The Great Perhaps: A Novel by Meno Joe

Author:Meno, Joe [Meno, Joe]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Norton
Published: 2009-04-08T04:00:00+00:00

AT THE FAR END of her grandfather’s hospital bed, Amelia does her best to avoid his sunken face. He does not look like her grandfather anymore. He is not smiling. His eyes are weak-looking, only flicking open every few moments. His body seems to have shrunk. He looks like he is made of twigs. Finally Amelia has to look away, glancing anywhere but at his feeble shape, her eyes darting from the television set—which is on, though muted—to the plastic cafeteria tray beside her grandfather’s bed. And in doing so, Amelia catches sight of something sitting on top of her grandfather’s dresser. Almost at once, she sees it: a small silver airplane, an old metal toy, just about the size of her open hand. Help me, the airplane calls out to her. I do not belong here. I could be something more than what I am. Make something useful of me. It is perfect. It is the perfect addition to whatever it is she is supposed to be building. Amelia quietly marches over to inspect the toy plane and, looking over her shoulder to be sure her father or sister are not watching her, she stealthily slips it inside her purse.

When Amelia turns around again she sees that her stupid sister Thisbe is holding her grandfather’s hand. Thisbe is brushing his thin white hair with a black comb and kissing his forehead like a newborn baby. “There, now you look handsome,” Thisbe says. Amelia rolls her eyes. No one notices. Their father is busy plugging in Amelia’s CD player. Finding an open outlet behind the hospital bed, he turns it on, adjusting the volume carefully.

“Look what we brought you, Dad,” Amelia’s father says, placing the radio beside the old man’s bed. “Listen.” He opens the CD tray and puts in an unlabeled disc, then hits play. Immediately the tiny white-tiled room is filled with the warm swell of violins and trumpets, a slow bass beat tapping along with muted drums. Thisbe claps, then, taking her grandpa’s hands, she pretends to dance with him.

“It’s Glenn Miller, Dad. You always said you liked Glenn Miller.”

Amelia’s grandfather nods. He measures his words carefully, already down to four. “I’ll miss you all,” he says, his eyes momentarily bright again.

Amelia frowns. She doesn’t say anything. She watches her dumb little sister trying to dance with her crippled grandfather, detached, disconnected, uninterested in any of it. Her father takes a seat beside the bed, holding the portable player in his lap. “I brought some Woody Herman, too, Dad. The girls here, they thought it would cheer you up.”

Their grandpa nods, his face expressionless.

“You’re not going to die, Grandpa,” Thisbe chirps. “We’ve been praying for you.”

Their grandpa does not seem impressed by that. He closes his eyes as Thisbe continues to move his hands about, still pretending to dance. Amelia sighs, glancing out the small window at the top of a line of trees. She stares down at her watch, then out the window at the trees again.

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