Mira’s shrill hello sparkled through the sick-and-santized smell of Grandmother’s house as she skipped over to give Grandmother’s hand a squeeze. The old woman winced. She stretched out a thin arm, papery skin sagging, to caress the girl’s soft cheek and shifted in response to a shiver of pain that shadowed her movement.
“You’re sure you can take care of Mira, Mom? Your pain meds won’t make you too sleepy?” Mira’s mother asked, one hand on the doorknob.
Grandmother looked up from her easy chair as she ran her fingers through Mira’s hair. It fell in small waves just like her mother’s and grandmother’s own. Mira seemed visibly older, maybe taller, since Grandmother had come back from the hospital, although it had only been a few months, and the girl’s eyes had a flicker of shyness when she looked at Grandmother now. Mira picked at the thread of a faded embroidered rose on Grandmother’s armrest.
“Don’t you worry,” Grandmother smiled. “I don’t think I’ll be needing my meds today.”
“Call me if anything changes, okay? You know I hate to give her to you last minute—”
Grandmother shooed her, rings glistening in the half-shadowed room. “These things happen, honey.” Then she turned towards Mira and gently took her hand away from the armrest embroidery. “Besides, I always feel better when my Mira is here. She helps me out, doesn’t she?”
Mira giggled without looking at Grandmother in the face. She looked like a child angel, her face haloed by the light that shone through the open front door.
“Listen to your grandmother, Mira. Okay?” Mira’s mother raised her eyebrows and looked at Mira until she nodded. Grandmother smiled affectionately.
“I’ll be back in two hours, tops,” Mira’s mother said. She dug in her purse for her car keys with one hand and fiddled on her phone with the other. “Love you both, bye!” she called, and the door closed.
“Just us now,” Grandmother whispered to Mira conspiratorially, who had now crouched on the thick living room carpet and was tracing paths through the upright fibers, a figure wading through tall grasses, a boat cutting through calm waters. “Can you do me a favor, sweetie?”
Mira perked up. “Mm-hm?”
“Press that button on the side of my chair, okay? No, the other one. You can press it harder than that. There we go… so much better. Thank you.” Almost horizontal now, Grandmother shifted. A grimace masked her face for a moment. “Yes, much better.” But her face did not relax.
“Does it still hurt, Grandmother?” Mira asked. Her face now hovered over the elderly lady’s. Grandmother would usually turn her neck when the nurses’ faces floated too close, but she would allow Mira almost anything, in order to feel the comfort of her fresh youthful presence.
“My back? Oh, yes. All the time. That’s why you need to be a smart girl and be careful to never, ever fall down.”
“I skinned my knee two weeks ago and didn’t even cry.”
“Not at all? You’re a brave girl, then.” Grandmother chuckled, and Mira smiled back. “You get that from me, eh?”
“Well, I cried, but like, just a little.”
“Oh, everyone’s always a little scared,” whispered Grandmother, and Mira leaned in closer to hear her. “We’d be scared of skinning our knees even if we could prepare for it. Pain’s an awful thing,” she chuckled bitterly, her eyes towards the ceiling now.
“When is your back going to get better, Grandmother?”
“Soon. Don’t you worry about that.”
“But Mommy says it’s going to hurt you forever.”
“Well…” said Grandmother, caught in her lie.
“Are you scared of it hurting forever, Grandmother?”
“Things are more scary when you don’t know how long it’ll last,” Grandmother said to the ceiling. She continued to scrutinize the ceiling for a minute or so, and Mira wondered if she had forgotten she was talking to Mira in the first place.
“I want you to be like how you used to be, Grandmother,” Mira ventured.
“I want that too, sweetie. You can be a big help. I’ll feel better if you’re a good girl for me.”
“Mommy says you need to go back to the hospital to get better and stronger.”
“Oh, I’ve had quite enough of that.”
A silence stretched, filled by Grandmother’s deep sigh.
Mira sprawled on the carpet in the dappled sunlight. She picked up a used tissue by her head with the tips of her fingernails. “Gross,” she said, and tossed it away from her.
“Yes, old is gross,” Grandmother murmured. From where Mira lay, she could see the bottom of Grandmother’s socks, propped on the raised footrest. They had rubber dots on the bottom, like Mira’s.
“Your voice sounds funny. Can we play a game?”
“Not now,” said Grandmother. A strain hovered on the edge of her voice. “We can talk. You can ask me questions. That’s the game.”
“Do you have a favorite color?” Mira reached up from the floor and slid the television remote off the small table next to her grandmother’s chair, knocking down a box of tissues, Grandmother’s glasses case, and a stack of paperwork.
“No, not anymore. It used to be purple, like yours. The remote’s broken, give me that.” Grandmother reached her arm toward Mira, then gasped and screwed her eyes shut.
“Are you okay, Grandmother?”
Grandmother sighed and said nothing.
“Did you fall asleep, Grandmother?” Mira poked one of the rubber polka dots on the bottom of Grandmother’s foot.
“I wish, honey. A nice deep sleep would be just what I need to feel better.”
“What else do you wish? What’s your biggest wish?”
Grandmother cautiously reached up to rearrange her pillow. “Come up here where I can see you. I want to look at your pretty eyes.”
Mira hmphed and pushed herself tiredly off the floor. She stood next to Grandmother’s reclined chair, and reached to fiddle with the chunky metal ring on Grandmother’s index finger.
“What do you wish, Grandmother?” Mira asked again, louder.
“Oh, so many, many things.” Grandmother laughed softly. “When I was younger, I wished to live a long time, more than anything. And now I have, I’m old, and I’m still wishing for things. And it’s too late for most of them.”
“I’m going to live to 130,” announced Mira proudly. “I’m going to be the oldest person ever.”
Grandmother just smiled and patted Mira’s hand. Grandmother searched Mira’s face intently, her gaze roving. Mira could hear a fly’s buzz somewhere in the room, and looked away from Grandmother listlessly.
“I’m bored,” mumbled Mira.
“Your mother will be back sooner rather than later, I think.” Grandmother pursed her lips. She raised her wrist to observe her watch, squinted her eyes, then let her hand drop. Mira heard her murmur a phrase she couldn’t make out, in Italian, maybe. Grandmother had lived far away when she was Mira’s age, and would still say prayers and exclamations aloud in words that Mira never understood. Then her voice became clear again. “You know, missy, I’m bored too. Wishing and wishing is very boring. You’re always just one step from getting somewhere, but the waiting takes too long.” She paused. “What do you wish for, Mira?”
“I want to be a dog trainer when I grow up. You should get a dog, Grandmother.”
“I’m too old for that now, even if I wanted one. I used to have a dog. That must have been twenty years ago.”
“What happened to her?”
“Well, she had to leave me, as all dogs do, sooner or later.” Grandmother glanced toward Mira. But Mira had lost interest in the subject.
“Grandmother, I’m hungry.”
“There are some crackers on the kitchen table. I wish I could stand up to get them for you.”
Mira was already padding off.
“Mira?” Grandmother called. “Can you do me a favor?”
“Yeah,” came the voice from the kitchen. A wrapper rustled.
“I want you to do a very special favor for me, Mira. Under the sink, there’s a plastic jug with a bright green label and a pirate flag. You can’t read yet, can you?”
“Uh-uh.” Mira’s voice came from the kitchen, through sounds of crunching. “What does jug mean?”
“Just a bottle.”
Mira rummaged for a minute, then emerged from the cabinet, leaving other containers on the floor where she had tossed them as she searched.
“Why is there a pirate flag on it?” Mira asked, as she trotted back to Grandmother.
“It’s pirate water from a tropical island.” Grandmother took the jug from Mira and propped herself up, grimacing. She poured the clear liquid carefully into a tall plastic glass sitting on the side table, next to an unopened protein shake.
“Can I have some pirate water, too?”
Grandmother sucked in a breath. “No, Mira. You need to promise me to not drink my pirate water. It helps me with my pain.” She looked at her granddaughter forcefully. “Promise?”
“Why can you drink it and I can’t?” Mira retorted.
“It would be very bad for you.” Grandmother pursed her lips.
“And it’s not bad for you?”
“It’s not bad for me because my pain is worse. But I hope you’ll never feel like I do right now, honey. Or at least that it will be a very long time, a hundred and thirty years, before you ever do.”
Mira nodded pensively. “Okay. When’s Mommy coming back?”
“Soon. Mira, there’s one more thing I wish for, and I need your help. I want you to listen to me very carefully. Can you do that for me?”
Mira nodded eagerly.
Grandmother stretched a landline phone towards the young girl. “This is an old-fashioned phone. I put your mother’s number in. I need you to leave the room, close the door, and don’t come back in for any reason.” She paused to suck in a breath, then continued, “There’s a present for you in the hallway closet. When you’re in the hallway, press the green button to call Mommy, and tell her you need to be picked up right now. Do you understand?”
Mira nodded again.
“Repeat what I just told you.”
Mira did, a grin sneaking across her face during the part about the present. “Very good. When you call Mommy, tell her I love her.”
Mira turned away, already distracted by her present, but Grandmother called her back. “Give me a kiss, Mira, please.”
Mira stopped. “No, I won’t,” she said, a mischievous smirk on her face.
Grandmother slowly closed and opened her eyes. “Come here, Mira, my love,” she tried again.
“You smell funny,” Mira replied.
“It’s just the room, it needs airing out.” Grandmother sighed and pressed on. “I’ll have candy for you next time. Lots of it.”
“Promise?” Mira’s smirk turned into a wide smile.
“When have I ever broken a promise to you, Mira?” Grandmother smiled in return.
Mira scampered back and pressed her face against Grandmother’s soft and wrinkled cheek. Grandmother seized Mira’s hand hard and brought it close to her own lips. “Ouch!” yelped Mira.
Grandmother released her grip immediately. “I’m so sorry, darling! You can go now. Did I hurt you very much?”
Mira shook her head and skip-hopped towards the hallway, phone in hand, and slammed the door closed excitedly. Grandmother heard Mira’s squeal of delight when she found the coloring book and new markers. “Don’t forget to call Mommy! Press the green button!” the woman shouted, as loud as she could. Her throat ached.
“Yeah! Sorry!” A few moments later, Mira’s muffled, chattering voice came through the wall.
Grandmother sighed deeply once, twice. She clasped her glass in one hand and brought it to her lips, painted with the same shade of lipstick she had worn since she was twenty. Her fingers trembled slightly, her ring tapping against the glass, but she made sure not to spill a drop. She gulped the liquid down quickly, too fast to feel how bitter it was, but not too fast to not wonder and worry.
She slid the glass blindly back onto the table, set it askew on an empty medicine bottle that had tipped over, and heard the plastic’s dull thud on the carpet as she laid back. She closed her eyes. She breathed in, out. She felt as if she were falling backwards. The darkness behind her eyes grew thick and heavy, filling her skull.
It occurred to her that her wish to sleep would be granted, at least, at last.
We at the Nassau Weekly wish Jordan Angel was our grandmother.
