The Truth About Luck: What I Learned on My Road Trip with Grandma by Iain Reid

Author:Iain Reid
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: House of Anansi Press
Published: 2013-02-13T22:00:00+00:00

THURSDAY

8:43 a.m.

I’M ONLY JUST inferring. She’s trying to tell me she’s waiting without actually telling me. Instead of calling through the door, or even knocking, Grandma’s been coughing, tepidly, for about three minutes, off and on. She doesn’t want to pester me. I’ve realized this the past three days. Grandma’s preferred presence as a guest is to blend into the walls. She’s ready for the bathroom, but only when it’s free.

I’ve been in here for a while. I splash a fifth or sixth handful of warm water over my face and wipe my hands on my shirt (which dampens the front of my shirt but doesn’t fully dry my hands).

Outside the door, waiting with Grandma, is another day. Like a small plastic object you find at the back of your kitchen junk drawer, it should be used for something, but I can’t decide what. I also know I can’t just ignore or discard it, like I could if alone.

“Is that you, Grandma?”

“Ohhh.” She sounds surprised. “Good morning, dear. Yup, it’s only me.”

“Good morning. I’ll be out in a second.” I plant my face in the small green towel hanging beside the sink for a proper dry.

“Not to worry, there’s no rush.”

I open the door. Grandma’s standing arms akimbo, dressed in a red sweater, black pants, and her dark blue Hush Puppies shoes. Her smartly assembled outfit can’t hide her unwell complexion. She’s elegant, but more indisposed than yesterday. She looks smaller, shorter. Her nose is as red as her sweater.

“How are you feeling today? How’s the cold?”

She sniffs through deeply congested nostrils before waving my question away. “Better, I think. I’m on the mend, that’s for sure.”

“Really, are you sure? Did you sleep okay?”

“Yes, you don’t have to ask me. I always do. And anyway, I’m certainly much better than yesterday. I’ll be completely back to normal by tomorrow.”

Yesterday she said she was fine, that it sounded much worse than it was. This morning she’s telling me she’s much better than yesterday. She sounds worse. I’m flummoxed by her staunch stoicism.

“I’m glad you’re wearing your warm sweater today. It looks colder outside. It’s a nice colour. The red suits you.” Only for shirts, not chapped noses.

“You think? I usually prefer blue.”

“Yeah, it looks great.” And it does, but this is also adding to the pressure of coming up with exciting and interesting things to do today. If Grandma was greeting me each morning in her nightgown and housecoat, with hair askew, we’d be equals. I’d at least be able to suggest we stick closer to my typical routine of staying in my apartment.

“Have you looked outside yet? I was just looking out the window.” She taps my shoulder on her way into the bathroom. “It’s not raining.”

I leave Grandma to her ablutions. I find the kitchen as I left it. I recognize the crumbs from my late-night peanut butter sandwich. How can we break our fast this morning? Something other than toast and condiment would be nice.

I stand in front of the open fridge, scratching the back of my thigh.

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