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Authors: Lorna Landvik
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refrigerator, and a sectional couch, all in one trip.
“Great! I’ll pick you up at seven, then.” She poked her head out and looked down the hallway.
“Coast is clear,” she said, and although she didn’t wink, her smile made it seem as if she had. “See you later, Joe.”
“Innt ma Krissi the preesing eur seen?”
I shrugged helplessly.
“Innt ma Krissi the pressing eur seen?”
“Thank you, Grandma,” said Kristi to the old woman whose bed we stood around. To me she said, “She’s asking you if you don’t think I’m the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen.”
I gave a big, enthusiastic Boy Scout nod. “I do, Mrs. Swenson. I sure do.”
Kristi laughed.
“Way to force a compliment out of him, Grandma.” She went to the dresser I had helped her move, and rummaged through the top drawer.
“I’m going to brush your hair, Grandma,” she said, finding a brush. “It looks kind of wild.”
“Ese ays zas a ashon.”
“She says that’s the fashion these days.” Kristi laughed again, a laugh I hadn’t heard from her before, sweet and light.
Very gently, she swabbed the woman’s thin white hair with the brush she found in the drawer. “I can come right after school tomorrow, so I’ll wash it for you then.”
A semblance of a smile lifted one side of the twisted grimace that was Mrs. Swenson’s mouth.
“Ill eu iv e a ehicur too?”
“A pedicure, a manicure, anything you want, Grandma.”
The old woman looked at me, her blue eyes full of the life the rest of her body seemed to have given up on.
I smiled at her, and instead of smiling back, she winked.
Kristi pretended to swat her with the brush.
“Stop flirting, Grandma. Joe’s too young for you.”
“I ike eh yeh.”
“Well, he’s
too
young. You’d be corrupting a minor.”
The old woman’s laugh was more a cackle, and drool spilled out of the side of her mouth that couldn’t move.
“But I’ll turn eighteen in February,” I said, because even though the drool was a little gross, I liked hearing that laughter.
“E sti ey art,” said Mrs. Swenson, her good hand patting the left side of her chest.
Kristi didn’t have to translate that for me.
“Yes, be still,” I said, pretending to calm my own rapid heartbeat by patting my chest and a moment later, a nurse’s aide came into the room, asking what all the merriment was about.
“She’s only sixty-nine,” said Kristi as we stood in a jerky elevator that smelled like one of those casseroles—maybe tuna noodle—that stinks a little like vomit. “I know she seems a lot older, but that’s because of the stroke.” The elevator groaned as if the cables were overstretched. “You should have seen what she was like before it.”
“When…when did it happen?” I said, almost unsure of how to talk to Kristi when she was so un-Kristi-like.
“Last year. She was having coffee at the bakery when her friend said all of a sudden—bang!—‘the donut flies out of her hand and she drops to the floor.’” She pressed her frosted lips together and shook her head. “I used to spend nearly every weekend with her when I was little. She was so much fun—we’d make popcorn balls and watch Lawrence Welk together. I know that doesn’t sound like much fun, but it was.”
The elevator bounced to a stop and the doors opened with a quiet groan.
“What about your grandpa?” I asked as we stepped into the over-heated lobby, which smelled even more strongly of that casserole with questionable ingredients.
“Oh, he died when I was seven. And I never even knew my dad’s parents. Grandma Dorothy’s all I’ve got left.”
Her voice was so sad, so lonely, that I had to put my arm around her. She rested her head on my shoulder for a moment, and even though I might have looked like a concerned and caring guy, the only thought jumping around like a monkey in my head was:
Did I earn another blow job? Huh? Huh? Did I? Did I?
Five
----
From the
Ole
“Great! I’ll pick you up at seven, then.” She poked her head out and looked down the hallway.
“Coast is clear,” she said, and although she didn’t wink, her smile made it seem as if she had. “See you later, Joe.”
“Innt ma Krissi the preesing eur seen?”
I shrugged helplessly.
“Innt ma Krissi the pressing eur seen?”
“Thank you, Grandma,” said Kristi to the old woman whose bed we stood around. To me she said, “She’s asking you if you don’t think I’m the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen.”
I gave a big, enthusiastic Boy Scout nod. “I do, Mrs. Swenson. I sure do.”
Kristi laughed.
“Way to force a compliment out of him, Grandma.” She went to the dresser I had helped her move, and rummaged through the top drawer.
“I’m going to brush your hair, Grandma,” she said, finding a brush. “It looks kind of wild.”
“Ese ays zas a ashon.”
“She says that’s the fashion these days.” Kristi laughed again, a laugh I hadn’t heard from her before, sweet and light.
Very gently, she swabbed the woman’s thin white hair with the brush she found in the drawer. “I can come right after school tomorrow, so I’ll wash it for you then.”
A semblance of a smile lifted one side of the twisted grimace that was Mrs. Swenson’s mouth.
“Ill eu iv e a ehicur too?”
“A pedicure, a manicure, anything you want, Grandma.”
The old woman looked at me, her blue eyes full of the life the rest of her body seemed to have given up on.
I smiled at her, and instead of smiling back, she winked.
Kristi pretended to swat her with the brush.
“Stop flirting, Grandma. Joe’s too young for you.”
“I ike eh yeh.”
“Well, he’s
too
young. You’d be corrupting a minor.”
The old woman’s laugh was more a cackle, and drool spilled out of the side of her mouth that couldn’t move.
“But I’ll turn eighteen in February,” I said, because even though the drool was a little gross, I liked hearing that laughter.
“E sti ey art,” said Mrs. Swenson, her good hand patting the left side of her chest.
Kristi didn’t have to translate that for me.
“Yes, be still,” I said, pretending to calm my own rapid heartbeat by patting my chest and a moment later, a nurse’s aide came into the room, asking what all the merriment was about.
“She’s only sixty-nine,” said Kristi as we stood in a jerky elevator that smelled like one of those casseroles—maybe tuna noodle—that stinks a little like vomit. “I know she seems a lot older, but that’s because of the stroke.” The elevator groaned as if the cables were overstretched. “You should have seen what she was like before it.”
“When…when did it happen?” I said, almost unsure of how to talk to Kristi when she was so un-Kristi-like.
“Last year. She was having coffee at the bakery when her friend said all of a sudden—bang!—‘the donut flies out of her hand and she drops to the floor.’” She pressed her frosted lips together and shook her head. “I used to spend nearly every weekend with her when I was little. She was so much fun—we’d make popcorn balls and watch Lawrence Welk together. I know that doesn’t sound like much fun, but it was.”
The elevator bounced to a stop and the doors opened with a quiet groan.
“What about your grandpa?” I asked as we stepped into the over-heated lobby, which smelled even more strongly of that casserole with questionable ingredients.
“Oh, he died when I was seven. And I never even knew my dad’s parents. Grandma Dorothy’s all I’ve got left.”
Her voice was so sad, so lonely, that I had to put my arm around her. She rested her head on my shoulder for a moment, and even though I might have looked like a concerned and caring guy, the only thought jumping around like a monkey in my head was:
Did I earn another blow job? Huh? Huh? Did I? Did I?
Five
----
From the
Ole
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