The War with Grandma

by Robert Kimmel Smith

  She went back up to her bed, where she belonged, and I started moaning again.

  What do I do?

  What?

  I was not giving up. I would never give up.

  If Dad couldn’t do it, who could? Who could be my partner on such short notice?

  Emily Arnold, my PE coach, maybe would, but she went to New York for the summer.

  Tessa Nelson, my art teacher? She was nice and painted well but was she driven?

  Maybe I could get our mailman to do it? We didn’t talk a lot, but he walked briskly.

  It was useless. None of them would work.

  There was no time.

  There was no one.

  I couldn’t believe it.

  The next morning, Tuesday, I slept until 11:48 a.m., which is the latest I have ever slept in my life.

  I woke up feeling like soggy bread.

  I wanted it to be a bad dream but I knew it wasn’t.

  I lay in my bed and stared at my stupid strawberry Leaf bike dream board.

  I really couldn’t believe it.

  It had ended before it started.

  * * *

  —

  Dad was in the kitchen.

  He turned when I walked in. “Meg, I’m sorry.”

  I said nothing.

  Dad had made pancakes and eggs and bacon. It was his day off from his town job, though he should’ve been writing.

  I sat down and Hattie came in. She was wearing a yellow sundress and how could she? How could she wear yellow on a day like this? How could any of them even walk around and eat pancakes and bacon?

  I opted for cold cereal instead.

  “Did you get much sleep?” Dad asked, putting a glass of orange juice by me, which I would not drink. I would not.

  I shook my head no.

  “I told you,” Hattie said to Dad.

  Dad sighed. “Meg. There’s nothing we can do. I’m sorry. I know this feels like a big deal but with time, you’ll get over it.”

  I would not. I would never.

  I ate a spoonful of cereal, the milk dripping down my chin like my hopes and dreams. I thought about leaving it there as a reminder of the personal tragedy I was enduring, but it was pretty gross so I wiped it off with a napkin.

  I looked at him. “Call the mayor or the council. They know you’re an upstanding citizen.”

  He shook his head. “They can’t make any exceptions. We argued for over an hour.”

  My eyes filled with tears again. I thought I’d cried all the water out of my body. But clearly I hadn’t. Maybe I’d cry for the rest of my life.

  I stuffed another spoonful of cereal into my mouth, my heart breaking.

  And then…a sound.

  I’ll always remember the exact moment we heard it, the sound of the earth rumbling.

  I was in my nightgown; I was in the depths of despair and I was chewing soggy cereal.

  “What is that?” Hattie said.

  We stood up and went to the window. “Oh my gosh,” Hattie said.

  It was barreling toward us.

  “Do you know that truck?” I asked, wiping my eyes.

  Dad shook his head. “I have no idea.”

  It was huge. A huge beat-down green truck. The driver, the silhouette of the driver, looked like a gigantic triangle head. And all of it was heading toward us like an out-of-control train.

  It was frightening, I’m not going to lie. Like something out of a horror movie.

  “They better slow down or they’re going to run right into the house,” Dad said.

  “Maybe they’re lost,” Hattie said.

  “People who are lost don’t drive like that,” Dad said.

  The truck got closer and closer.

  I ran to the front door. Hattie ran after me and Dad wasn’t far behind.

  The three of us stood on the porch and watched as the truck pulled into the driveway, rammed into the mailbox, and sent our cat Daisy running for the trees.

  Hattie grabbed my hand. I grabbed Dad’s hand. What was happening?

  When the dirt settled, it looked like…

  No.

  No?

  Could it be?

  The person in the truck was waving furiously at us. She opened the big old door, which made a loud creaking sound like it might fall off its hinges, and Dad said, “Mom?”

  Hattie screamed.

  She screamed and yelled “GRAM!” and ran to the truck door.

  It was my Grandma Sally.

  My Grandma Sally, who had gotten some kind of weird hairstyle that looked like a triangle.

  My Grandma Sally, who was wearing a patchwork red, orange, and yellow floral jumpsuit. It looked like a clown outfit.

  My Grandma Sally, who had just pulled up in a monster truck that most definitely was not her tan compact car.

  She had to drop like five feet to get to the ground and almost squashed Hattie.

  It was her.

  It was really her.

  Without Grandpa Arthur.

  “What’s going on, Dad?” I asked.

  He looked at me. “I have no idea.”

  Grandma hugged Hattie and then hugged my dad, who was mumbling something, and then she came up on the steps to me.

  “Grandma,” I said. “You’re here.”

  “Hey, sugar bum. Of course I’m here. You ready to take this competition to the next level?”

  I stared at her. “What?”

  “I just got off the phone with that Dawn Allerton lady your father told me about and I gave her a piece of my mind. I told her how ridiculous it was that your father can’t compete and how I was coming all this way to take his place and that she should be ashamed of herself.”

  “You what?” No no no no no no.

  “You heard me. I told her she better watch out, the Stokes ladies are about to take the Raspberry Days by storm.” She pulled out a matching clown jumpsuit from her bag and handed it to me. “Now, wear this so we can brainstorm properly.”

  And that was when I fainted.

  11

  Please Help Me

  I know fainting seems extreme. I didn’t mean to faint. I just, you know, fell down.

  “Oh my goodness,” Grandma said.

  Dad knelt down next to me and I lay there like a rag doll. I don’t know why. It was almost like I needed a few rag doll seconds to get my thoughts together.

  “Meg?” Dad said.

  “Give me a minute,” I whispered.

  “What?” he said.

  I opened my eyes. “Sorry,” I said. “Sorry. I think I just locked my knees or something.”

  “Oh yes. Don’t ever lock your knees. I’ve fainted twice in rehearsal doing that and it’s very dangerous, especially in stilts,” Grandma said.

  “Get your sister some water,” Dad said to Hattie, who ran inside.

  I looked up at Grandma from the dirt. “Did you really talk to Dawn Allerton?”

  “You better believe I did,” Grandma said, squatting down and putting her hand on my forehead.

  It was over.

  It was all over.

  Even if having Grandma as a partner was a good idea, which it was not, getting on the wrong side of Dawn Allerton from the beginning was the mark of death. There was no way we could win. No way.

  I sat up. “I’m so sorry you came all this way, Grandma, but I’m not doing the competition with you.”

  Grandma Sally looked at Dad. “Did the rules change? Did the Dawn woman change her mind?”

  “No, she didn’t,” Dad said.

  “Well, who else can do it? Steph has work, right?”

  Dad nodded. “Yeah. She does.”

  I blanched.

  “And it starts tomorrow, right?�
�

  Hattie brought the water and I stood shakily, Dad holding my arm, and drank the whole thing in one long gulp. I didn’t want to hurt Grandma’s feelings but I was not going into a major competition with her. Not wearing matching floral clown jumpsuits. And especially not with Dawn Allerton already poisoned.

  “I have some options, Grandma. But thank you. Dad actually might talk to the mayor and still be able to compete.”

  Dad shook his head. “I can’t,” he said.

  Grandma looked at him. Then she looked at me. Then she looked at Hattie. “Come help me with the suitcases, Hattie Pattie. Time’s wasting.”

  They started pulling suitcases out of the king cab of the truck. It looked like she was moving in for a month. This was weird because usually she and Grandpa stayed at the motel outside town when they came because they liked the pool and we didn’t have much space.

  “I thought you were going to be Miss Hannigan, Mom,” Dad said.

  “That’s why I called yesterday, Peter. I didn’t get the part.”

  She and Hattie were carrying bags to the front porch.

  “You didn’t get it?”

  Grandma set down a suitcase and said, “No, I did not. They gave it to Ellory Rose, who sang off key and yelled her lines. She yelled them. Raquel and I had to plug our ears. We really did. But you know, I’m fine with not getting the part because I can be here.” She was talking loud and fast and it didn’t seem like she was fine, I’ll tell you that.

  “What about Dad?” Dad said. “Where’s he?”

  “He has a work project but he wants full updates.” Then she said, “When you said Meggy was in hot water, I thought, you know what, if the people at Town Center Theater don’t need me, I know someone who does. Someone right there.” She pointed at me.

  I hate it when people call me Meggy. I also hated where this was going.

  “Mom. I’m sorry you didn’t get the part.”

  Grandma ignored Dad. Instead she got a basketball out of a garbage sack she’d just pulled out of the truck and threw it to Hattie. “Do you have one of those?”

  “No,” Hattie said. “We don’t have a hoop or anything.”

  Grandma shrugged. “Neither did we, but where there’s a will there’s a way.” Hattie smiled like she knew what Grandma meant.

  “Is this a new outfit?” Dad asked, nodding to her suit.

  Grandma was beaming. “Oh, yes! My friend Jackie from my adventuring group has gotten me into upcycling. I made this out of my old housedresses. I made that one for Meg.” She pointed at the clown jumpsuit that was now sitting on the front porch, like a bad omen. At least she hadn’t insisted I put it on to brainstorm again. “And I’ve got something I’m working on for all of you. I brought my sewing machine so I can finish them.”

  “Great,” Dad said, although he sounded confused.

  “Upcycling?” Hattie asked.

  “Yup. It means making your old things into new things. Look at this,” she said, showing us a backpack that looked like it was made from old cut-up tennis shoes. “Do either of you want it?”

  “I do,” Hattie said immediately. I was kind of jealous Hattie spoke up so fast because though I wouldn’t dare be seen in public with it, it did look weatherproof.

  “And Mom,” Dad said, glancing back. “Where did you get that truck?”

  She put her hands on her hips, and looked at the truck. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

  The bumper looked like it was about to fall off and the paint was chipped on the side. There were some cool stripes, though.

  “Sure, but is it yours?” Dad asked.

  “I traded my car for it with a kid down the street. He was having a hard time.”

  “You traded your car for that?” I said.

  Grandma Sally shrugged. “Yep.”

  “With who?”

  “One of our neighbor’s boys. He just, you know, he was fixing it up to get into those truck shows they do but then he needed something more reliable to take to college so we traded.”

  I didn’t think Mom, Dad, or even Grandpa Arthur would trade in their car for a monster truck. Maybe Hattie would, but it would have to be an accident. This was just Grandma Sally and her new way of life.

  “It’s biodiesel, by the way, that’s why it smells like popcorn and cow farts, so not so bad for the environment, Peter. I know what you’re thinking.”

  It kind of did smell like popcorn and cow farts, or at least horse farts. I’m not as familiar with cows.

  “You do not know what I’m thinking, Mom. You do not,” Dad said.

  She laughed. “That’s probably true.”

  “Is it street legal?” Dad asked.

  “What?”

  “Street legal.”

  She looked at the truck. “I think so. Is that a thing with these trucks?”

  With Grandma already potentially doing things illegally, we’d never win this competition as partners.

  “Dad,” I said, and he gave me an exasperated look.

  She kept talking. “Anyway, Grandpa Arthur thought it was a strange trade too, but I just told him first of all, we should help the boy out and second of all, I’ve been wanting a truck for a long time.”

  “For what?” Dad asked. “Your old car seemed like a much better fit for you, Mom.”

  “Oh my gosh, Peter. How would I be able to get all this in that tiny car?” She pointed to our porch, which was now crowded with suitcases and garbage sacks. Then she walked to the back of the truck and pulled off a tarp.

  “Come help me. All of you,” she said.

  We walked over and climbed up on the back to see. It was full of boxes. Boxes and sacks and shoes.

  “What is all this?” I asked.

  “Costumes.”

  We looked at her. “Why?” Hattie asked.

  “For the competition,” she said, a sparkle in her eye.

  12

  Two Histories

  Now, there are two accounts of how my grandma ended up in my driveway a day before the competition as related by my dad and Grandma in our front yard. I was still in my pajamas, FYI. And maybe still had some milk on my face, double FYI. And Grandma still had triangle hair, a clown costume on, and a monster truck in our driveway. Triple FYI.

  DAD’S STORY:

  Grandma called Dad while he was walking home from work to break me the news that he couldn’t participate in the competition.

  Dad told Grandma the whole strawberry saga.

  When he was done, Grandma said, “Well, that’s not fair.”

  And Dad said, “I mean, I do work for the town.”

  And Grandma said, “It’s still not fair. She got in with her essay, she worked for that. She wrote and researched and poured her heart into it and she doesn’t get to compete?” (Here, I had to agree with Grandma Sally.)

  “Uh, yeah. She can’t without a partner, Mom.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Grandma said. “Ridiculous. Nothing is fair in life and I’m sick of it.” Dad thought that was a strong reaction, but he appreciated it. He didn’t know Grandma had just been rejected as Miss Hannigan.

  Dad told her what he didn’t want to tell me. “It’s going to break Meg’s heart.”

  “She can handle it,” Grandma said. “She’s got our genes. She’s tough. Just rip the Band-Aid off.”

  He came home, he ripped the Band-Aid off and told me his news, and I started bawling. He had no idea Grandma was coming.

  That was Dad’s story.

  GRANDMA’S STORY

  Grandma called Dad to tell him she didn’t get the part in Annie.

  Grandma didn’t tell Dad about not getting the part because he told her the strawberry story first, which she thought was ridiculous and she couldn’t believe that on top of not getting the part of Miss Han
nigan, her granddaughter was being treated like this. “Nothing is fair in life and I’m sick of it,” she said.

  Once Grandma was off the phone she said to Grandpa, “Arthur, I’m leaving for Jewel tomorrow morning to do a competition with Meg.”

  Grandpa said, “What’re you talking about?”

  Grandma said, “I don’t have time to tell you everything unless you want to come with me to Susan’s house.” Susan is my grandma’s friend and is in her adventure group, along with Upcycling Jumpsuit Jackie. She is also the costume mistress for the theater across town (not Town Center Theater, which had just insulted my grandmother in the worst way by giving Miss Hannigan to Ellory Rose).

  Grandpa went with her to Susan’s house in her new old monster truck that may or may not be street legal and Grandma told him all about the competition and how I was raising money for the Alzheimer’s Association which was the best thing ever and now I couldn’t do it because Dad was a town employee and it was a complete miscarriage of justice and she would not stand for it.

  Grandpa thought the whole thing was a bad deal. “But you can’t just drive out there. Especially without clearing it with Peter,” Grandpa said. He also said, “And I have to work so you’ll be alone.”

  Grandma Sally said, “You bet your buttons I can drive out there without telling Peter. I’m allowed to surprise my granddaughter! And plus, I was planning on going alone.”

  Grandpa said, “Do you think that’s safe, Sally?”

  Grandma said, “OH PUFFO.” This is one of my Grandma Sally’s favorite phrases for when she thinks you’re telling her, You can’t do that.

  Grandma also said, “Go bold or go old, Arthur. Go bold or go old.” Another favorite phrase, as you’ll remember.

  Grandpa sighed. Grandma didn’t say he sighed. I’m just taking creative license here and I know he sighed. He sighs a lot. Maybe it’s an accountant thing.

  They went to Susan’s house.

  Susan had recently told Grandma Sally that she was going to donate a bunch of old costumes and props that they weren’t going to use anymore.

  When Grandma arrived, she said, “Susan, it’s an emergency. I need some of those costumes and props for a very important role.”