Any Given Sunday

            by Eva Jepsen

 

            “Whoa, whoa you’re too close to the parked cars,” my mom’s breath was fogging up my windshield. “Okay, slow down, now take a right… Right!” she shrieked as she stomped on her imaginary break. We had been to grandma’s just about every Sunday for the last ten years.         

            “Mom stop,” I made sure to keep both hands on the wheel while I glared at her.

            “Sarah!!!” Her flailing arms pointed to a stopped car twenty feet ahead.

            “I see it, okay. Stop yelling. Stop doing that,” I pointed to her hand pawing at the door handle, “You always do that. I can see you out of the corner of my eye.” It makes me nervous. It had been a year since I got my license and I usually insist on her driving when we have to go places together but she couldn’t find her glasses when we were leaving. Then as I began driving I noticed them on her head.

            “There’s a spot, wait no,” she squinted with her face up against the window. “There, no, no two-hour limit.” Every time she filled me with hope I quickly braked then saw a driveway or red paint.

            “How about we just park in Grandma’s parking lot.”

            “I’ve never trusted the valet.” She only said this because one time when she got her car back she couldn’t find her false tooth that she was sure she left on the seat in its case. It was really expensive but I just couldn’t think of anyone who would steal it.

            When we walked into Sunny Side Paradise, Grandma’s retirement home, it smelled like old people and vitamins, a smell that had become less and less potent with each visit. When Grandma first moved out of our house and into the retirement home, I was ten. I loved visiting. My grandma was from Russia and had a thick accent. It scared everyone except immediate family. Grandma and I had something in common; we could get away with a lot of things; using expired coupons, stealing candy, memory loss, ‘accidents,’ and the whole, ‘I don’t know where I am’ thing. She was a great mentor. I think that’s why my mom sent Grandma here in the first place; she couldn’t handle living with both of us. Since she couldn’t really get rid of me, Grandma had to go. My mom said it was unsafe for Grandma to be alone in the house when no one was home. But I heard her tell my step dad that she got migraines just thinking about Grandma reorganizing things while she was at work. Grandma was from Russia and had a thick accent. She had weird little trinkets that she would put on display around our house. She spoke English and I could understand her fine just she scared my friends.  The retirement home became kind of like a daycare for me. It was great, it had a pool, hot tub, lots of Jell-O, and a patio with a fountain that was surrounded by roll out grass.

            I walked into Grandma’s room; the walls were painted pink with pictures of her in her twenties hung up. Old people always look the same. After a certain point I can’t tell if someone is sixty-five or eighty. My grandma must be older then when I was ten but she doesn’t look different. She actually has all the same clothes too. The only recent picture was of her and my little brother. He’s actually my half brother and Grandma loves him. Probably more than my mom and me. Jacob is the biggest brat ever. He’s two, blonde and fat.

            “HI MOM, HOW ARE YOU DOING?” my mom spoke loudly and clearly. Grandma looked at my mom as if she were a parasite, then turned toward me.

            “Where’s Jacob?” she huffed.

            “He’s with his father at swim lessons-“

            “You mean, Dick,” my grandma chuckled and nudged me. She loved my little brother Jacob and hated my stepfather.

            “Richard,” my mom said, “offered to take him. He’ll be here late but be nice he’s nervous since you finally agreed to meet him.”

            “Oh what-baby, he not still scared of parents?” Grandma raised her bushy eyebrows. She knew exactly what got my mom mad. She scolded her as if she still had a curfew. I cherished these moments. Before my mom could respond Grandma started examining me.

            “You have boyfriend?”

            “No, not right now I-” My grandma had a horrified look on her face. “Hah,” I smiled awkwardly, “I’m only seventeen. I have some time before I need to worry.”

            “So big for seventeen,” Her eyes drifted towards my middle then at my mom, “What do you feed her?” Let me just say, no girl ever wants to be called big. If you mean tall, say ‘tall.’ If you mean strong, say ‘strong.’ The only reassuring thing is that my grandma happens be 4’11.

 “It is fine. You come to Russia with me. All men there want bride. I met your grandfather when I was sixteen.” Grandma always talked about Russia. A lot of them probably weren’t true but I loved hearing her stories. “Did I ever tell you the time I met your Grandfather? I was about your-“

            “Yes you did mom,” my mom directed Grandma’s small round body toward the door. “Richard is here, I thought we’d all take a walk and get some lunch.”

            Richards gangly, behemoth figure was hunched over the secretary’s desk. He was tall and skinny everywhere besides his gut, which he insisted on tucking into his shorts along with faded pastel colored pools from the 80s. He pushed his glasses up the sweaty bridge of his nose. Which is huge, by the way. Richard is one of those unlucky 41-year olds that still gets pimples and went completely bald everywhere expect little tuffs of hair above his ears. I could tell he was having some sort of confrontation with the secretary because he had that nervous look. He was running his fingers through the eleven remaining hairs on the top of his head. Jacob was plopped down next to him eating out of the jar of expired candy.

            “Oh Janet, thank god,” Richard tromped over towards my mom, “Geez, that secretary’s a tough one.” He smiled, revealing his porcelain veneers.

            “Oh my prince,” my grandma smothered Jacobs stinky face with kisses. “So heavy.” Grandma quickly put him down. His hands retreated back to the jar. I watched Jacob stuff candy after candy into his mouth. Then he leaned forward and reached his grubby fingers out in front of him. Then his feet followed. He was getting up. Jacob hobbled over to my Grandma and hugged her leg.

           

                        “So, Grandma. Is it okay if I call you Grandma?” Richard chuckled, then wrapped his arm around her shoulder, “I’d love to see the rest of this place.” I looked at the pail blue hallway. The walls were lined with small rooms and scattered cards pined on the doors and billboards.

            “Nooooooooooo-waaaaaahhh.” I looked down and Jacob was on his belly, desperately flailing his arms. The rolls were protruding out of his overalls. Beached whale, I thought to myself. The slobbery sticky residue had was now dry and crusted over his lips. It cracked as he whimpered.

            “Owh, my prince must be hungry,” Grandma wiggled out of Richards grasp and bent down towards Jacob.

            “Oh it’s okay Jakey, I bet if you ask Sarah really really nicely, she’ll help you out,” Richard gave me the thumbs up and quickly returned to Grandma. Richard is one of those people who you just hate. He gives noogies and has chronic bad breath. It doesn’t matter what he does or says it just pisses you off. I feel bad because he can’t help it and has good intentions but that just makes me hate him even more.

 Jacob had fallen asleep. I took a seat next to him in the waiting room. My mom was aimlessly wondering around, looking at things. And Richard kidnapped Grandma. I was becoming very bored so I opened up the baby bag. There were three containers of low-carb baby food, extra-large pull-ups, and an empty bottle. The peaches looked good so I opened them. I immediately felt a nudge. Jacob’s chubby arm was tugging on my pant leg.

“Minnne.” His voice trailed off as his eyes focused on the jar. I dangled the jar out in front of him. Making sure it stayed out of his reach. He swatted and grabbed, but still did not reach the jar. I got up and walked backwards keeping it level. He heaved himself up against the chair. His arms guided him in my direction with his unstable feet following. Everything was in slow motion yet fast at the same time. One foot over the other he staggered behind me until his left foot got stuck on the velcro of his other sneaker. He came down face first. His legs buckled and his over body folded over them. When babies fall it usually take about thirty seconds for them to actually start crying. First they look around to see who’s watching, then their facial expression changes, then the facial color changes and their eyes fill with tears up and finally the ear piercing scream.           

“Sarah Chelsea Martin Jones,” my utter enjoyment was over; mom had spotted me. I put peaches in Jacobs lap and faced my mom. I can’t help but laugh when my mom gets really mad at me. It isn’t intentional at all. But there's something really funny about it. Maybe it’s the crazy expression on her face or maybe it’s her thick glasses that make her eyes look abnormally big, but I just start smiling. It’s like those nervous laughs; when you laugh uncontrollably for a stupid reason and no one else is laughing but you, which makes it even funnier so you laugh even harder, and at the same time you want to stop but just can’t.

            “I do not see what is so funny about this,” her arms were crossed and her huge eyes demanded an answer. I opened my mouth really wide in attemp to control the smiles. “What did you do to your brother?”

            I looked at Jacob. He was happily shoveling handfuls of mashed peaches into his mouth. Ewww…