Posted: Aug 8, 08 2:56pm
(yes, brief & general constructive suggestions on making it better are welcome). This is pure fiction, w/c: 612
Laid to Rest
My grandmother is holding up great with this crowd. She stands at the buffet table hugging the mourners and clasping hands with family and neighbors alike. The table is loaded with great food – salads, hot dishes, breads and desserts of all kinds. Grandma made the lasagna herself, my grandfather’s favorite. It won’t last long, I know.
It did me no good to try to sit her down and take her jobs away. They say you need to keep busy when someone you love dies, and surround yourself with people, and she has been moving and talking non-stop since we laid my grandfather to rest this morning.
Lord, look at this room! Full! My nieces and nephews have grown a foot and aged ten years since I last laid eyes on them, three, four, years ago - the little navy polyester suits and ruffled dresses giving way to short skirts and hoop earrings and whitewashed jeans with Dr. Martens. The once-babies are now lurching around the room in cammo jump suits.
My Uncle Dominick has brought around his new bride for the first time after his divorce from my Aunt Kareena, who is stuffing chocolate cake into her mouth all alone in a corner of the room. I notice Uncle Dom has taken to combing his hair over his naked skull and dressing in cargo pants, and the new lady resembles a young gazelle, long neck raised and ears pricked for danger.
The screen door to the front porch closes after my grandmother and then I see my mother follow her out. I need a little fresh air myself.
“Cherish your moments together, Veronica. You too, Libby,” she says to me. “It doesn’t last forever.”
Under dark glasses she seems to study the wide floorboards of the porch, recently repainted a shiny gun-metal gray. “Now I’d give anything to see old Joe swing through that door and ask me ‘What’s for chow?’”
“How can you live so close to the street, Ma,” my mother asks. Her arm sweeps the street lined with parked cars, most of them belonging to our guests. “You’re going to need a smaller place, a cozy place you can manage better.”
My grandmother huffs at her. “See those old growth trees between the sidewalk and street? Sycamores. Look at them. How often do you see that? Don’t try and stuff me into some old people’s Disneyland, Veronica,” she says.
“Now I’m going in to play the piano for the young people. I’ve had some requests.” And away she goes.
My mother shrugs. “Sorry she’s so mad. Maybe this isn’t the time to bring it up, but I’ve got more reasons to be mad.”
She hesitates. “My college money? Gone. Disappeared. One minute gaining interest. The next minute, poof!”
“Mom….”
My nephew Gregg steps out with his girl, senses a drop in the temperature, and falters over the introductions. “Misty” has spun gold hair and very little material between her neckline and her hemline. Snapping her gum nervously, she resembles a goldfish stranded on the carpet after jumping the tank.
Gregg takes a breath and wades in.
“Um, nobody said anything about a, ah, will being read. When does that happen?”
Dream on, I think to myself. After hearing about the squandered college money and other things I’ve heard over the years, I figure Gregg is barking up a tree with no green.
My mother laughs, somewhat inappropriately, I think.
“Libby, want to raid those dessert trays and fill your hollow spot with sugar?”
It sounds like a good idea to me. “Straight up,” I say. I wonder if Grandma still has some of that homemade red wine lying around.
