Return to Neverland

Chapter 4

I was still mad in the morning. I couldn't even look at Grandma as I picked at my eggs. Charlie and Jamie were arguing about something, and Mom and Dad kissed my head before going to work.

Grandma did the same thing that she did yesterday. She abandoned her plate of food and rushed to her room. I didn't care, either. I just watched, uninterested, as her door clicked closed. Charlie and Jamie didn't seem to notice.

I washed the dishes, being cautious when it came to placing the dishes into the sink. Another broken dish would make my parents suspicious, and I wouldn't have that on my watch.

As I got dressed and cleaned my teeth, my mind went back to yesterday. "I'm only making pixie dust." She was holding the bag of sand that I had been curious about weeks earlier when we were unpacking. I saw - I touched - sand. It's what Mom meant by crazy, I decided. Even though I dropped the conversation, it was tucked in the back of my mind to think about another day.

I was watching TV in the living room, listening to Charlie's squeals of laughter. Jamie's giggling came after hers. I assumed that they were sword playing. Their wooden weapons could be heard tapping softly together. Jamie did a war cry, and I smiled. I lowered the volume of the television and listened. I knew that they would fight soon enough, but hearing them play was always refreshing.

Grandma came into the kitchen. I watched from the living room, keeping an eye out for anything weird. I had my proof that my parents were right that she was crazy, I just needed to prevent it.

She took the gallon of milk from the fridge. There was only half of the carton left, but the milk went by fast. Grandma walked to the sink, unscrewed the cap, and started pouring the milk down the drain. I yelped and ran into the kitchen.

"Grandma, what are you doing?" I cried. She turned her head but didn't answer. She just stared at me blankly, as if trying to see through me. I tried again. "What are you doing?"

This time, she answered. "I need this."

I took the gallon from her hands and screwed the cap back on. Most of the milk was gone, but I was able to save some. I put it back in the fridge. I took a couple of deep breaths. I went through the drawers until I found a Tupperware. I handed it to Grandma, but she pushed it away. I forced it into her arms. She muttered something under her breath and then went back to her room, the door closing softly behind her. After that incident, she stayed in her room and nothing strange happened.

Every night after everyone finished eating and I read Jamie and Charlie a fairy tale or two, Mom and Dad helped me wash the dishes. Mom washed, Dad soaked, and I dried. It was a pretty solid system, and we finished in less than ten minutes.

"We really need a dish washer," Dad cracked that joke every night. I smiled, waiting for the dishes to hit my station. It was true, we did need a dish washer. Mom and Dad had discussed it many times, but we never got to it.

"How was today?" Mom asked. I knew that she would ask that every day. I dried a plate. I didn't know how to respond. Today wasn't good but it wasn't bad, either.

"We need more milk," I finally answered. Mom sighed.

"Sweetie I know it's hard," she stopped cleaning the dishes. "Changes are always hard to deal with at first."

"She used to be different," I said. It was true. I remembered when I was four and hugging my grandparents. Grandma and I went shopping for new school clothes and got ice cream. That was when she had fewer wrinkles, though. Grandpa took baby Jamie and Dad to watch a movie or do 'guy stuff' while we were out. It was a moment that I had with normal grandparents. I felt a lump form in my throat.

"I know, honey," Dad smiled. "And it's hard. She's still your grandmother, though. That will never change. You just need to get to know her better." 

"Yes," Mom agreed. "She only moved in a couple weeks ago, remember that. Just promise me that you'll be patient with her. Yes?"

In my mind, I knew that I couldn't do that. If my grandmother was still in there, then she wouldn't have bottles hanging on the ceiling and weird pouches of sand with pretty ribbon sealing it. She wouldn't be pouring milk down the drain or just leaving to hide in her bedroom. I was going to tell my parents that I couldn't handle babysitting her every day and that she shouldn't be living with us, but in a retirement home where they could help her. I was going to have to tell them no.

I said yes.