by Dar Williams
Sarah spoke up. “Your mother’s mother?”
We called my mother Sally. She had died when I wasn’t even a year old. Phyllis and Carolyn, along with my dad’s other friends, Joyce and John, considered themselves to be like my moms. Whenever we talked about Sally, it was like we were talking about an old friend we’d fallen out of touch with. We liked her, but we didn’t know her anymore.
We treated it like that because we didn’t have any choice. That’s what I thought, at least. There was no way to get to know Sally, so there was no use being sad about her. But this was different. This was a living person who maybe looked like Sally or talked like her.
“I didn’t even know Sally had a mother. Why didn’t you tell me? Did you know?” I asked. Maybe Dad had only found out now.
Dad sighed. “I guess I knew.”
He guessed he knew? As far as I knew, I never had any living grandparents. How could he keep this from me?
Dad didn’t notice my frustration as he continued. “She wants to meet you, because she thinks she is dying.”
“But she’s a vampire, so don’t hold your breath,” Carolyn suddenly interrupted, arms still folded.
Phyllis peeked up and shook her head. “Carolyn, you aren’t helping.”
Did they all know about my grandmother? Carolyn would have told me, unless they didn’t care if she was dead or alive. What would make them feel like that?
Dad tried to explain Carolyn’s disgust. “Your grandmother is a pretty tough old bird. That’s what Carolyn is saying. The last time we spoke was right after Sally and I got married. We ran off and did it and then surprised her with the news. She didn’t take it well. She hurled a bunch of insults at us about how we’d ruined our lives, told us not to expect a penny of support from her, and, I’m sorry to tell you all this, told her daughter not to bother showing up again. After you were born, we tried to get back in touch with her, but it was too late. That’s the whole, awful story.”
“No, the story continues now with a morbid twist,” Carolyn said drily. “Because now she’s contacted your father to say she wants to see you, Amalee.”
“I’m telling you what happened so you can make an educated decision about whether or not to see her,” Dad said.
“I wouldn’t go,” Phyllis said. “She doesn’t deserve to see you.”
“No, let her see how cool you are, and tell her how glad you are that she didn’t interfere and mess you up like Sal — that she didn’t interfere with you,” Carolyn said.
“You think she messed up Sally?” I asked.
“She definitely played a part in Sally’s problems,” Dad said. “But you shouldn’t go just to tell her that or to be mean to her. I don’t think she has any idea how she acted. She would just say she was trying to teach us how to be responsible.”
“I’ll come along and tell her,” Carolyn offered.
Sarah laughed. Dad said, “It doesn’t have to be a big deal. She’d like to meet you. I don’t want to cut her off the way she cut us off. That’s why I’m even entertaining the idea of giving you the choice of whether or not to see her. She asked to see you. It’s up to you.”
Suddenly it didn’t seem so clear. I had a chance to meet a grandmother, but she might have a tantrum like my sewing teacher’s and say awful things about me — or, even worse, about Sally or Dad.
Back in my room, Sarah closed the door and said, “You have to take a tape recorder.”
“Hey! I don’t even know if I should go at all!” I protested.
“You have to go! It’s your grandmother,” Sarah insisted, which helped me feel less crazy. You’re supposed to want to meet your family, right? Sarah went on, “So what if she isn’t nice? Treat her like an animal at the zoo. That’s how I thought of the woman I interviewed for Mr. Chapelle’s class. Your grandmother sounds so mean, I bet no one’s ever dared to record her voice. It would be like capturing the call of the great auk.”
Sarah confused me sometimes, and this was a perfect example. “What’s that?” I asked.
“It’s an extinct bird. Its call is lost forever. You could take a tape recorder and capture the call of the poison-tongued Grandmother. You’re not afraid of her, are you? You have nothing to lose.”
I went back into the room where Dad, Phyllis, and Carolyn had barely shifted position. “Let’s get it over with before I lose my nerve,” I said.
Dad paused, looking surprised. Then he got up from his chair and headed for the phone. “Let’s get it over with before we both lose our nerve.”
I want to thank all the kids who have shown up at my concerts and said hello, with an extra thanks to Peter Swanson, Will Berger, Lillie Bea Scheer, Juliet Swanson, Tommy Farley, Jimmy Farley, and Joe Berger (and their parents), and to Louise and Marilyn MacDonald. Thanks also to my parents and to all my friends who remember what it’s like to be eleven years old and who provided insights for this book, Nerissa Nields, Katryna Nields, Patty Romanoff, Melinda Adamz, Patty Smythe, Kate Bennis, Lisa Wittner, Lisa Seelinger, Curry Rose Mills-Hoskey, Anne Weiss, and, of course, my husband, Michael Robinson.
Constant thanks to my manager, Ron Fierstein, and to Lisa Arzt.
And most of all, thanks to my editor, David Levithan, who understands and believes in kids of every age (including mine), and who patiently helped me tell a better story than I thought I could. Thanks to Randi Reisfeld and everyone at Scholastic for their help, too, and to the security staff at the Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine in New York City for not kicking me out as I wrote in various empty chapels.
Copyright © 2004 by Dar Williams. All rights reserved.
Published by Scholastic Inc. SCHOLASTIC, After Words, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
First Scholastic After Words printing, April 2006
Cover art © 2006 by Jo Quinn
e-ISBN 978-0-545-31111-3
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