I had just finished cutting my grandparent’s grass and was in their kitchen when my grandmother walked in. It was the end of autumn which met I had to handle leaves on top of grass, turning a hour-and-half job into about a three almost four hour job. To say I was tired was an understatement.
My grandmother handed me a check for a good amount of money and I asked “Where’s a pen so I can sign this.” In her infinite wisdom she pointed out that once I sign it anyone can cash it. “It’s down the road and I will deposit it immediately.” She gave resistance and I pointed out that now-a-days you can make deposits through ATMs. She knew best in her mind so I headed for the garage door after saying good-bye.
My hand was on the knob when a question came up “Why don’t you ever come to visit except when you cut grass?” So close yet so far away.
Gee I thought. How about how terrible you are to my grandfather, how you are morbidly depressed all the time and actively seek to bring everyone down to your misery. Or whenever you verbally attack someone and they fight back, they suddenly are the aggressor and you the victim.
Knowing full well this fight would have been like shouting down a hurricane, all I said was “I’m very busy and don’t have time.” It was a safe bet as in her eyes I am still perfect and didn’t want her to think low of me like she does her children. That conflict will not exist so long as my grandpa does.
Again she pushed and I believe I may have slammed the door, fury has a funny way of clouting memory.