Sleepover with Grandma Wallace

Billy Joel was on the radio.

Joanie sat in the stuffy room, waiting for her grandmother to come back out of the bathroom. There was a loud thump.

"Grandma?!" she blurted, shooting to her feet. "Grandma, are you okay..?" Joanie wandered from the easy chair, and in to the hallway. Silence greeted her inquiry. She reached the bathroom, hammering on the door for good measure.

"I'm okay!" Grandma's thin voice decreed. "My soap dish fell on my knee…"

Joanie sighed a little, slumping against the door. She rubbed at her eyes. "No, no, no—" Billy Joel crooned. "Grandma – do you want some toast?" she asked, finding nothing better to say; her heart raced, and her mind reeled. Silence again. A smaller thud.

"It's okay, Joan," Grandma assured. "Just getting the dish off my foot."

"I thought it landed on your knee?"

"It did; then it hit my foot."

"Will you be able to get up?"

"Just as soon as I wipe, dear." Grandma had a real matter-of-fact approach to conversations sometimes. Joanie could hear the roll of toilet paper bouncing on its peg. A flush. Grandma groaned; feet shuffled noisily, and unevenly. Thup thup thup. Tap running. "I'll be out in a moment…"

Joanie turned away from the bathroom, and went for the kitchen. The small apartment made navigating hard in the gloom of the afternoon. Walls jutted out at weird angles, as if investing effort in trying to attract bruises to bloom. She flicked on the kitchen light, reveling for a moment in the warm glow. She busied herself making toast, ignoring Grandma's weak little mewlings. Every so often, she'd look towards the bathroom with a pinched look on her thin face. She swept her hair to one side, getting it away from the jam.

"Do you want butter on yours?" Joanie loudly asked. "Grandma?"

Grandma shuffled out to the kitchen, limping a little. Joanie gasped, looking down to see two toes on Grandma's left foot crooked and purple. "Holy motherfuck, Grandma!"

"Language…"

"Jesusfuck. French, English; doesn't matter: your fucking toes are broken!"

"Joanie," Grandma said softly, "I can't afford to go to the hospital." Grandma sat down, elevating the injured foot on another chair. "You see those pills over there? Give me the big bottle."

She held up the biggest bottle. "These?"

"Yes'm. You bring those here, please, would you?"

Joanie tiptoed over. She placed the bottle on the table before Grandma. With deliberation, Grandma unscrewed the bottle, and shook a few out on to her palm. Without water, Grandma ingested her take. Joanie cringed, thinking of powdery pills getting stuck in her throat. Grandma didn't seem to have that problem.

"I still think you need some help—"

"Joanie; it ain't gunna happen. I'll be fine. I've got my perkies."

Joanie frowned, turning away. A set of shivers came upon her. She felt a little ill. Turning back, she was about to protest, when she saw Grandma rebreaking her toes. "Be a dear, and bring me that kit, by the fridge," was all Grandma said about the event.

Joanie whipped around to get the little red first-aid kit. She damn near flung it at Grandma. Grandma took it, wavering a little. Opening it, ever so calmly, Grandma withdrew a few wooden splints and some tape. "Now," Grandma said, "This is the tricky part."

Deftly, especially for Grandma's wizened figure, Grandma wrapped the two toes in to place. "M'toes 'll be swollen t'morrow, but – this is fun – I got it done." She slapped a thigh to signify the completion.

Joanie grimaced, the toaster dinging.

"Yes," Grandma brightly announced. "I would like butter on mine."