Grandma
written by: James Hancock
There was something strange about Grandma’s recliner. An electric reclining chair, which plugged into the wall and was operated by a simple remote control on the end of a curly cord. A bulky object which dominated the living room of Grandma’s apartment. Small television, polished oak wall unit for displaying photos from yesteryear, a coffee table with a lesser chair against it, and the beast… a large block of green cloth sewn over chunky arms, thick seat cushions, and a deep and sturdy back. So what was strange about it? In the ten years my grandma would have the chair, it never suffered wear and tear, and always looked new and unused. But it was used; in fact, she sat in it most of the time.
Once, I heard my parents mention it cost eight hundred dollars, but it was never used properly, and there was no point in having it. True, I can’t remember ever seeing it in the reclined position and Grandma with her feet up. The electric chair, she called it. She didn’t trust it, and her old-fashioned ways meant she’d never test its full potential, or even give it a try. She was stubborn.
“Those things are death traps,” my grandma would say.
Crochet blanket under butt, she was almost always sat in her throne-like seat, but not once did I ever see it turned on, or even plugged in, come to think of it. A normal chair would have sufficed, and given the room, well, more room.
An old checkers set was always laid out on the coffee table, ready for play, should anyone want to challenge my grandma. And they did. Strangers would pop in for ten or fifteen minutes and try to win a game against the master. Sometimes they were gone in a little over five minutes, not even stopping to take off their coats or shoes. My grandma was notorious for her speed and ferocity when it came to dispatching opponents on the checkers board. Many challengers, mostly teenagers or twentysomethings from the neighborhood, and all of them were in-and-out victims.
After destroying each opponent, my grandma would pull out her little notebook from under the seat cushion and write in the details of yet another victory. Hundreds of vanquished foes reduced to a name, date, and time.
“The list of losers,” my grandma would say.
Loneliness wasn’t the stereotypical conclusion to my grandma’s life journey; she had a lot of guests. Every time I visited, at least two would come calling, and they were obviously gluttons for punishment, as I saw the same faces returning for more. They were always in a hurry, eager to sit in the challenger’s seat and get the game started. Some of her opponents would use colorful language, so Grandma would send me to her bedroom until they were gone. I’d sit on her bed and endure the sweet smell of lavender powder whilst occupying myself with one of her many jigsaw puzzles, and when it was just the two of us again, she would give me a cookie from the jar on the shelf beside the coffee. That was the best bit, and worth the interruption by Grandma’s many callers.
“Another one bites the dust,” she would say, and then nod towards the kitchen and give me a wink. I knew what that meant, and I’d immediately dash off and fetch the cookies whilst Grandma pulled out the little book and made another entry.
I often wondered if the games were more than just ‘games,’ and if bets were being made. Grandma would often be folding five or ten bucks into her small purse as I brought the cookies into her living room. Was there such a thing as a checkers sharp?
My grandma was a kind old lady, a respected person, and a great friend. I looked forward to the hour or two we’d have together, and my parents knew it was important for me to spend quality time with her. She had wisdom, and I was there to benefit from it. She had fascinating stories to tell of her wild and adventurous youth, making go-karts out of old baby carriages, building camps in her local woods, and sneaking into movie theaters, swimming pools, and clubs without paying. My grandma was a tomboy and quite rebellious in her day; but now she was just your typical quiet old lady. Well, so I thought.
You see, there was a lot more to my grandma than I knew, and when she died at the young age of seventy-seven, I learned an interesting secret about her and that great chair of hers. A secret my parents were also blind to.
She was a formidable checkers player, that much was true, but the local lads weren’t as interested in the game as I’d been led to think. In fact, my memories of the clack-clack sound of wooden checkers pieces being played were false; my mind had lied to me and remembered sounds that were rarely made. The games of checkers were a red herring, a bluff, a diversion, and Grandma’s great chair held the secret of what really occurred in her quiet little apartment. And had been occurring for quite some time.
After the funeral, when my parents were clearing through her belongings, and quite by chance, they discovered a ‘something’ hidden behind the fabric covering at the back of the recliner, past a Velcro-sealed slit in the cloth and hidden within the sturdy frame and working guts of Grandma’s electric chair. Four ‘somethings’ to be exact. Clear plastic resealable bags, and each one half full of pink and white tablets. Ecstasy tablets… the party pill. For every so-called challenger from our neighborhood I had witnessed, there were ten I hadn’t, and my grandma’s side business had gone undetected for nearly nine years; for most of my youth. She was both notorious as a checkers player and as a drug dealer. A very successful drug dealer. My parents were clueless and speechless.
As shocking as the revealed secret was, all was quickly forgiven when the inheritance money cleared, and Grandma had considerably more than anyone had expected.
The police couldn’t confiscate the money as all payments to Grandma’s bank were cash, and without a record of how she got it. They took her little book, though. Full of names, dates, and times. Not checkers wins, but drug sales. Carefully entered without mention of money; the police were interested nonetheless. Lots of names from our town and several towns nearby. Grandma’s way of cleaning up a bad neighborhood and making it a better place for me to live in. The book of losers led to many surprise arrests in the months that followed.
When the recliner came out of police evidence, we donated it to a local retirement home. I kept the checkers set and have become quite good at it. As for the money, my grandma, and her clients, paid for my first year of university. I’m studying business.
I learned a lot from my grandma. Never underestimate the ingenuity of a bored old lady. And never judge a chair by its cover.
- Grandma - February 7, 2026
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