Taking Grandma Home

The road stretches back and forward, whirring beneath tires worn bald by old

age. James, dark haired and bright eyed, grips the wheel with one hand and looks lazily

between the mirrors to the road to the sky, trying to stay awake. He floats beyond trucks

and minivans, driving with the confidence of one never scarred. They pass fields,

stretches of yellow and dust, not waving, just watching, guarded by the occasional

brooding building.

Everything is older here, in middle America, in Kentucky, in Tennessee, in Ohio,

but not in the way of wise New England. Instead the houses and cars, reek of middle

age. They're worn but not yet discarded; out of fashion but still functional. If money

weren't tight they'd find relief, but appearances aren't worth much here. And so they sag

with time.

James rolls on, rarely turning, passing through towns, only waking to stop on red

and go on green. Next to him, Dotty sleeps. She might be dead, he thinks, and he might

be right. What little light left in her eyes muffled by lids, she shrinks against the door.

Crumpled skin peeking beyond cuffs, her face sinks, her lips spotted and parted to show

gritted teeth. When awake, her eyes retain their pale blue, always watering, leaking.

In Farristown, Kentucky, James pulls off the highway and into a Mobil station. He

leaves Dotty in the car, and walks inside the store. Through aisles of snacks, he

reaches the counter and asks for 20 on two.

"Where you headed?" the attendant, a bloated mustachioed man named Miles

asks, ignoring James' request.

"Oh, just down the road."

"You lost?"

"Not yet."

"But you don't know where you'll end up."

"I do."

"Do you?"

"I thought so."

"Good luck then."

"I'd rather gas, i...

... middle of paper ...

..., and she remembers, walking

slowly down the hallway, peeking through the slight gap. And there was Henry fucking

his whore. She was crying but he wouldn't stop and Dotty was stuck, watching, the door

now open.

"Henry," Daisy cries, when she looks past him to Dotty. Henry doesn't stop but he

does turn.

"Don't you fucking move," he growls at Dotty. "I will knock you the fuck out if you

take one step back." And for a minute Dotty can't bring her feet to turn.

But that was then. And she remembers not to fucking move, as she hears the

slapping, the cracking, a few feet away. And so she keeps her eyes squeezed tight,

trying to breathe silently, trying not to choke. And she cries.

***

"Grandma, it's time to go." They drive on, through the fields, through the towns,

through the places, toward home. They drive toward Dotty's home.

The End