When the minute was up Grandma said, Okay! I thought, Oh! That was fast. Okay, Gladys, good luck and peace forever and bye! I hugged her on the beach. And in other news, said Grandma. I took a big breath and straightened my back. I looked at Mom. She was smiling. She looked friendly and calm. I’m going to California on Friday, said Grandma.
You are? said Mom. Yeah! said Grandma. She pointed at me. Swiv booked me a ticket. I’ve got an aisle seat.
Don’t look at me! I said. She had a gun to my head!
So it’s all booked, said Mom. She looked at me but I didn’t look at her. Yep, said Grandma. A fait accompli. She bounced her hands on the table. I stared at the photo of The Blob. This is the bullshit you’re in for, Gord, get ready.
Eventually, after Mom finished sighing and saying hmmm and shaking her head and blowing her nose six thousand times, she said well, I know you’re not asking for my permission or anything but it’s a super risky thing to do. Well, said Grandma, not really. Lou and Ken will meet me at their end and there are all sorts of people to help me along the way. There are? said Mom. Oh you know, said Grandma. They see a decrepit old woman like me and they just come a runnin’！ They just come skittering across the floor fighting over each other to come to my assistance. Who does? said Mom. Young men! said Grandma. They love to flirt with me. Gross! I said. Grandma pretended to act surprised. What do you mean, gross? she said. That’s how young men are! I covered my ears. Mom chortled. I’ll walk up and down the aisle every thirty minutes, don’t worry, said Grandma. Yeah, right, said Mom. We were all quiet for a while. Grandma smiled and hummed. Mom thought. I worried. Okay! said Mom, the same way Grandma had said okay! after the minute of travelling in our minds with bleeding, naked Gladys was up. Okay what? asked Grandma. I have an idea, said Mom. You should take Swiv with you.
Mom had finally said something that made sense. I wrote it on my calendar so I would never forget this day.
Swiv’s not going to school anyway, said Mom. I can’t go to school! I said. And you need a travel companion, she said to Grandma. A sidekick, said Grandma. My little Sancho Panza. The pitcher? I said. That’s Satchel Paige, said Grandma. I’d travel with him in a heartbeat. Swiv, get on the blower and book your ticket next to mine. Where’s your little suitcase?
Grandma and I did our victory dance for the third time that day. Let’s go to Hollywood! I said. Well, we’re going to Fresno, said Grandma. It’s the raisin capital of the world. Grandma asked Mom to saw up her latest Dick Francis for the trip. It’s called Dead Heat, said Grandma, it’s on my bed. Mom said she wouldn’t saw it up for ethical reasons. She refused to saw up books. What if you had to use some pages from a book to start a fire to stay alive? I said. You can’t throw the whole thing into the fire at once. You’d have to saw it up! Mom said she wasn’t going to saw up books or burn books. But to stay alive! I said. Swiv, said Grandma, can you do it? I’d do it myself but my hands are crazy right now. I looked at her hands. They were hard and curled up like the doorknocker on the giant door at the library. Mom looked at me. It was a moral dilemma. Why isn’t it ethical to saw up a book? I asked Mom. Grandma had already gone to her bedroom to get Dead Heat. She came back into the kitchen and plunked the book down on the cutting board and took the bread knife out of the drawer. Oh for fuck’s sake, said Mom. All right, I’ll do it. I’m gonna make a video that I can use to blackmail you about your ethics, I said. I took out my phone. Grandma laughed. She told me to go pack my little suitcase. I don’t know why she always calls it a little suitcase because it’s just as big as hers. Or should we share one? she asked. There’s no room for my stuff with all your drugs, I said. Mom was at the counter sawing away. She told Grandma to stop laughing and to sit down and catch her breath. She was huffing and puffing from walking to and from her bedroom too fast. I googled Fresno. It’s right in the middle of California. It has the worst air quality in the entire United States. I told Grandma she might not be able to breathe in Fresno and would die. She said what on earth are you talking about! You can barely breathe here, I said, and in Fresno you’ll probably die! Well, said Grandma, then it’s a good thing you’re coming with me. To watch you die? I said. To keep me from dying! said Grandma. How the holy hell am I supposed to do that! I said. I don’t want to watch you die in Fresno!
Grandma said she heard me. She’d watched many people die in Fresno. What! I said. Grandma started listing all the people she’d watch die in Fresno. My sister Irene, she said, my cousin Liesl. My other cousin, Simple Jake. What were you all doing there? I said. Were you in some kind of army? Grandma said she had a lot of relatives in Fresno because a bunch of people from her town of escaped Russians decided they didn’t want to freeze to death in Canada anymore, they wanted to suffocate to death from bad air instead. Listen, said Grandma, have I ever told you about my friend Huey?