.

  Caleb laughed. “Wasn’t he the one that voted for that Supreme Court nominee or whatever?” he asked. He felt like he should know such things, given his current and former lines of work, but he immersed himself in whatever he was investigating for the website at the moment.

  Mary snapped her fingers. Her eyes lit up. A smile flitted across her face, and for a second, she seemed almost young again. “That’s it. He’s the one. No one ever liked him, I don’t think,” she said.

  “Someone must, or else how does he keep getting elected?” Caleb asked.

  “Oh, son, you are still far too naïve. You don’t need to be liked to get elected.” Mary said. She chucked cynically.

  An uncomfortable silence descended, filling the vacuous void created by their desire to avoid talking about the harsh and weighted subject of Mary’s imminent death. Caleb’s grandma stared out the window as rain fell in angry spurts, tapdancing with malevolent glee on the dirty panes. Wind bursts fluttered the thin string for the blinds as it swept in through the cracks in the caulking. Mary shivered. “Will you throw me a blanket?” she asked, finally breaking the uneasy quiet.

  “Huh? Oh, sure,” Caleb said. He looked around, slightly dazed and disoriented, finally seeing the colorful, though ugly, carrot-orange crocheted blanket after she pointed to it with one of her long, veiny fingers. He carefully tossed it to her.

  They became quiet again. The sound of the rain falling on the roof turned loud. Underneath that, Caleb could hear someone whispering in the hallway. A cart scraped across the linoleum floor. Looking up, he saw a commercial for some sort of discount car insurance playing on the television.

  “How far along are you?” Caleb finally asked. He didn’t want to hear the answer. Avoiding Mary’s gaze, he fixed his eyes on the television. Now a commercial for a movie adapted from some comic book played. Caleb smiled wryly. This phenomenon, of serializing the hell out of everything, amused him.

  “It’s terminal, son. They’re not going to do much for me. I don’t know that there is much they could do for me, especially at my age.” Mary said.

  “But you don’t want…”

  Mary cleared her throat and held up a hand, interrupting her grandson. “Caleb, it’s not that I want to die. I’m not abandoning you. I would never do that. I’m not a quitter, son. You know that.” She sighed. She returned her gaze back to the courtyard. “Rain is letting up,” she commented, her voice a hoarse whisper.

  The sound of the deluge had indeed weakened. Caleb glanced out the window. He could see the emaciated tree outside, its limbs shivering under the cold caress of the pluvial breeze. “Weather can be crazy,” he said. He scratched his face. A thick and unruly patchwork quilt of STUBBLE covered his cheeks, neck, and chin, and it itched from time to time. “Why don’t you just want to go to the beach? Go back to Ireland or Argentina? I mean, your last wish is…” he asked.

  She raised an eyebrow and gave her grandson a pointed look. “Can you imagine me, on a plane, for sixteen hours?” she asked.

  Caleb laughed. “You’d probably get kicked off the plane. You’d slap some guy on the ass or call someone a fuckwad or something.”

  Mary snorted. She smiled. Tear shimmered in her eyes. She wiped at her face, looking down briefly. “Yeah, you’re probably right about that one.” She shook her head. “It’s a different time, I guess,” she said. She shrugged. “But things aren’t so bad,” she said. She moved her lips but then suddenly stopped. She glanced up towards the ceiling. “I’m at peace with the decision, Caleb. My life is boring. I feel exhausted. I’m honestly ready to go. Be rid of the pain. I miss your grandfather every day. It’s just…” she scrabbled for words. “It’s just not fun in here. I have you, but you’re so damn busy all the time.” She held up a hand. “I’m not trying to guilt trip you this time. I’m just saying that I feel bad, because I know it can be difficult for you to make the effort to come out here. And all we do is watch reruns or play stupid card games.”

  “And eat Chinese.” Caleb said.

  “You and your damn Chinese food. That’s why you’re so damned skinny, son. Your skin tone is so pale. Pallid. Pallid is a good word,” Mary said. She smiled.

  “Or wan?” Caleb asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “What the fuck does wan mean? Is that some fried thing?” she asked.

  Caleb couldn’t help it. He laughed. “No, gra’ma. It means pale,” he said. “But speaking of food…” he said.

  “I’m not really hungry. You can order me something, though. You know what I like,” Mary said. She paused. “But I still want to talk about Sue,” she said.

  Caleb directed his focus to his phone, sipping from his can of yerba matte while he scrolled through the menu of Polu Grill. It was his favorite restaurant, and without their cooks, he probably wouldn’t be alive. He couldn’t really remember the last time he’d been in a grocery store.

  “The delivery fee is six dollars,” he remarked, frowning.

  One of the reasons he loved the place was because it was so close to his apartment. But, even so, there were a lot of Chinese and Asian restaurants in the area where he lived. There was something distinctive and nice about the cuisine at Polu. Plus, the owner was a frail old man with a balding head and bad teeth. The poor guy walked with a hunch and a limp and had a nasty scar down the side of his face. But he was always smiling. He always tried to talk to Caleb, even though they had difficulties understanding each other. Mr. Qasim apparently was a Uyghur, and came from a poor area called Xinjiang. He was a Muslim, and he said that his culture made his food different than other Chinese food. It certainly tasted different.

  “Why don’t you get something else, then?” Mary asked.

  “I like Polu. I should take you over there. You’d get a kick out of Mr. Qasim,” Caleb said.

  “Qasim? What kind of name is that? Doesn’t sound Chinese.” Mary said.

  “Don’t be judgy, gra’ma. I think he’s Uyghur. They’re kind of like the Tibetans, from what I understand.” Caleb said.

  “Well, you know what I like,” Mary said.

  Finishing the order, Caleb tried to stall. He didn’t want to confront the truth of his grandma’s illness or the specious tale she was weaving about her friend. “Want to watch a movie?” he asked.

  “Quit stalling. Tell me you’ll write the story,” Mary said.

  “We could watch Lonesome Dove.” Caleb said.

  “Caleb…”

  Caleb stood up. He went to the entryway. Peeking out into the hallway, he saw that no one was lingering nearby. Glancing toward the nurse’s station just down the corridor, he saw that the high counter was staffed by someone immersed in their work, typing away. He quietly shut the door. Returning to the bed, he sat down. Biting his lower lip, he searched for the right questions. He didn’t want to seem like he was putting her off. Truth be told, he was becoming mildly intrigued. But Caleb just didn’t have enough information to go running after this, and it still seemed a bit fishy.

  “Take me back to the beginning. You said your friend…” Caleb searched his memory. “Sue, your friend Sue, you said she started acting… odd. Right? She was withdrawing. Not eating. Is that right?”

  “Yeah,” Mary said, nodding.

  “And… did you ever try telling anyone?” Caleb asked. He bounced one leg up and down. He took the last sip of his yerba matte. He looked at the can, frowning. Then he almost laughed at himself. It wasn’t the beverage’s
fault that it was all gone.

  “Who would I tell? Who would listen to me? We’ve been over this already,” Mary said. She sounded tired.

  “You don’t trust any of the staff here? They have security. You like your nurses, don’t you? I’m sure there is someone here…” Caleb said.

  “The people here don’t get paid enough to give too much of a crap. It’s a hard job, and they take a lot of shit from us.” She chuckled. “Literally,” she said. She shook her head. “I thought about it once. I really did. But if they ever told anyone or were friends with Laurie… I was afraid for Sue,” Mary said.

  Caleb could see she meant it. The sincerity revealed itself in every facet of her features. Her eyes shimmered with earnest tears. Lines furrowed her brow. The somber frown stretching itself taut in a thin slash across her face communicated it. But he knew that just because someone felt that something was true didn’t verify the veracity of that something.

  “I’m really sorry,” he said. It’s all he could think to say.

  Chapter 4

  Caleb was irritated.

  He tried to suppress his scowl but was unable to. He looked down at his food, feeling the heat as it rose in a warm, hissing steam. “Nan is a Uyghur food, gra’ma. They’re from China. It’s a big country; they have a lot of different cultures there, gra’ma,” he said.

  “Well, nan just doesn’t seem very Chinese to me.” Mary said. She picked at her food with a small white plastic fork.

  “Eat,” Caleb commanded. He gave her a concerned look. His grandma had never been one to scoff at free food. Plus, he’d gotten her her favorite dish. They ate Polu Grill all the time. Sighing, he shook his head. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  Mary snorted. She issued a small, mirthless laugh. “Son…” she looked at the ceiling. Her lip quivered. “How is that bird of yours?” she asked suddenly.

  Caleb blinked. He couldn’t help but smile at the mention of Monty. His parrot possessed a foul mouth a mercurial temperament, but he somehow had managed to form a bond with the avian creature. Monty had been his first real pet as an adult. His grandma had given him the creature just after he was released from prison, as a sort of housewarming gift. The two had been through a lot together.

  “He still has the same… vocabulary.” Caleb said.

  Mary laughed. She wiped at her face and sniffed. “I remember when I first got you that bird. You two took a while to get used to each other,” she said.

  Caleb smiled. He walked into the mists of memory. “Yeah. Remember when he crapped all over the couch?” he asked. He scratched his head. He felt himself relaxing. He cast a surreptitious glance at his grandmother, unsure as to why she’d suddenly reversed course and decided to reminisce. Nonetheless, after today’s revelations and ultimatums, it presented a welcome relief.

  “It was…” she waved a hand in front of her nose, scrunching up her face. “That was an interesting afternoon.” Mary seemed lost in thought for a long second. “Do you think God will let birds shit on the couches in Heaven?” she asked.

  They laughed.

  Digging into his laghmen, a delicate noodle dish with chicken and a hearty blend of vegetables, Caleb allowed himself to ponder the Sue situation. He felt thankful for the respite. It offered him the opportunity to think, absent his grandma’s persistent nagging. He frankly didn’t know much about elder abuse. It seemed plausible, what his grandma presented. Mary was not some random crazy who went around spouting conspiracy theories. He wondered where the story could go.

  He had to justify it to his boss, somehow. Chewing, he idly looked at the television, his eye caught by the movement cast by the flashing light. Another commercial. “Has… anyone else…” Caleb began. He didn’t finish. He didn’t want to complete the thought. The idea of someone, here in the nursing home where his grandma would finish her days, abusing vulnerable geriatric patients… it just seemed wrong.

  “Anyone else what?” Mary asked.

  Glancing over, Caleb laughed. He pointed, his hand shaking. He could feel the heat rising to his face. Tears streamed down his face. Getting up abruptly, he rushed to the bathroom. The sudden need to piss assaulted him.

  “What’s so damned funny?!” Mary yelled after him.

  Running the sink, he looked in the mirror, smiling. He shook his head. Splashing water on his face, he tried to gather himself before returning. Sitting back down on the bed, he saw with relief that his grandma had wiped up the stain on her face. “You had…” he gulped. It was hard not to fall back into another fit of mirth as he thought about it. “You had something on your… face.” Caleb said.

  “Yeah, I figured it out.” Mary said. She shot him a look. Then she smiled. “You know, it’s nice to have you over. You should come over more often,” she said.

  “I’ve been busy, gra’ma.” Caleb said defensively. He took another bite of food.

  “You should always make time for family, son.” Mary said.

  “You’re right.” Caleb responded, contrite. He lapsed into a contemplative silence for a moment, taking a few intermittent bites as he pondered the wisdom of his grandmother’s words. “You’re right,” he repeated.

  “What have you been busy with? You never tell me anything anymore. Now that you’re some hotshit reporter or whatever it is you do. Be honest. You probably just play mahjong on the computer,” Mary said. She FINALLY TOOK A BITE OF FOOD.

  “I don’t even think they have those games on the computers anymore.” Caleb said, shaking his head and smiling. He felt relieved. The weight had been lifted. Things seemed light and happy, congenial. Suddenly, Caleb experienced a sense of relaxation and even peace he hadn’t felt in quite a while. Which, he reflected, seemed odd, given the context. “I actually was writing about untested rape kits. There is a big backlog. In Portland and Eugene, but also throughout the country.”

  Mary’s eyes widened. She seemed shocked. She sat quietly for a moment, mouth open a little, staring at her grandson. Her shaky hand dropped the plastic fork of food she held onto the plate. “That’s… horrible,” she finally said. Then she smiled weakly. “But it’s interesting.” She wiped at her eye again. “I am… proud of you,” she said.

  “Well, let me remind me of the time where I stole all your money,” Caleb said.

  “You drunk piece of shit,” Mary retorted.

  They laughed. It was an amicable laughter. The sort of familiar, intimate mirth shared between two good friends of close family members. As Caleb slowly began to recover from this newest round of peals, he felt a sense of profound sadness pressing against his chest. His stomach started to feel sour. He shifted his weight and tried to avoid his grandma’s gaze.

  She was dying.

  She was going to die soon.

  Taking a sip of his drink, he bit the inside of his cheek so hard it drew blood. Caleb forced himself to stop thinking about that. They’d moved into a positive territory. A place where they were happy. They weren’t arguing. They merely shared and enjoyed each other’s company. A pang of guilt rippled through him as he experienced an acute awareness of the fact that he’d neglected to cultivate moments like these before.

  “Eat your food, gra’ma,” Caleb said.

  She took a few feeble bites. Mary’s complexion had paled. She seemed distracted suddenly. Lost in thought. After swallowing a chunk of food, she finally broke her silence. “I really am glad to see you’ve… changed. That job, it was… it was sucking your soul. It was a parasite,” she said.

  Caleb nodded. He looked at the ceiling. He heard rain pitter pattering against the roof. “Did it always rain like this?” he asked. Blinking, he turned suddenly and looked at his grandma. His mouth opened, but words refused to escape.

  “The rain surprises you?” Mary asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “No. I… I just remembered how old you are.” Caleb said.

  She laughed. “So flattering,” she said. She took another bite of food to appease her grandson. “ONE
HUNDRED ELEVEN years old.”

  “And you’re just now in a nursing home,” Caleb reflected.

  “The old dog for the hard road and leave the pup on the path,” Mary said.

  “What?” Caleb asked, shaking his head and making a face. He ate some food. It had grown cold.

  “Oh, it’s just something I heard. I think my mom used to say it. Irish proverb or something. I think it means us old folks get all the shit,” Mary said.

  Laughing, Caleb couldn’t help but feel a sense that time had somehow escaped him. He’d missed out on so much. Yet the opportunities had always been right there, waiting. This realization provoked a profound sadness somewhere deep inside. He looked over at his grandma, almost staring at her.

  “Quit lookin’ at me like that. You remind me of the creeps who used to gimme that look from the phone booth over by the Star Theater,” Mary said, shivering for effect. She turned up her nose and issued a little sneer as she turned away. Then she laughed. “Is it just hittin’ ya, all that you missed out on, son?” she asked.

  He nodded. Caleb shook his head. “How did you know?” he asked quietly.

  She smiled. “Oh, my dear boy. It’s a grandma’s job to know everything. We’re intuitive.” She cackled. “I’d say try to make a buck and get ‘em to open up my brain for science, but they probably don’t want my brain. Not unless they’re studying the effects of a lifetime of inhaling chemicals, cleaning up after men, hard liquor, and curse words.”

  “Well, I think you know every word to Bonanza,” Caleb said.

  This elicited another laugh from the centenarian. “The shows these days…”

  “Did you ever get to see Game of Thrones?” Caleb asked. He’d recently finished the last season, and had been profoundly disappointed with the denouement. Most people, it seemed, had been, too, though it appeared that the rationales for the disdain and utter dissatisfaction stemmed from different opinions. He didn’t think his grandma would like such a show, but one thing he’d learned over the years was that one could never make assumptions about Mary Elizabeth Conway. She always had some surprise held close under her proverbial sleeve.