Fight Night(27)

When we got home Mom was there making dinner and had her music blasting. She was singing along, with the wrong lyrics, to a song called “The Last Day of our Acquaintance.” She was in a good mood for some terrifying reason. Maybe because the stage manager at rehearsal had told her she wasn’t mad at Mom anymore for calling her illiterate—which she hadn’t but whatever—and they had a plan to have vegan brunch. Or maybe because me and Grandma were going away to Fresno for ten whole days. Mom told us that Willit Braun had phoned wanting to talk about salvation with her or Grandma and she’d said, Wrong number, this is Satan. She told Willit Braun that she’d heard he’d been shit-talking her and that was not on, he’d better cease and desist or she would see him in hell by which she meant small claims court on charges of harassment, stalking and intimidation. I could tell Mom thought that was like Olympic-gold-medal clever.

Mom told Grandma her haircut and fingernail and toenails looked beautiful and very SoCal, even though Fresno is in the exact centre of California, and Grandma rubbed her chin and said at least she didn’t look like James Harden anymore. Mom laughed too hard at all of Grandma’s stories from the day especially the For Your Eyes Only one. Oh man, Swiv, she said, that must have killed you! Then she said, Oh god, I think I’m gonna hurl. She ran to Grandma’s bathroom. It was a day of awful sights and sounds.

Hang in there, Gord, I said in my head. Just look your enemy right in the eye and keep moving forward. Sometimes even though Mom is in her third try, mister! she still throws up, which she talked to the doctor about and the doctor said it was probably just nerves and Mom was pissed off about that because that’s how they dismiss all of what they think of as women’s vague shit and wanted to get another doctor who would be able to professionally tell Mom she was dying but it’s impossible to find another doctor here so Mom just has to live with being nervous and totally fine. Leave the drama on the stage, Mom! I said. Grandma said, Yeah, honey, would it be so bad to find out you were normal? What is this, said Mom, your guyses little routine?

Grandma was so tired from being out all day that Mom made her lie down and watch TV for a while before we ate dinner. The usual bloodcurdling screams came from her room. After dinner I packed my little suitcase for Fresno and helped Grandma count out all her pills and we all watched the Raptors game together. The doorbell rang once and Grandma woke up from dozing in her chair but she didn’t yell Ball Game. Mom and me looked at each other like what the hell is wrong with Grandma? I said, Grandma! The doorbell rang! Oh boy! she said. She used her hands to lift her feet off her ottoman empire and put them on the floor and went hoooooo, and then finally she yelled it.

I ran to the door as fast as I could. It was Jay Gatsby. He stepped right into the front entrance and looked around the doorway into the living room and said, Aha! The adults are here, thankfully. Mom and Grandma looked at him. They didn’t smile. They didn’t get up. They didn’t say anything. Then Mom said, Why are you in our house? Grandma said, Or to put it differently, can we help you? Mom got up slowly from the couch, hanging on to her stomach. She looked violent. Listen, said Jay Gatsby, can we talk about this in a civilized manner? Grandma started laughing, which turned into coughing, so Mom went over to Grandma and rubbed her back and told me to get Grandma a glass of water. Jay Gatsby was standing there under the swinging lamp in the front entrance. Grandma coughed for a while. There was a white drop of spit on her lips and they were shiny. Mom wiped sweat off Grandma’s cheeks with the side of her thumb. Grandma said, Thanks, honey. She put the TV on mute. Are you okay? asked Mom. Just breathe. Grandma said, Oh yes! I’m absolutely fine. What about this crackerjack? She pointed at Jay Gatsby. Right, said Mom. She walked to the front entrance and stood between me and Jay Gatsby. Grandma ignored us and fiddled with the remote. She always jabs it at the TV like she’s fencing even though I’ve shown her eighteen thousand times where to point it without jabbing. Jay Gatsby put his hands up like a bank robber. He smiled. How much did those set you back? said Mom. She pointed at his teeth. Jay Gatsby looked confused. Blinded by the light! said Mom.

Grandma turned up the volume on the game to sonic boom level. She hadn’t turned her TV off in her bedroom. All the screams from all the rooms were mingling into one cacophonous scream. Mom put her hand on Jay Gatsby’s arm. She turned him around to face the door. We are … shinobi, said Mom. Away you go! said Grandma to Jay Gatsby. She was trying to rescue him from Satan’s power. We’re not selling our house to you, said Mom. Like, this is where we live. It seemed to me like Mom was losing her strength. I took her hand. My daughter is a ninja, said Mom. She sounded tired. So … goodbye, fuck off. Mom sat down on the stairs. She rested her arms on Gord and leaned her head against the wall. Jay Gatsby softly closed the door behind him. Guess he got the message! said Grandma. She hadn’t heard any of the message. Mom was so exhausted. I sat down beside her on the stairs. Her eyes were closed. I asked her if it was possible to live without a heart, like that somehow you could leave it somewhere and still—technically, no, she said. Not that I know of. Then she said wait, what? What did you say?

We had to fly to Fresno first thing in the morning. Who’s Sancho Panza? I asked Grandma. Mom and Grandma argued about us taking a cab, which Mom thought we should do because of Grandma, but Grandma said no, it’s too expensive, we can take the streetcar to the UP train. In the end Mom forced Grandma to agree to take a cab by telling her all sorts of crazy things—things that were just fears according to Grandma. Just shoot your fears right out the window, she said to Mom.