by Emma Ammirati

 

 I was sitting in my backyard, on the crisp grass; the sun was soaking into my blue sweater, and I had just taken a large bite of pizza, when my phone started to buzz.

“Mmmgh?” I struggled to swallow quickly, before my grandma started to shout into the phone.

            “Oh, thank the Lord! I was worried you wouldn’t pick up the phone, my dear, but lo and behold you did!”

            “Would you like to call back when you’ve gotten over the immense shock this must cause you, Granny?”

            “What was that, lamb chop? Anyway, you will not believe what just happened!                                                        

             Emma? Are you listening to me?”

Of course, I was listening, but every time she gave me a pet name, like lamb chop, lambiekins, mousiekins, ducky,  honey bear, sweetie pie, muffin, poodle, bunny, or  Barbieshoestring, a disturbing image of my face stuck on the head of a sheep or on a muffin came to mind. It got even more complex when she mixed and matched the names. Sometimes it would be muffinlambchop, honeyclothespin, or poodleducky.

            “Yes, I’m still here,” I said, rolling my eyes.

            “Don’t you roll your eyes at me, young lady!”  Grandma Q had a strange sort of super-power where she knew just about everything. And apparently she could see from a great distance since she was calling from the suburbs of Chicago, and, as far as I knew, I was still in Berkeley.

            “So,” she continued, “Somebody left the back door open, so I went inside to make a little green Jell-o for your grandfather, when I heard some scraping and scratching. I thought, my goodness, it must be rats again! Those darned things are always after the gourmet cheeses your grandfather and I do enjoy so.”

 The rats came because Grandma hated leftovers, and so she fed them to the neighborhood raccoons.  Word must have gotten around.

            “I tip-toed into the living room, and there, doing his business on my rug, was a cat. And I mean holy aioli! I was in a pickle because I wanted to get the little villain out, but at the same time I couldn’t move one inch, because I was afraid that if I did, I would get my eyes scratched out.  I felt like such a dingbat, just standing there while that creature looked at me like I was dinner!”

            Grandma Q never swore, and so when she was upset or scared she acted as if she was surrounded by three year olds. When I was six years old, my sister and I were eating dinner with our grandparents, and Grandma Q was telling us how disappointed she was that she was unable to pick up the brand of pâte de fois gras that she likes. I swore. And then I swore again. Out of compassion, of course, since I was dreadfully sorry she couldn’t buy that pâte.   She looked at me, and said, “You have a dirty mouth.” And then she picked my plump self up with one arm, and washed my mouth out with her lavender dish soap. She told me that the next time I swore, she would mail me to Timbuktu. I never swore after that, or, at least, not when she was around.

            “. . . I told myself that I just must do something, but the very second I lifted my foot forward the little rascal streaked past me, and clawed its way up my walls, for heaven’s sake! So I shouted at that animal ‘Get out of here! And don’t you ever come back, Mister!’ and, with a nod of his head, he kicked his back paws into a handstand (or pawstand, in this case) and padded outside.”

            “He did a handstand?”

            “Well, yes, of course, that’s what they do, you know. And I wanted to tell you because I think he’s following me.”

            “Why do you think that? And where are you?”

            “I’m standing at your back gate, little muffin! I mean, where else am I to go? I desperately needed to get out of the house, in case the rascal decided to come back with a few friends.”

            “Grandma ! Does Grandpa know you’ve come to visit?”

            “Oh, you know how your grandfather is when he’s gardening. I left him a scented note by the hydrangeas.”

            “Have you been standing there all this time? You could have just opened the gate because it’s not locked.”

 “Oh hogwash! I couldn’t just barge in. I had to let you know it was me, not some murderous stranger that has a craving for something cold and alcoholic.”

            “Okay, I’ll make you a drink.”

            “What makes you think I want one? “

            “Okay, then I won’t.”

            “Well, I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble, but you might as well, dear.”

            “Grandma, just open the gate and come in.”

            “I would, but any minute now my granddaughter will graciously open the gate to her luscious garden, as etiquette requires.”

“Alright. Just give me a minute. Bye.”

            “You are leaving me?” she shouted to the neighborhood.

Grandma Q stood before me in her best attire. Perched on a tangled mass of hair was what appeared to be a doll’s hat since her head was too large to fit inside. This did not matter to Grandma Q, she simply held the straw and fake flowers together with safety pins. She was wearing sweat pants and a purple and pink sweater, with tic-tac-toe on the back.

She wore bright purple eye shadow, and her face had so much powder on it she rather looked like she might be getting ready to audition for Banquo’s ghost in Macbeth. Her eyebrows were raised in an indignant arch, or, rather, lack thereof. When Grandma Q turned seventy, she got her eyebrows tattooed on. She told us it was because she did not think she could be taken seriously with gray eyebrows. Grandma Q looks her age that is until the eye comes to rest on the eyebrows. They are a bright orange and since she wanted a natural look she has a faint uni-brow as well.

            “Grandma, I’m looking right at you. You can close your phone now.”

            “Well, you’ve left me with no other option.”

          

 That night I had a dream where I was trying to encourage Cinderella to stand up to her stepmother. She told me I was being rude, and if I wanted to do her a favor I would get out. I was just about to smack that dimwit silly, when I woke up. Well, something woke me up. My clock glowed five AM. I looked for the source of my reluctant wakefulness, and saw that my phone was buzzing again. It couldn’t be my alarm because I didn’t have to get ready for school for at least another two hours. My phone told me that I had a missed call from an unknown number. I called it and Grandma Q’s voice answered the phone.

            “Hello? Is this Emma? If not, I’m sorry, sir, but you will have to call back another time. Now be a gumdrop, and hang up.”

            “Grandma Q? It’s me. What’s going on?

            “I’m in jail. Be a dear, and come pick me up.”

            “……………Why didn’t you call mom or dad?”

            “Why would I do a silly thing like that?  I would certainly have woken them up.”

Exasperated, I threw on a sweater and a pair of jeans, and ran a comb through my hair.  I, myself, had never actually been to jail, although there have been close encounters; I mean, who knew that at night a public swimming pool becomes private?  I did not really know what to expect. For all I knew, Grandma Q could be fighting off two gangsters and a feral cat. But I did what any good granddaughter would do, and devised a plan to rescue her. I would finally get to wear my Halloween costume again.

Pretending I was an assassin going for the kill, I quietly made my way to the front door.

            “Honey? What are you doing?”

I whipped my head around to see the CIA agent standing in her pink flannel nightgown. I had forgotten about mom’s weak bladder. Though Grandma Q aggravated me at times, I  love her, so I did my best to conceal my destination.

“Cindy lost a contact and she wants me to help her find it.” I held my breath while I saw mom’s brain working hard to decipher what I had said.

            “Well, okay, but why don’t you bring her that casserole? I’m sure she’s hungry.”

            “Mom, it’s not even light out yet.”

            “Nevertheless, it’s the neighborly thing to do, dear. Here, I’ll just wrap it up for you.”

            “But we aren’t even neighbors.”

            “For God sake, Emma! This casserole is two weeks old! Not even your sister will eat it, and just last week she asked me to make escargot. I can’t stand the stench of it any longer!”

            “Well, in that case, I’m sure she’ll enjoy it.”

Mom  proceeded to turn on all the lights in the house before she triple-wrapped the casserole in plastic wrap, wax paper, and aluminum foil. As she handed the casserole to me, she said, “Now be sure to be quiet on your way out so as not to wake your Grandma.”

 I grabbed the concoction, which I planned on throwing out before picking up Grandma Q, jumped in the car, and headed for the police station.

 

When I got there, I parked the car, and then I walked inside the station and saw two police officers cowering in a corner. Glancing over to the other side of the room; I saw Grandma Q had had the same idea as me, since she was also dressed as a nun.

            “What would your mother say? Knowing that you accused a holy nun of stealing, for God’s sake!  Why on earth would I want to steal? Shame on both of you! I am very disappointed, but since the Lord forgives us of our sins if only we admit to them, let me go, and your soul will be untarnished.” It was at this moment that Grandma Q saw me.

            Confusion flashed over her face, “Yes, and here’s Sister Angela to see why I’m not at the soup kitchen. I’ll just be going, boys. It was nice meeting you. I hope your couple’s counseling goes well, Jim.”

            “Well, thank you, Sister Margaret.”

            “If you ever have an emergency, you know who to call,” Ken said as Grandma Q and I left.

After a few steps towards my car, I couldn’t hold my silence any longer

“Grandma what happened? Why were you wearing a nun’s costume? You don’t even go to church.”

            “And the last time you were in a church, young lady, was when you were christened, so why, my shrimpbaguette, do you appear to be parading around town as a sister, hmm?”

We both burst into uproarious laughter until the tears streamed down our faces. Once I could breath without bursting into a fit of giggles, I said, “Now Grandma Q, tell me what happened.”

“I went to the 24-hour Safeway, like any law abiding citizen would, and when I walked inside, I saw a bottle of Autumn Aftershave lying on the ground. It seemed to me I was meant to have it, to give to Grandpa Joe.”

            “So you took it?”

            “Lordy Loo! The home of the damned would have to freeze over before I’d do such a thing! No, I simply picked it up, pondering its fate. When I looked up, I saw that a man was watching me, so I rushed to the Halloween department, and threw on a nun’s costume, running to the exit, but a very tall man was there, and he told me the police were here to take me to jail. I asked him, how could that be? When I got outside I looked down, and saw that my hand was still clutching the Autumn Aftershave. It was clear I had not stolen it, but merely held onto it in panic, and so I felt sure the two gentlemen in the blue uniforms would realize the store manager’s mistake.”

            “But you did steal it.”

“…When we got there it became clear to me that Policeman Jim and Policeman Ken were fooled as well. After twenty minutes of waiting for your tush to show up and get me out of this mess, I resorted to shaming the shirts off those gentlemen, and, praise the Lord, it worked!”

            “Hold it. What were you doing at Safeway that early in the morning anyway?”

            “I was trying to get away from that satanic cat! And this time he was standing on his back paws and was wearing a top hat and tie, no less!

            “Okay, let’s go home now. Mom thinks I’m helping Cindy find her contact.”

            “Why would you tell her a fib like that?”

I led Grandma to the car, and maybe it was my lack of sleep, but I could have sworn out of the corner of my eye I saw a gray cat standing on its front paws wearing a top hat. And a tie.  He winked, flicked his tail and was gone.