My parents drove down to Florida for vacation. My father calls her every day, but while they are on the road, the responsibility falls on me. It is a responsibility that I dread to some degree.
Grandma is 102 years old. Born in 1898 she has seen three different centuries, and two different millenia. I’m pretty sure nobody has ever beaten that score.
My grandfather died immediately following WWII (after having gotten through that ok,) and Grandma went to work for AT&T. She was on the stock plan. She also a little scrub beach in a place called the Hamptons. It is the last undeveloped beach front property there.
She’s amassed an ungodly some of money, which is a good thing. She needs it now. She lives in the same apartment in Parkchester, which is in the Bronx. She’s lived there most of her adult life, and does not want to leave. She requires full time care, and that’s where her money goes.
When my father was growing up, it was a nice working class neighborhood. It got very bad in the seventies and the eighties. My father would carry a gun when he went to visit her.
Now it’s getting nice again.
Money was tight though when my father was growing up. When my grandfather died, a priest showed up and let my grandmother know that if she couldn’t afford tuition to Catholic school, not to worry about it. My father was Jesuit educated went to College at Fordham. Upon graduation he had fulfilled a promise he made to my grandmother and enlisted in the marines. My father was a Recon Marine, and served tours of duty as a sniper and as a forward observer. Between the first and the second tour, I was born.
My grandmother retired, stayed in her apartment, and watched everybody she know grow old and die. Everybody she ever knew is dead. In 1970 she figured she was getting old and prepaid her funeral. The funeral home she did this at is long gone.
When she retired at AT&T, one of her benefits was free long distance for life. She was issued a calling card. If you’ve ever seen one, it has a long string of digits like this: 0588834 77533 8878909 23344. You have to enter those when you make a call.
My grandmothers calling card has 4 digits. Because the system changed when she makes a call she has to enter something like: 0000000 00000 0000000 00027.
She is a charter member of the ARP.
Every day she has a martini. She has the same bottle of vermouth that she had when I was a toddler. She just wafts fumes into the glass. It’s almost empty now.
She really can’t see. She can’t walk. Her minds not there all the time.
About five years ago, she called me up, thinking I was my father.
“Alfie?”
“Yes.”
“I got this letter in the mail from Luckent Technologies. I don’t understand it.”
“What does it say?”
“I’ll read it to you.”
“OK.”
“I’m going to have to put the phone down, and hold the magnifier over it. Don’t hang up.”
“I won’t”
“Click, click, bump” as she puts the receiver on the table. I hear papers rustle.
“Attention shareholder. Certificate numbers 083s5, 083s6, 083s7, 083s8, 083s9. Cusip number cjh345668, and cjx3439. Anouncement of roundup, option pursuant to c59jjs. No. Wait. That’s C59js3…” and so on.
“Grandma?”
“…Whereby under article 345568 of…”
"Grandma?"
“Hereby exercising there option, the party of the fist part…”
"GRANDMA!!!"
pause… “hello. what?”
“Grandma!”
“Are you there?”
"Pick up the phone Grandma!"
“Hello? I can’t hear you. Are you there.”
"PICK UP THE PHONE SO YOU CAN HEAR ME!"
“Why aren’t you answering me?”
"FOR THE LOVE OF JESUS, PICK UP THE GODDAMN PHONE!"
“Are you there? Hello?”
At the top of my lungs "PICK UP THE PHONE SO YOU CAN HEAR ME!!!"
“Click. Click. dialtone.” She hung up. I hang up the phone, and look to see everybody in the office staring at me.
“Ring. Ring.”
“Hello?”
“Why’d you hang up on me?” She shouts accusingly. “Why didn’t you answer?”
Such is par for the course for a call to Grandma.
I wasn’t looking forward to the call. I did it though, and the attendant gave the phone to her.
“Hello?”
“Hi Grandma! This is your grandson Alfie. How are you?”
“I’m Ok. You gotta take the bitter with the better. The bitter with the better you know.”
It’s one of her good days.
“I know what you mean. I’m calling because Dad is on the road, and he won’t be able to call today.”
“Yes. He told me yesterday. It’s nice to hear from you.”
“I like talking to you too, Grandma.”
“So, where are you calling from.”
“I’m calling from Pennsylvania. I live here.”
“Where in Pennsylvania?”
“South of Harrisburg.”
“My grandson lives near there.”
“Yes. That’s me.”
“Oh. Which grandson are you?”
“I’m number one grandson. Alfie.”
“Yes. It’s good to hear from you. How are the people?”
“The people are good.”
“That’s good.”
“So, any excitement?”
“Nope. No excitement. I like it that way.”
“No excitement?”
“Nope.”
“Any pleasure?”
“Yes. Lots of pleasure. No excitement though. How about you?”
“You gotta take the bitter with the better.”
“How are you doing Grandma?”
“The same. I can’t walk. I can’t see. I don’t do anything really. I’ve had my time. I’m just waiting to die.”
“Ummm…”
“Alfie? Is it nice?”
“Is what nice?”
“Things.”
“Things are great. There very nice.”
“How?”
“Well, it’s a Saturday. It’s a beuatiful day. The first one of Sprint. I went to a show with my Baby…”
“You have a baby?”
“Yes. A little girl.”
“Are you married?”
“Yes. You were there.”
“Is your daughter good?”
“The best.”
“What’s she like?”
“She’s like stopping and breathing the air after a long run uphill. She’s like a brand new car. She’s like a fresh cornmuffin hot out of the oven.”
“Does she look like me?” a laugh.
“She’s got beautiful eyes grandma. Just like you.”
“That’s nice.”
“Yes. We like her very much.”
“The Doctor said I’m four feet two inches.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve been five six all my life. The Doctor said I was four two.”
“Ummm.”
“I’m not four two. I’m five six. Tell me I’m four two. How can they do that?”
“Ummm. Well. You know Doctors these days, Grandma. They don’t teach them right anymore. What do they know?”
“That’s right.”
A long silence.
“So, um Grandma? It’s been great talking to you.”
“Where are you calling from?”
“I’m in Pensylvania, Grandma. This is Alfie.”
“Alfie?”
“Yes.”
“Ohhhh. Alfie. How’s your daughter?”
“She’s great, Grandma.”
“How are the people?”
“There pretty good. And, there’s no excitement either. Lots of pleasure though.”
“Are they working you too hard?”
“No, Grandma. I’m the boss now. I work them.”
“Do you crack the whip?”
“When I gotta.”
“That’s good. You don’t come down to hard though?”
“Nope. I try to be nice.”
“That’s good.”
“Yes.”
“You gotta take the bitter with the better…”
YES.