Jeraline's Alley

by Becca C. Smith

  Older brick apartment buildings surrounded the warehouse, which gave it a homey feel, especially since the renovation design was what Frank called “farmhouse chic.” And weirdly, that was accurate. Stained gray wooden siding encompassed the base of the large square building, with red brick filling out the top. The roof was flat, which allowed the neon sign to rest safely, but a nice rustic tin awning covered the ramp and stairs that led to the monstrous sliding barn door that was open at the moment.

  This was the first time Grandma and I had ever gone. We’d been hearing about it since it opened, from Grandma’s knitting group (which she hardly ever went to; I was starting to see Grandma’s point about not getting out), but we kept putting it off, bribing ourselves with sugar and a good TV binge.

  Coming here for bingo was a good way for us to turn our “bad influence” on each other into a “good influence” on each other. That was why I didn’t argue. Part of me hated going anywhere, but Grandma was right. We needed to do this.

  Walking through the door opening, we entered a sea of rustic wooden picnic tables and gray hair. There had to be at least a hundred people here, and they were all over the age of sixty. Frank Lewis, the head man himself, stood on a small stage next to a spherical bingo machine cage that blew out numbered balls.

  Leaning into the stand-up microphone on the edge of the platform, Frank announced, “B-five.”

  Maybe this should have just been a “Grandma” outing.

  Grandma seemed to come to the same conclusion as she whispered to me, “This probably isn’t the best place for a twenty-two-year-old, but at least it gets us out.”

  “We’re definitely out,” I agreed as I surveyed the number of wheelchairs and walkers lined against the wall.

  And we laughed.

  There was plenty of sugar and binge-worthy TV at home if we decided to bail, but for now, Grams said, “We’ll play two cards and go. Then we can officially say we went out.”

  “Deal.”

  “I’d say let’s go now, but I’m trying to be the responsible adult.”

  “Two cards.” I winked.

  “Two cards.” She winked back.

  Near the back, there were two open spots, and we sat down. Every table had a stack of bingo cards lying in the center, so Grandma and I each grabbed one.

  A lot of eyes were on me as if they were witnessing a sight they hadn’t seen in a while. My trusty stomach already began to turn, but after a few more numbers being called from Frank, everyone re-focused on their bingo cards.

  After a while, my mind began to wander, as Frank’s voice was strangely soothing, announcing each number. By the time people yelled out that they won, my board was nowhere near any kind of bingo. Before I knew it, my eyes began to droop. Trying to keep my ears out for Frank, I missed a few numbers along the way.

  Maybe if I took a little nap sitting up, no one would notice.

  “BINGO! BINGO!” A woman in her eighties jumped up and down with glee, waving her arms as if we couldn’t all see her.

  Clearing his throat, Frank applauded in the woman’s direction. “Congratulations, Clarise . . . again.”

  Ooo. Again. Sounded like I missed out on some drama when I spaced out before.

  Grandma turned to me, fuming. “This is the second time in a row she’s won.”

  Surprised to see Grandma so angry, I tried to defuse the situation. “She’s lucky I guess?”

  Shaking her head, Grandma’s expression was one of fury. “No. It’s fixed.”

  Time moved slowly as Grandma reached into her purse and pulled out . . .

  The gun.

  The giant revolver she had given to me before we came here.

  But we had left it at home in that cardboard box.

  When did Grandma put it in her purse?

  And what in the heck was she about to do with it?

  Grandma aimed the gun at Clarise.

  At Clarise!

  The gun!

  The crowd audibly gasped at once.

  “I’ll teach you to cheat!” Grandma yelled as she stood on top of the picnic table.

  Blam!

  Right in the heart! Clarise went down to a chorus of screams.

  “Grandma!”

  All eyes turned toward me.

  I stood about a foot away from our table, as apparently, I had jumped out of my seat.

  Grandma sat at her spot, quietly, no gun, no anger, just utter confusion as to why I had suddenly jumped off the bench and screamed her name in front of a crowd of strangers.

  Oops.

  Guess I did fall asleep.

  “Sorry,” I apologized to everyone and no one in particular.

  Quietly, I smooshed back onto the bench next to Grandma, trying not to appear too humiliated, but yeah, pretty embarrassed.

  Grandma chuckled as she glanced at me. “Sleepwalking?”

  “I may have dozed off.” And the two of us were giggling. I didn’t dare tell her what I had been dreaming. She’d feel guilty for causing me nightmares by buying the gun. Besides, I still wasn’t sure how I felt about the gun yet anyway. The idea of even holding it scared me to bits.

  We played a few more bingo cards after that, staying until the place closed down.

  As we walked toward the exit with the others, I found myself feeling quite good about our decision to come. “Aside from embarrassing myself completely with falling asleep and scaring everyone, that was fun.”

  Grandma had a slight pep to her step as she agreed. “I’m glad we decided to stay past the two cards.” Then her eyes lit up as she saw something ahead of her.

  My curiosity got the best of me. “What’s that look about?”

  Grandma nodded toward the crowd ahead of us. “You see that guy up there? The one with the flat cap?”

  After a moment of inspection, I caught sight of the man she referred to. He was handsome for a guy in his . . . seventies? Eighties? I couldn’t really tell. But he carried himself with an air of confidence and charm as he walked with the crowd toward the exit.

  “Yeah? What about him?” I had my suspicions on where this conversation was headed.

  “His name is Buster, and I met him at the grocery store the other day, but I was too scared to ask for his number. We have a lot of mutual friends, who all tell me he’s amazing. They’ve been trying to set us up for over a year now. It was a total fluke we finally met in the produce section.”

  The way Grandma stared at the back of his head surprised me, so smitten, so happy, so excited.

  “Grandma! Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve been your wingman. Should we go up to him?” If I couldn’t be brave with Josh, I wasn’t about to let my grandmother follow in my footsteps.

  Grandma appeared shy and a bit frightened. (I knew that feeling well.) “I don’t know. Should we? I keep telling you the two of us we need to get out more, but I’m a total hypocrite.”

  Then it happened.

  Buster turned his head as if he had felt our eyes staring at his back, and the most wonderful thing happened.

  His face positively beamed when he saw my grandmother.

  How could they have just met in a grocery store and look at each other like they were already in love? Anyone could see it. Their eyes sparkled when they made eye contact.

  Buster slowed down until we caught up with him. And though we were surrounded by people, it felt like they were the only two in the room. She didn’t need me as a wingman. This seemed to be written in the stars.

  “Hi, Anna.” This confident man was shy in Grandma’s presence. “How have you been?” He was too cute.

  I hoped I was hiding my oh-my-god-this-is-so-adorable-I-can’t-stand-it face well. One thing I knew for sure, Anna Mayberry was definitely my grandmother; her shyness was as painful to watch as mine was to experience.

  “Not bad in two days.”

  Buster relaxed when Grandma spoke, and he began to walk with us. “Has it only been two days? I guess I’ve been thinking of you a lot. And thinking I should
have asked for your number?” He phrased it as a question. (Which was so freaking adorable!)

  “I would have loved that,” Grandma responded. (Go Grams!)

  Buster smiled happily, and I seriously didn’t think I could take any more of this adorableness. In fact, I slowed down, unsure if I should leave them alone. At this point, me being a third wheel was an understatement.

  Grandma noticed immediately though and, as a parental unit should, pulled me up to her side. “This is my granddaughter, Jeraline.”

  I had to swoon a little, as Buster’s smile was infectious.

  He held out his hand for me to shake. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Buster.” I shook his hand, then he suddenly looked embarrassed. “But you know that. I’m an idiot.” He threw my grandmother another longing look. “I get that way when I’m nervous.” Awww.

  I really needed to give them some space. “Well, don’t be. You two should exchange numbers. I’ll meet you outside, Grandma.”

  “Did you two walk?” Buster asked.

  “Yeah, but we don’t live far,” I said and regretted it as soon as it left my mouth. I’d be willing to bet he was going to offer us a ride, and I ruined it with my stupid politeness.

  “Nonsense. I’ll give you a ride home.”

  Phew.

  Grandma looked at me with hope, apparently thinking I might refuse. She did hear me when I said I’d be her wingman, didn’t she?

  “Thank you very much. That’s really nice of you,” I said, which caused Grandma to beam like human sunshine.

  Buster held out his arm, and Grandma took it just like in the movies. My cheeks hurt from grinning at their cuteness as I took a few steps back and watched them talk privately. If I hadn’t known they had met only a couple of days ago, I would have thought they’d been together for decades.

  A perfect match.

  The night air hit my face with a bite of coldness that was glorious. I hadn’t realized how stuffy it had been inside the bingo warehouse. The crowd dispersed into cars, loading wheelchairs and walkers inside.

  Arriving at Buster’s sedan, I sat in the back while Buster opened the passenger door for my grandmother. From the slight crinkle in his eyebrows, I could tell he had been a little disappointed that I hadn’t let him open my car door, but I wanted to give them as much time alone as possible.

  He started the car, and we were off.

  And three minutes later . . .

  “Right here will be fine, thanks.” I told him it wasn’t far.

  Buster stopped the car with a small chuckle, realizing how close we had really been. I wanted to give them their “good night” moment, so I exited the car quickly.

  Once outside the car, I realized Grandma had the keys.

  Yup. I was locked out.

  Oh man. I’d have to wait outside the car like a jerk.

  Maybe they won’t see me, I thought as I shifted closer to the door of our building. But wasn’t the rule: if I can see you, you can see me? Because they were parked in front of me as if I were watching a drive-in movie. I wanted to give them privacy, but I also wanted to stare.

  My creepy side won out, though to be fair, I only looked out of the side of my eye. It wasn’t direct stareage.

  Grandma reached over and kissed Buster!

  My mouth dropped.

  Grams!

  Buster turned off the car and exited, hurrying to Grandma’s door, opening it for her. Using Buster’s hand as support (not that she really needed it), Grandma allowed him to help her out of the car.

  Leaning down, Buster kissed her once more, and my own heart skipped a beat at the sight. This was intense.

  “Good night, Anna. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” Buster kissed her one more time.

  “I can’t wait,” Grandma said when they parted.

  Buster walked to the driver’s side of the car and waved to me. “Night, Jeraline.”

  “Night.” I waved, being the awkward Peeping Tom that I was.

  With a honk of his horn, Buster was off and down the street.

  Grandma hurried over to me with a huge grin.

  “Grandma! That was . . . that was amazing!” I was in total awe.

  She unlocked the building door, and we walked up the stairs to our apartment. “It felt amazing. I was so nervous and terrified, but I went for it.” We entered the apartment, and Grandma turned to me, serious. “Okay. I stepped way out of my comfort zone. Now it’s your turn. That boy you have a picture of by your bedside? Your assignment is to have one real conversation with him that doesn’t involve work. Deal?”

  Wait. How did this come around to me? That wasn’t fair.

  “Grandma, I’m not as brave as you . . .” I practically swallowed my tongue I swallowed so hard.

  “Deal?” She had serious-face.

  I sighed. “Fine. Deal. But you never said anything about how long the conversation has to be.” I had the need to exploit sneaky loopholes at the moment.

  “That’s fine. Baby steps.”

  “Kissing a stranger is way bigger than a baby step. You are my hero.”

  Grandma leaned in to me and gave me a loving squeeze. “I’m old, Jeraline. I have to do everything fast. No one knows how much time we have left. I have to grab it while I can.”

  “Well, that’s both inspiring and depressing. Can we not talk about how much time we have left? Hopefully, I can tap into your bravery tomorrow though, because right now I feel like puking.”

  Grandma laughed. “You’ll be fine. Tomorrow’s a big day for both of us. You’re talking to a boy you like, and I’ve got a date.”

  I leaned down and kissed Grandma on the cheek. “This night has been insane. I’m going to sew a bit to calm my nerves. Is that going to bother you?”

  “Never. It makes my heart sing when I hear your machine going. I can’t wait to see what you come up with.” Grandma picked up the box with the gun in it and handed it to me. “Keep this with you and think about what I said.”

  I looked down at the box.

  I didn’t argue.

  “Good night, Grandma.”

  “Good night, Jeraline.”

  Without another word, I walked into my room, shut the door, and placed the box with the gun under the bed.

  Out of sight, out of mind.

  I had too many conflicting thoughts racing around my head about the whole topic anyway. I was shocked that I wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea. My parents being murdered by a lone gunman kept my brain in full “I hate guns” mode, but I could see the other side of it too when Grandma had looked at me with terrified eyes. Terrified that I could die if I didn’t have some kind of weapon to protect me.

  Maybe I should learn some kind of martial art instead? Or carry mace in my backpack? Or . . . anything but a gun. I wasn’t ready. Not yet.

  Walking over to my desk, I sat down in front of the sewing machine and picked up my sketchbook, which was on the page of the dress I had dreamt about. I was pretty sure I had enough of the fabric I wanted, but I needed to check the closet.

  Sliding the closet doors open to one side, I took in my floor-to-ceiling shelving unit of uncut fabric, with the middle shelf dedicated to sewing notions. I swear I owned more thread, zippers, snaps, hook-and-eyes, elastic, buttons, latches, clasps, bias tape, and a hundred other things than a fabric store. In fact, I had more fabric than clothes, hence why I had the rolling rack in my bedroom. The amount of space for my everyday clothes in this closet was slim, only taking up about a couple feet of space, but I didn’t care.

  My wall of fabric was one of my favorite spaces. Staring at the uncut beauties, one word floated in my head: potential. Potential to do or make anything my imagination could come up with. Sewing and creating made me feel alive. It was the only thing I found complete joy in besides reading. It was my own way of creating new worlds and experiencing other people and character’s lives and history through clothes. Complete and total immersion. It was so simple. So pure. So beautiful.

  And this dress was my ne
xt adventure.

  I already had an idea of how to make the pattern, and tonight I was going to attempt it, maybe even cut and sew the basic shape.

  Skimming through all the fabric, my eyes finally found what I was looking for. It was a fabric I’d had made. There were a few websites that let the customer upload images and designs for their own personalized fabric, and the site I picked also let me pick the fabric type as well. The design I uploaded came from a picture of the universe on the NASA website. I picked it because it contained the image of a star within its swirling galaxy. A very particular star. The star my parents had named after me for my sixteenth birthday. I had pretended to love it at the time, not wanting to hurt their feelings. But at sixteen, I had wanted anything else, not a star I’d never see. So selfish. So materialistic. So stupid.

  I had forgotten about it until after they died.

  Looking up at the night sky the day after the funeral, I had wondered where they were, if there was such thing as Heaven, or if their souls were free and floating through space. I needed to believe they were around me, watching me, or just near me, and then I remembered the star.

  And I knew.

  That was where they were.

  And they’d be waiting for me someday, forever dancing on the star that was named after their daughter.

  It gave me comfort then and still did today.

  The website had been running a sale, so I had bought twenty yards of the swirling Milky Way that held the star “Jeraline” in velvet. It was a lighter velvet than the one in my fantasy because I imagined it wouldn’t be that easy to print images on classic thick velvet, but this would work perfectly. Being twenty yards, it took up almost an entire shelf, and I was so happy I finally had a project I could use it for. The gown was going to be huge, so I hoped twenty yards would be enough, but I’d make it work.

  Leaned up against the wall was a large roll of thin paper that I used for patterns, and a folded up cutting table. Pulling out the table first, I opened its two wings, creating a space of five feet by three feet about waist high. It was a tight fit in my little room, but I’d been sewing for so long I hardly noticed anymore. Lifting the four-foot roll of paper up onto the cutting table, I rolled it out enough to cover the entire surface. Grabbing the cloth tape measure from my notions shelf, I was ready.