Norman's Neighborhood

Fifteen

"Mrs. Etxeberri is a regular customer, isn't she?" asked Zachary.
"Yes, she's ordered food several times," his mother confirmed.
The family was seated at the dinner table finishing up leftovers. Norman lay on the floor between Yaya and Zane, his nose tucked between his front paws.
"We found out she's Logan Scott's grandma," Zoë said. "He was there with his parents, because their power is still out."

At the mention of Logan's name, Norman stood up and cocked his head. His ears perked up, and he whined softly.
"What's the matter?" Zane asked the dog. "Are you hungry?"
"He had some kotopoulo me ryzi at the same time Yaya did," Zoë informed her younger brother.
"κοτόπουλο -" he started, looking sideways at his mother. She didn't miss it.
"Zane," she warned, shaking her head and frowning at him.
"I was just repeating it in Greek!" he protested.
"Yeah, sure," muttered Zoë, shooting Zane a narrow-eyed glare.

Yaya didn't eat much, since she'd had a substantial mid afternoon snack, but she hadn't forgotten that Sam had promised a treat after dinner. Pushing her plate away, she announced,
"Time for dessert!"

Her son chuckled and got up to retrieve the surprise from the freezer. The dog followed with his eyes, and made a tentative step forward.
"Somebody can get bowls for me," Sam called out as he closed the freezer door. Zoë jumped up.
"I'll get them."

Noticing that Norman's gaze stayed on him all the way back to the table, Sam added,
"Get a little saucer for the dog. It's an extravagant treat, but he rescued your Yaya."
"That's the ice cream bowl!" Zane observed, blue eyes round in anticipation. "Did you make ice cream, Dad?"
"If you want to call it that - but you probably won't. It's pagotó kaïmáki; Greek style ice cream."

"Hmmm..." Zane mused, "I think," - he glanced at his mother - "Is it OK to say it, Mom?"
"If you're doing it to practice your own pronunciation, and not correcting someone."
The light bounced off Zane's rather thick lenses as he took a breath and intoned dramatically,
"παγωτό καϊμάκι!"

Spoons clanked against bowls as everyone tried the exotic confection. Norman sniffed the small portion on the saucer in front of him and gave it a cautious lick. Interesting... he'd recognized the words "ice cream" - he'd been given samples of ice cream by his family - but this was different. The flavor was similar to the scent of pine trees in a fresh breeze, infused with a faintly floral undertone. The texture was like nothing he'd experienced before. The ice cream didn't melt right away; it was stretchy and a little chewy. Norman swished it around in his mouth, making a little smacking sound.

"Yum!" Zane exclaimed enthusiastically. "It's good, Dad! What do you think, γιαγιά?", he asked his grandmother, who sat dreamily wallowing her tongue around the cold delicacy.
"Hmmm?" she murmured vaguely, aware that he was looking expectantly at her.
"Do you know what we're talking about, Yaya?" asked Zoë.
"Hmmm... Dragonflies?" Yaya answered uncertainly. Sam bit his lips and his eyes twinkled in amusement.

"The ice cream, Yaya," Zach corrected, smiling at the muddled old woman. "Your son -" he said, indicating Sam, "made it. Do you like it?"
"Ahhh... Lovely!" she replied, scraping the last bit from her bowl. "Is there more?"

A few minutes later, Yaya finished her second portion of ice cream. Watching her scrape the empty dish, Zoë realized that she was attempting to spoon up the swirly floral pattern.
"It's all gone," Zoë told her grandmother quietly, touching the old woman's arm. "That's just the pattern on the bowl."
"Well, I think I can get it if I just try a little harder!" declared Yaya, scritching the spoon against the bowl so that it made a grating sound. Zane immediately squeezed his eyes shut, stuck his fingers in his ears, and announced,
"Synapse failure!" Then, opening his eyes and cautiously removing his fingers from his ears, he looked around the table and continued,
"That word, synapse, comes from Greek. It means joining together. So, synapse failure is when the brain's connections don't come together. I read about it in an article about Alzheimer's disease."

"It's also a sign that she's tired," Valerie replied. "Ready for bed, Yaya?" She stood up. "Here's your walker; do you know the way to your room?"
Yaya grasped the edge of the table and stood, then turned and took hold of the metal frame. She backed up a little, then pushed her walker toward the hall. Scrape, rattle, rattle, scuff scuff... Yaya shuffled away, Valerie close behind.

Norman was tired too. His eyes wanted to close. He had moved out of the way when Yaya stood up, and now he sat patiently beside Zane's chair. The red-haired boy had stopped talking and returned to slowly savoring his pagotó kaïmáki. Norman's head drooped; he jerked it up, but it slowly sagged down to his chest again. Giving in, he allowed his legs to fold underneath himself. He sighed, sank to the floor, and drifted off to sleep wishing for his home.