Grandma

A Short Story

I gripped the latch of the screen door, twisting down on it, pushing it open with little effort—it was made primarily of thin mesh after all.

I stepped through, crossing the threshold, and the instant I did I felt the temperature drop. It made the doorway feel like a portal into an alternate world—I revelled at the thought of it in my mind.

My foot landed firmly on a pine floorboard, one of many that formed the veranda of my Grandma’s homestead.

For a moment I was aware of the different textures pressed against the soles of my feet—smooth and emotionless linoleum beneath one foot, and the firm, contoured grain of weathered pine beneath the other.

Then the sensation ceased. My foot lifting from the kitchen floor as I took my second step, entering this alternate world completely.

I made my way quickly to the edge of the veranda, the sensation in my bladder building to a crescendo. I don’t know why I enjoy peeing outside so much, but there’s just something about the clean night air and buzz of insects that makes this seem like the natural place to perform the act. If you ask me, everyone else is strange for doing it inside.

I curl my toes over the lip of the pine—ensuring none of my stream will land on the timber—and unzip my fly. Once in position, I quickly gauged wind speed and direction, making certain the risk of self-irrigation is low. Once confident I am not in any danger, I release the pressure that has built within me—relief floods through me.

There is just enough glow coming through the kitchen doorway to illuminate my stream. It looks to me like a translucent laser beam, arching out into the darkness beyond.

I listen to the sound of the countryside around me as I finish my solo mission. The sound of an insect cricking nearby brings a comforting peace with it—a fleeting peace, but peace nonetheless.

I finish, and shake three times. Why three? I have no idea. That is just something else that brings me peace.

I zip up my fly and turn, aiming to journey to the loungeroom where my family has migrated to after dinner.

I take one step and freeze.

Locking eyes with my grandmother who is sitting soundlessly in her rocking chair near the wall.

“Grandma!” I yelp, caught between embarrassment and shock.

She stares at me, her expression unreadable. Then, after what seems an eternity, her lips curl into a smile, before breaking apart as a laugh escapes from her chest.

She laughs in a way that I have never heard from anyone else. It is both deep and soft at the same time, a sound that wraps itself gently around you. It is—I assume—a laugh that only one who has carried the weight of decades can produce. It has a tender melodic cadence to it.

“I was going to say something to you,” Grandma says, her tone as joyful as her smile. “But you were so intent on what you were doing. I didn’t want to break whatever spell you were under.”

She places her open palms on her thighs, tapping them twice—an invitation.

“Are you too old to cuddle with your grandma?” She asks, the corners of her lips lifting softly.

I beam a teethy smile. “Never!” I exclaim, running to her and jumping into her lap.

She lets out a low humph as I land, before wrapping her arms around me, drawing me into her warmth.

“You’re getting too big, too quickly.” She rubs my back with one hand. “Where has my little grandson gone?” She asks.

“I’m right here, Grandma.” The words come out muffled, my mouth pressed into the crook of her shoulder.

“Of course you are, my darling,” she says quietly. “Just promise me, no matter how big you get, you’ll always give me cuddles.”

“I promise.” I reply instantly.

We cuddle in silence for a while, the cricking insect nearby continuing to hum its tune, others beginning to join in.

“What are you doing out here, Grandma?” I ask, my head now turned sideways.

“I was talking to your Poppy,” she replies, no jest in her voice.

“Poppy,” I echo, curiosity embedded in my words. “But Poppy isn’t here any more, Grandma.” I remind her.

She chuckles, and with my head on her chest, I feel its low, deep vibration within.

“And who told you that, my sweet?” She asks.

“Dad,” I say. “He told me Poppy had gone to heaven, and he’d be up there waiting for us.”

Grandma shifts slightly beneath me, tightening her arm around my back.

“Oh, my darling,” she murmurs. “Your Poppy is closer than you think. Always right there when you need him.” She tips her head toward the open night. “All you have to do is look up at the stars.” I lift my head from her chest.

“The stars?” I asked.

She nods, her eyes softening. “Mm-hm. He’s joined all the others up there. Watching over us.”

She runs her hand through my hair. “His love is what makes him shine, so even though he’s all the way up there. We can still see him.”

I follow her gaze out over the paddocks, letting mine rise with hers. The sky is moonless and brimming with stars. Each one glistening and alive—a sea of sparkling souls.

“There he is,” Grandma whispers, pointing with her finger. “Your Poppy. Right there among all the others.”

We look out together, staring out into the endless ocean of light.

“What do you talk to Poppy about?” I ask.

Grandma chuckles again, the sound rumbling through her into me.

“Oh, I tell him everything,” she says. “What we had for dinner, how the kids are, how the garden’s going… How big you’re getting.” She nudges me gently with her elbow. “He likes hearing about you the most.”

“He does?” I ask.

“Why yes, of course,” she replies. “You were his favourite.”

A wide smile stretches across my face, and I look back up at the stars.

“Can I tell him something, Grandma?”

“Of course you can. He’s listening.”

I pause, thinking about my words, then begin.

“Hello, Poppy. You were the best Grandad in the world. I miss you. I am so happy that you get to be a star now.”

I turn to look at Grandma again.

“That was beautiful, sweetie.” Her words come strained, voice thin, as though she’s trying to steady it. I can see stars reflecting in her eyes, now glassy with tears.

“I don’t want you to become a star, Grandma.” I say quietly.

“We all become stars, little one.”

“Well… I want you to make me a promise then.” I request. “When you become a star, save me a spot next to you. So when I’m a star too, we can still cuddle.”

She laughs again—the same sweet, enveloping melody—and runs her fingers through my hair once more.

“I’ll save you a spot so we can cuddle as stars.”

She squeezes me tight.

“I promise,” she whispers.