I wrote this a while back under the title "Grandma Memories". I thought I should put it back up - it's really one of the better stories I've come up with. Enjoy!
-----------------------------------------------------
I’m in a bland car, riding with a bland woman who is listening to bland music, and I am thinking of grandma. The woman in the backseat isn’t bland at all, she is very aware, and she is the reason for my current train of thought. She looks nothing like my grandma but that doesn’t matter because she gave me the same look grandma used to give me when I came to visit, and that was enough. You are up to no good. I know this because I was up to no good when I was your age, and I can recognize the other outlaws. She’s right, of course. I am up to no good.
-----------------------------------------------------
At the rest stop, when the bland woman had asked me where I was headed it startled me because the old folks don’t pick up hitchhikers. “Eugene,” I had replied in a shocked voice. “I can get you to Salem, will that help?” she said. “Thank you,” I murmured in relief as I gathered my bag. Salem would be a big help.
Now, my visor is down because it is daytime and I am cursed with silver eyes that hate the sun. I glance briefly in the vanity mirror and catch her looking at me. “What are you going to Eugene for?” she queries in an ancient, gravelly voice.
“Mother!” says the bland woman. “That is impolite! It’s none of our business.”
“I’m going to visit my sister,” I respond weakly, because it is a half-lie, and I cannot lie to this woman any better then I could lie to grandma. She arches her eyebrows at me but says nothing. I flush because the lie is so obvious. She is letting me stew in it; I remember this trick. I struggle not to spill everything.
-----------------------------------------------------
I am going to see my sister, but she doesn’t know I am coming. She wouldn’t welcome me if she did know because the only reason I would visit her is to take her home, away from Adam, who feeds her addiction. I am plotting a kidnapping, masquerading as a rescue mission, and she would know this. She may be a junkie now, but she is a smart junkie.
The woman in the back begins humming along to the radio. It sounds like a song by the Carpenters. Grandma used to hum in the car to Captain and Tenille I think. She would have found this bunch very boring.
I am not boring though; I have a borrowed pistol in my bag, and that makes me a girl on the edge. My sister is smart, she can be reasoned with, but she is also helplessly ensnared in Adam’s addiction trap. I am horrified at myself for having a gun. I am terrified about bringing it because I know I’m going to use it if the need arises. I’m going to do anything I have to in order to get my sister back home, and this old outlaw woman can see it all over my face.
-----------------------------------------------------
We are at another rest stop, just north of Portland. Apparently it wasn’t fate that brought the old woman to me, just a weak bladder. Either way, I am grateful for the ride. I bend over to scratch a bite on my ankle, and when I stand back up she is there next to me. I feel my insides turn to jello. I know she is about to say something that will change my life, and I am afraid to hear it. She lets out an impatient sigh.
“Silly girl, you are carrying a wrecking ball in a bowling ball bag. You should set that puppy down before you break your back." She looks at me piercingly and continues. "Remember, once you've done it, you've really gone and done it.” She nods, satisfied. She has imparted her wisdom and is done. She moves away from me.
I stand there silent as she makes her way slowly back to the car. I feel tears starting to fill my awful, photophobic eyes. I can hardly breathe.
Two hours later
I look longingly at the northbound rest stop vending machines, and stare sadly at the two quarters in my wallet. It’s not enough. I feel slight regret about turning down the bland woman’s offer of five dollars for lunch, but I can’t see my way to taking money from old women on pensions.
I have stopped thinking of her as the bland woman and started thinking of her as the motherly woman. She was very concerned when I thanked her for the ride and told her I had decided not to go to Eugene after all. I wished her and her mother well and watched them drive away, the wise old woman smiling and waving at me from the back seat. She must like it back there where she can see everything in front of her I think warmly.
The gun is buried in a garbage bin at the southbound rest stop, across the freeway from me. As punishment for loaning it to a fool like me in the first place, the person I borrowed it from will now have to learn to live without it. My sister is smart, eventually she will get herself away from Adam. My becoming a felon is not going to help her learn to help herself. I have a life that needs living - I can’t afford to take these chances, even for her.
I am somebody too. A somebody who needs lunch and a ride home.
No comments:
Post a Comment