She was a small lady, but she looked even smaller without her wig.
Actually, seeing her without the wig made me see her as old for the very first time.
Or maybe it was the clear oxygen tubes sticking out of her nose like some newfangled, crazy medical form of jewelry piercings.
Hey grandma, you look punk rock, I tell her, even though she’s not my grandma.
She was sitting, but I gave her a hug anyway. The angle was odd and I felt like I could break her in half. Despite her being nine pounds lighter, fresh from the hospital, light blue tubes spitting from her nose, I did not hold back my hug strength. I wanted to hug her full strength. The lights burning brightly in her eyes was telling me she needed it.
My eyes traced the aqua blue tube that tangled around her dated shag carpet...disappearing around the corner into her kitchen where I assume the oxygen tank was.
You’re sorta like one of those old fashioned deep sea divers grandma, I say loudly even though she’s not my grandma.
She smiles and I see those lights again.
We watch Deal or No Deal and if she misses hearing what the banker has offered she asks me, and I tell her.
She usually advises the contestant to not take the deal.
When she’s not paying attention I look over at her and her fuzzy white head. She has this little white fluff tuft right at the middle of her forehead and it reminds me of a baby bird for some reason. I wonder if she even realizes she’s not wearing her wig...she’s usually so vain about it.
Deal or No Deal ends and we flip channels until it stops on Borat, the movie.
Borat is about to share family photos of his sons and I warn Grandma (not my grandma) that she might want to close her eyes.
She sees the brown Polaroid penises on the screen while we all wince with embarrassment. Turning her head she scolds us with a matter of fact, don’t you remember how old I am? I’ve seen it all before.
But we’re still embarrassed.
By the time Borat gets to California, Grandma (not my grandma) is nodding off. I nudge her daughter with my foot and she gets up and helps her to bed. But not before we all stand up to hug her goodnight.
I bet you can’t wait to sleep in your own bed tonight, I say.
The hospital bed was terrible. I didn’t sleep at all, she responds.
Goodnight grandma, I say through my hug even though she’s not my grandma.
Goodnight honey she says back and when we draw apart, her baby bird fuzz hair brushes my cheek. Feels like angel eyelashes. Do they have eyelashes? I guess this is how they would feel.
xTx has been published in Thieves Jargon, Cherry Bleeds, Dogzplot, Zygote, and is upcoming in decomP, Robot Melon and Bull. She lives in Southern California but misses San Francisco. E-mail her at notimetosayit at gmail dot com.