AUR LitPut III Spring 2023 - From Now To Then

Memoir
lived in a residential neighborhood in the small settlement with a large garden than led into backwoods.
Her house reminded me of the Lincoln Logs I’d played with years earlier, a classic cabin made
of linked cylinders of russet oak. In the last five minutes of the 30-hour drive, my tired father had
instructed my sister and me to hide in the backseat. He hadn’t told my grandmother that we’d be coming
with him. When she emerged from the backdoor it didn’t take long for her to see us. Her reaction
was underwhelming. She cursed my father while clearly struggling to conjure a semblance of hospitality
for her unfamiliar grandchildren.
Our first night in Show Low, my sister and I whispered at eachother as we lay in the dark on
reclining Lazy-Boys. We weren’t sure how we should call our grandmother, who seemed no more a
grandma than she did a stranger. “Grandma” seemed immediately off-limits, and we were afraid that
Mrs. McCormick might remind her of the recent loss of her husband. The trip I’d so warmly anticipated
now seemed a bust to me. Dad had received a ticket and at age eleven I couldn’t fathom how
he’d pay for it; my grandma was visibly disappointed to meet my sister and me; and I’d become the
butt of relentless badger after I’d told my dad’s girlfriend earlier that day that he would never love her
as much as he loved me. I forced myself into an angry, anxious, and uncomfortable sleep.
The house was still when I stirred at seven the next morning. The sun was lacerating the room
through slits in the blinds. I rose from the Lazy-Boy. My grandma’s dog, Princess, was at my feet. It
was cold – so much colder than my Floridian imagination could have predicted. The dog followed me
to the kitchen where I’d seen my grandma let her outside via the backdoor the night before. I figured
she wanted to go outside, and I hoped my dad was already awake preparing coffee. Instead, my grandma
sat at a stool near the bar watching the news from an old portable television. I mustered a good
morning that startled her. She said good morning and offered me a cup of coffee and a seat at the stool
next to hers. I accepted. It made me mildly uncomfortable the way she began to comment on my small
size as she poured from the carafe into a mug.
“Maybe I was cursed with your genes.” I felt the words slip out of my mouth like a bar of soap
in oily hands and land upon her petite, feeble frame. The silent gaze that followed will stay with me for
the rest of my life.
“You’ll die out here if you don’t layer up. Have you ever shot a gun?”
I had.
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