Gandhi's Guide to Getting By

chapter eleven

It's the fourth of July weekend. This means two things: one, I get a long weekend; two, Gran is coming to visit. Dad didn't see that one coming. None of us did. Summer is usually Gran's busy time with the prayer warriors. Spring break as well. In Gran's based-on-neither-common-sense-nor-intellect-universe, warm weather, combined with free time, encourages illicit behavior amongst the "reading idle", a group "collectively represented by America's college population". First year Harvard, she sent me an article entitled, The Undeveloped Brains of America's Young Adults and their Subsequent Susceptibility to Bleeding-Heart Politics. I looked up the author. No surprise I finally found him on a site called, America's Undiscovered Commedians.

"Your grandmother should be here any minute," Mom says. She gives the clock in the kitchen a quick glance. "I still think we should have picked her up from the airport."

"It's not like you didn't offer." I'm helping Mom with the potatoes. She usually doesn't like help in the kitchen, but she's been weird all day so when she said, "Emma, could you just peel the potatoes", I said, "Of course".

"I just," Mom's hand wipes a loose strand of hair that's fallen over her eyes, "I wish Alex and your grandmother could get along. Look at us, well maybe not your father, but you and me, we think she's crazy and yet we still manage to get along with her."

"That's because we keep our thoughts to ourselves," I say. Poor Mom. It bothers her that Gran prefers to cab it to our house rather than risk Ax accompanying Mom to the airport.

The potatoes finished, I ask Mom if there's anything else. "No," she says. I help myself to a glass of water. I'm supposed to meet Anne in an hour. I was hoping to see Matt as well. I've been thinking about him all week. He texted yesterday to say he was working through the weekend, but maybe we could grab a quick lunch on Monday. As for the rest of my friends, Stella doesn't get back from Paris until tomorrow, Jen is off with Bluey somewhere in the Catskills, Kate is working through the weekend, and Shelby is "busy", whatever that means.

"Gran's here," Ax yells. She races out of the den where she's been watching The Fourth of July, and flies towards the front door. She's got a baseball cap in one hand and is opening the door with the other.

Ax anxious to see Gran? No way is this going to be good. Mom must be thinking the same thing because she's practically running to keep up with Ax. I run behind Mom because you usually have to pay to see live comedy.

This is my sister's greeting to my grandmother: "Did you bring a gun?" This is my grandmother's reply: "What?"

"I asked if you brought a gun."

"No, of course not. What kind of a question-- Liv, what kind of a question--" Gran doesn't finish her sentence. She's actually struck mute by the word OBAMA written, by Ax, on the baseball cap she's now put on her head. Poor Gran. She has to sit down and take her pills because she never in her life imagined she'd one day have a granddaughter who so openly supported "terrorist loving people".

"Don't worry, Gran," Ax says. "Remember, you're praying for me. And if that doesn't work, you can always shoot me."

"Alex!" Mom's voice is about as sharp as it ever gets. Ax looks at Mom and mouths, We should have installed some metal detectors just in case she's lying about the gun.

"You didn't drop her on her head when she was little or anything, did you, Liv?" Gran says before Mom can formulate a reply to Ax.

"What kind of a question is that?"

"One I've been meaning to ask for awhile."

"I'm not even answering--"

The doorbell. It's Linny. She wears one of the t-shirts she and Ax spent the week "creating". This one reads, Mitt Romney is as blue collar as George Bush is smart.