DEAD DUCK

GRAMMY: Well, that was a fiasco, wasn’t it?

ME: What kind of children’s play was that? I saw Peter and the Wolf. The duck didn’t die.

GRAMMY: Damned idiot used the Russian version. At least Disney gave the boy a gun.

ME: There’s another version? Where the duck does die?

GRAMMY: No, he doesn’t die. The damn thing gets swallowed up whole and lives unhappily ever after in the belly of the wolf.

ME: Well, that’s just sick. Who would write a story like that for children? And what kind of woman puts on a play like that for kids?

GRAMMY: Wouldn’t have happened if they gave the boy a rifle. If he had a rifle, he could have shot the wolf before it ate the duck. If he had a rifle, he’d be a hero instead of a screaming sack of Jello.

ME: Well, I’m not putting up with this. I’m starting a petition to have that woman fired.

GRAMMY: Fired? I say we shut this sucker down. This is America, damn it. The boy should have had a gun! Where the hell is the NRA when you need them?

Photo Curious Expeditions

HOOKER

GRAMMY: What’s with the get up? You look like a two dollar hooker on a Saturday night. Gonna hang out on the corner with the rest of the girls?

ME: No, Grammy. Jules got me a part in a play he’s producing. It’s just a small part. I don’t say anything. I just stand there and smoke a cigarette.

GRAMMY: Ha! That’ll be the day. Here. Take a drag. You’re gonna need the practice.

ME: I don’t need the practice. The cigarette won’t be lit. You can’t smoke in a public building.

GRAMMY: Don’t I know it. So. You gonna get paid for this acting gig?

ME: No, Grammy. I’m doing Jules a favor. The girl who normally plays the part isn’t feeling well.

GRAMMY: So let me get this straight. You don’t speak, you don’t smoke, and you don’t get paid. Is there anything you do get to do?

ME: Yes. I get to sleep with the producer.

GRAMMY: Oh, now there’s a treat. Sex with an asexual idiot. Lord, some hooker you turned out be. At least a hooker gets paid.

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LUNCH

ME: Grammy? What happened to the fish I bought you? There were four, now there’s only one.

GRAMMY: That damned cat of yours decided to have one for lunch.

ME: Oh, no!

GRAMMY: Oh, yeah. Then Julius decided to give it a try. Swallowed his down quicker than the cat.

ME: He . . . he ate it?

GRAMMY: Well, what else would he do with it? The kid is a bag of bones. He must be starving on that diet of tofu and leaves you feed him.

ME: But . . . it was a fish. It was . . . alive. And you let him eat it?

GRAMMY: I didn’t let him, Barbara. I told you he was quick about it. And what’s the big deal? Haven’t you ever heard of sushi?

ME: Grammy!

GRAMMY: Oh, calm down. I made it to the fishbowl before he ate the rest.

ME: But then, what happened to the third fish?

GRAMMY: . . . . .

ME: Grammy?

GRAMMY: Well, I had to see what all the fuss was about. They don’t taste half as good as they look.

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GUNS

ME: Guess what, Grammy? Julius is now a member of the Little Folks Drama Club. He’s going to be acting, just like his father.

GRAMMY: Now there’s something to look forward to. I hope he’s better at it than his father, otherwise you’re going to have two men to support.

ME: I don’t support, Jules, Grammy.

GRAMMY: No. You just give him your hard-earned cash while he loafs. Too bad we don’t live in a time before DNA and fingerprints. We could arrange a nice little accident for the loser. Or better yet, I could challenge him to a duel.

ME: Jules would never agree to that, Grammy. He loathes guns. And why are we even talking about this?

GRAMMY: Damned if I know. You’re the one who brought it up.

ME: Me? I was talking about Julius. They’re picking parts today for Peter and the Wolf. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if he got to play Peter?

GRAMMY: Sure would. He’d get to carry a rifle and capture a wolf.

ME: Peter carries a rifle?

GRAMMY: (forming rifle with hands) Sure does. KABOOM!

Photo Eugenio Recuenco

KINDLIFRESSER

ME: Grammy, have you been telling stories to Julius again?

GRAMMY: I tell him stories all the time. What’s the problem now?

ME: His teacher sent home a note. He’s scaring all the other kids. He’s telling them he has an invisible friend called Kindlifresser who kidnaps and eats little children.

GRAMMY: And the problem?

ME: Why would you tell him a story like that?

GRAMMY: Because you named the kid Julius. Because you dress him like a little girl. Because if he isn’t scary in some way, he’s going to get the crap beat out of him everyday for no other reason than that he exists.

ME: I don’t dress him like a girl, Grammy. And it’s first grade. No one’s going to beat him up.

GRAMMY: That’s for sure. Not as long as he has a friend like Kindlifresser

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DANCING

ME: Grammy, are you dancing?

GRAMMY: What if I am?

ME: Sorry, Grammy. It’s just . . . .

GRAMMY: It’s just old people aren’t supposed to dance. Isn’t it. We’re supposed to shrivel up and die.

ME: No, Grammy. That’s not what I meant at all. I just didn’t know you liked to dance.

GRAMMY: Well, I do. Or I used to. I dreamed of being a ballerina once upon a time.

ME: Really, Grammy? What happened?

GRAMMY: What happened? I was born at the wrong damn time, that’s what happened. War. Influenza. Depression. More war. Who the hell had time to think about themselves? Hey! What are you doing? Let me go.

ME: Sorry, Grammy. You’re not dead yet and we have all afternoon.

GRAMMY: You’re trying to kill me. Aren’t you? It’s payback for telling Julius to wash your sofa.

ME: Well, now that you mention it - prepare yourself, Grammy. You are about to be dipped!

GRAMMY: Oh Lord. I knew I should have had that whiskey with lunch.

Photo: Vlad Artazov

HIDE AND SEEK

ME: Grammy, have you seen Julius? I can’t find him.

GRAMMY: I sent him outside to play.

ME: By himself?

GRAMMY: No. With the neighborhood kids.

ME: Oh my God! What were you thinking, Grammy? Anything could happen to him out there.

GRAMMY: Yeah. He could make a friend. Grow up a bit. Where are you going?

ME: To look for him. Where else?

GRAMMY: Lord, if anyone in this world needs a shrink, it’s her. (sigh) Okay, Julius, you can come out now.

JULIUS: Did I win?

GRAMMY: You certainly did. Now pull up a chair and see if you can beat an old lady at checkers.

TOPIARY

GRAMMY: Oh, geez, he’s at it again.

ME: Who, Grammy? At what?

GRAMMY: That artist fella next door. Thinks he’s a regular Edward Scissorhands.

ME: Maybe you should try your hand at some art, Grammy. I could get you one of those bonsai trees. You know, like in the Karate Kid.

GRAMMY: Yeah. And after I mangle it to death with these arthritic hands, I can use them to choke the breath out of you. You know, like in The Claw.

ME: That was a good movie. Wasn’t it?

GRAMMY: (sigh) Well, that was a waste of perfectly good sarcasm.

Photo Myrtle Tickner

BUS STOP

ME: You look awful happy today, Grammy. What’s up?

GRAMMY: Did you see the paper this morning? Looks like they finally did something about those noisy brats on the corner bus stop. You can bet your ass there won’t be any more trouble with that guy around.

ME: Grammy, that’s not here. That’s in Iraq.

GRAMMY: Iraq? Where that Obama guy is?

ME: No, Grammy. It’s Osama. And he’s in Afghanistan.

GRAMMY: You just said it was Iraq?

ME: The picture’s Iraq. Osama’s in Afghanistan. Obama’s in the White House. He’s the President.

GRAMMY: Obama-Osama! Who the hell cares? I just want to know if those hell-hounds at the bus stop are going to be taken care of!

ME: (sigh) Yes, Grammy. The kids at the bus stop will start behaving better. I’m sure that man will see to it.

GRAMMY: Hmmm. I don’t know. They are smiling. They should have given that guy a bigger gun.

SCHOOL DAYS

GRAMMY: So how was the boy’s first day of school?

ME: Not good. He fell in a puddle getting off the school bus and got soaked. I had to bring him dry clothes. Why did it have to rain?

GRAMMY: Oh, Karma, maybe?

ME: Oh, Grammy. You’re not still mad about that, are you? We’ve been over it and over it and . . .

GRAMMY: Calm down, Barbara. I was just kidding.

ME: Oh. Sorry, Grammy. For a minute, I thought you were still mad. So. Did I tell you Julius decided to help out yesterday by ‘washing’ the sofa? With lemonade.

GRAMMY: Really? Maybe he thought the lemonade would make it smell nice.

ME: You know, Grammy, that’s exactly what he sai . . . Grammy!

GRAMMY: Seven minutes and twenty-eight seconds, Barbara. If it happens again, I’m gonna teach him some fancy wiring.

REMINISCING

ME: Well, Grammy, this is it. Then end of another summer. Where does all the time go?

GRAMMY: Oh, I’d say it gets eaten up by walks in the park. Being left in the rain.

ME: I said I was sorry, Grammy. And I did come back for you.

GRAMMY: Seven minutes and twenty-eight seconds, Barbara. You left a hundred year old woman standing in the pouring rain for seven minutes and twenty-eight seconds.

ME: I was having a bad day, Grammy. I told you. My furnace died, they cut my hours at work, and the closer we get to school, the worse off Julius seems to be. When you started complaining, I guess I just lost it. It won’t happen again. I promise. Now say you’ll forgive me.

GRAMMY: .......

ME: Grammy?

GRAMMY: Oh, I’ll think about. But in the meantime, I wouldn’t sleep so soundly if I were you.

RAIN

ME: Doesn’t this rain feel nice, Grammy? It’s been such a long, hot summer.

GRAMMY: Nice, schmice. If you don’t get me out of this soon, I’ll melt away like the wicked witch of the west.

ME: The car’s just down the street, Grammy. We’re almost there.

GRAMMY: I shoulda stayed home. What the hell do I need a walk in the park for? I’m not a dog. I know how to use a toilet.

ME: Really, Grammy. It’s just a little rain. Do you have to complain about everything?

GRAMMY: As long as everything sucks, I do. And what are you so mad about? Hey! Where are you going?

ME: I’m sticking you in a tree. Get yourself down and you’ll be happy about something.

GRAMMY: ????? Well, at least I know she listens.

SHRINKWRAP

GRAMMY: What’s wrong with Julius? He seems more depressed that normal.

ME: He’s nervous about school. Next Wednesday will be his first day of first grade. His psychiatrist said . . . .

GRAMMY: His psychiatrist? You take a six year old boy to a psychiatrist?

ME: It’s just to talk, Grammy, and sort things out. Divorce can be very traumatic for a child.

GRAMMY: How traumatic can it be, Barbara? You got divorced while he was still in the womb. Stick him in a tree and walk away.

ME: What?

GRAMMY: Stick him in a tree and walk away. He’ll find his own way down and feel better about himself for doing it.

ME: That’s ridiculous, Grammy. What if he falls out? What if he breaks an arm or a leg. Or worse.

GRAMMY: Good God, Barbara. I didn’t say it has to be a tall tree. And what if he does break an arm? What the hell do you think show and tell is for?

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