Grandma Fisher
written by: Bruce Snyder
Emy Jo knocks twice, then lets herself in with a key; she knows Grandma Fisher can’t hear her. Actually, Grandma Fisher is Emy Jo’s great grandmother, whose first name, Lucille, has passed from use as surely as the passing of all her sisters, brothers, and children. Emy Jo puts down her vacuum cleaner and the bucket with rags, sponges, and cleaners in primary color plastic bottles with spray heads sticking out like curious chickens.
Grandma Fisher comes out of the kitchen, she’s bent almost in two, her chin on her chest, wisps of scattered gray hair stand up from her head. “Oh! Darling, you startled me!” She smiles, always happy for company. Her walk is slow, her arms long and thin, out of proportion now to her slight stature but once she had been tall. She hugs Emy Jo to her. “I’m losing my mind, Emy Jo. I’m so glad you’re here.”
“What happened Grandma Fisher?”
“I left my keys in the door last night. I could have been robbed. Or worse. And I never do that…I’m getting senile.”
“Sweetheart we all do stuff like that; Rennie locked the cat out on the porch last winter, the poor thing almost froze.” Emy Jo takes her stuff into the little kitchen and gets out the 409. Grandma Fisher keeps the shades and windows closed, maybe because she always feels cold. The little apartment smells musty. Emy Jo opens a window, puts the kettle on, and starts on the sink.
“This is different, and I lost my purse yesterday. I can’t find it anywhere.”
“Did you go out yesterday? Did Florence take you shopping?”
“I don’t think so. She takes me on Thursdays, but today is Monday, isn’t it? Oh Lord, I can’t keep track and what difference does it make anyway? Did I tell you I lost my keys? I don’t know where I put them.” Grandma sits at the little kitchen table Arthur had picked up for her at Walmart. Emy Jo brings her some chamomile tea. “I worked on the family book some.” Grandma Fisher opens a spiral bound ragged notebook to show Emy Jo.
Emy Jo nods and runs the disposal with some piney dish soap to make it smell nice. She does the counters, throws out some cheese spread and milk from the fridge, they had turned. The family book is a pile of scrapbooks with snapshots, newspaper clippings, an occasional state fair ribbon, report cards. Anything Grandma found about the family. Then there are pages and pages of Grandma’s writing, relating gossip, describing weddings, births, baptisms, trips, and just her thoughts about this and that. She began it when her younger brother Lloyd died in Korea in ‘53. His Purple Heart and obituary are on the first page. Grandma always enjoyed writing; she had a household helper column in the neighborhood newspaper years ago.
“I’m sure I’ll find your purse; it’s got to be here. Or was it your keys? Well, I’ll look for both of them.” Emy Jo starts making sandwiches for Grandma’s lunches. “So, you been doing some writing this week? That’s good.”
“I try, but I’m stuck. I have all the things that happened, but I don’t know what to make of it all. A book has to have an ending, but I don’t know how to end it. Makes me nervous because I don’t think I have much time left.”
Emy Jo starts on the stove. Drips of tomato soup have clotted on the burners. Her phone rings, she answers a call from her boy Oren about his schoolwork. Grandma’s still talking, maybe just to herself. “I’m nervous all the time and I don’t even know why. I woke up three times last night and I didn’t even have to go to the bathroom.” Emy Jo has heard this many times; the family knows Grandma Fisher is a worrier.
When she finishes the vacuuming, Emy Jo stuffs the laundry in a small bag; she’ll do it at home and bring it back next week. Finally, she sits down next to Grandma and gives her a hug.
“Everybody’s gone but me. Will they remember us? I’d feel bad if the family forgot all about Lloyd. He was so special; he was such a good boy.” Tears make their way out of the old eyes.
Emy Jo rubs her growing stomach. “We won’t forget Grandma. How about I name this next one for him, maybe Brian Lloyd?” She’s made this promise several times before, but Grandma Fisher never remembers.
Grandma Fisher smiles quietly and sips her tea. Minutes pass slowly, a breeze stirs the curtains. Emy Jo looks at her watch. She has another cleaning job to go to. She gets up and packs her things. She smiles at the old woman, “I’ll call you tomorrow honey, okay?”
“Okay darling, thank you.”
Emy Jo takes her stuff out to the car then comes back, forgot her phone. Grandma Fisher waits by the door. “I’m worried, Emy Jo,” she says.
“I know dear, but everything will be all right.”
The End
- Grandma Fisher - October 16, 2024
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