and so bright I wanted to shut my eyes for the rest of my life. My arms and legs felt numb.
Nothing will happen, nothing will happen,
I chanted.
It’s okay.
I thought of how brave Anne Frank had to be.
Grandma lay on top of shiny white satin lining the coffin. Thick makeup covered her face. Could her closed eyes pop open?
Looking at her so close seemed like stealing secrets. Did people know they were being stared at when they were dead?
“She looks good,” Uncle Irving had said as we walked over, as though assuring me. “Pretty.”
Was he nuts? She looked like the wax apples and bananas she’d kept ina bowl. Grandma would say they’d made her into a hootchy-kootchy dancer.
Imagine schmearing all this on me,
she’d say. The only makeup Grandma ever wore was China Rose lipstick. She kept the old tubes, so at the end of the month, while waiting for her check, she could scrape out a sliver of color.
Too broke for beauty,
she’d say to us as she poked out the last bit of lipstick.
Your grandma is too broke to look pretty.
You always look pretty!
Merry would say, hugging Grandma tight. I’d roll my eyes, but Grandma’d seemed pleased. I should have been nicer. Like Merry.
I barely moved my lips as I whispered over the casket, “Uncle Irving is right, Grandma, you look really pretty.”
Merry’s feet dangled over the deep seat of the funeral limousine. The car smelled of wet carpet and the pinecone-shaped air freshener swinging from the rearview mirror. Merry crossed her ankles in an effort to cover the hole in her pilled black tights. I’d wanted to find decent mourning clothes for her, for both of us, dresses that Grandma wouldn’t have called
a shandeh un a charpeh,
but I couldn’t, and what we wore was a shame and a disgrace.
Dingy clouds followed us down the highway. I wanted to rip off Merry’s gray dress, which exactly matched the depressing March chill and made her look like a tiny prison matron. Oily-looking stains marked where food had probably dripped from the previous owner’s mouth.
“Who’ll take care of us now?” Merry whispered.
“Grandma didn’t take care of us.” I stared out the window, watching the road wind farther and farther out of Brooklyn. “We only saw her every other week.”
“I saw her every week,” Merry said. “Because I went to visit Daddy with her. You didn’t go with her even once.”
“Be quiet, Merry.” I didn’t want Uncle Irving and Cousin Budgie, sitting up front, to hear me, so I covered Merry’s ear with my mouth as I warned her, once again, to stop mentioning Daddy’s name.
Merry twisted the edge of her skirt, ignoring what I said. “Who’s going to take me to see him now?”
“Just shut up about it, okay? Be respectful; it’s Grandma’s funeral.” I wanted to smack her. “Do you want Uncle Irving to think we don’t care about her?”
Merry pursed her mouth the way I hated. “Seeing Daddy would have been
respectful
to Grandma.”
I squeezed my own hand until I couldn’t anymore, then I pinched her arm.
“Ouch!”
Uncle Irving turned around. “You girls okay?” Mama would’ve said his black suit looked older and uglier than dirt. When Uncle Irving had come to tell us Grandma was dead, I didn’t even remember he was Grandma’s brother until he told me. I’d hardly ever seen him or his daughter, Cousin Budgie, who wasn’t a cousin age but more of an aunt age.
Cousin Budgie’s shoulders tightened, but she kept quiet. When they’d come to pick us up, she’d barely kissed us, just offered her stupid cheek like some sort of fat prize. I didn’t want to put my lips on her slimy, makeup-covered skin. Cousin Budgie smelled like the inside of Grandma’s pocketbook.
“We’re fine, Uncle Irving.” I gave my most responsible girl smile.
“Just be careful.” He turned back to staring at the trees lining the highway. We were going to a cemetery in Long Island where Uncle Irving said we had a family plot.
“We don’t need
Nothing will happen, nothing will happen,
I chanted.
It’s okay.
I thought of how brave Anne Frank had to be.
Grandma lay on top of shiny white satin lining the coffin. Thick makeup covered her face. Could her closed eyes pop open?
Looking at her so close seemed like stealing secrets. Did people know they were being stared at when they were dead?
“She looks good,” Uncle Irving had said as we walked over, as though assuring me. “Pretty.”
Was he nuts? She looked like the wax apples and bananas she’d kept ina bowl. Grandma would say they’d made her into a hootchy-kootchy dancer.
Imagine schmearing all this on me,
she’d say. The only makeup Grandma ever wore was China Rose lipstick. She kept the old tubes, so at the end of the month, while waiting for her check, she could scrape out a sliver of color.
Too broke for beauty,
she’d say to us as she poked out the last bit of lipstick.
Your grandma is too broke to look pretty.
You always look pretty!
Merry would say, hugging Grandma tight. I’d roll my eyes, but Grandma’d seemed pleased. I should have been nicer. Like Merry.
I barely moved my lips as I whispered over the casket, “Uncle Irving is right, Grandma, you look really pretty.”
Merry’s feet dangled over the deep seat of the funeral limousine. The car smelled of wet carpet and the pinecone-shaped air freshener swinging from the rearview mirror. Merry crossed her ankles in an effort to cover the hole in her pilled black tights. I’d wanted to find decent mourning clothes for her, for both of us, dresses that Grandma wouldn’t have called
a shandeh un a charpeh,
but I couldn’t, and what we wore was a shame and a disgrace.
Dingy clouds followed us down the highway. I wanted to rip off Merry’s gray dress, which exactly matched the depressing March chill and made her look like a tiny prison matron. Oily-looking stains marked where food had probably dripped from the previous owner’s mouth.
“Who’ll take care of us now?” Merry whispered.
“Grandma didn’t take care of us.” I stared out the window, watching the road wind farther and farther out of Brooklyn. “We only saw her every other week.”
“I saw her every week,” Merry said. “Because I went to visit Daddy with her. You didn’t go with her even once.”
“Be quiet, Merry.” I didn’t want Uncle Irving and Cousin Budgie, sitting up front, to hear me, so I covered Merry’s ear with my mouth as I warned her, once again, to stop mentioning Daddy’s name.
Merry twisted the edge of her skirt, ignoring what I said. “Who’s going to take me to see him now?”
“Just shut up about it, okay? Be respectful; it’s Grandma’s funeral.” I wanted to smack her. “Do you want Uncle Irving to think we don’t care about her?”
Merry pursed her mouth the way I hated. “Seeing Daddy would have been
respectful
to Grandma.”
I squeezed my own hand until I couldn’t anymore, then I pinched her arm.
“Ouch!”
Uncle Irving turned around. “You girls okay?” Mama would’ve said his black suit looked older and uglier than dirt. When Uncle Irving had come to tell us Grandma was dead, I didn’t even remember he was Grandma’s brother until he told me. I’d hardly ever seen him or his daughter, Cousin Budgie, who wasn’t a cousin age but more of an aunt age.
Cousin Budgie’s shoulders tightened, but she kept quiet. When they’d come to pick us up, she’d barely kissed us, just offered her stupid cheek like some sort of fat prize. I didn’t want to put my lips on her slimy, makeup-covered skin. Cousin Budgie smelled like the inside of Grandma’s pocketbook.
“We’re fine, Uncle Irving.” I gave my most responsible girl smile.
“Just be careful.” He turned back to staring at the trees lining the highway. We were going to a cemetery in Long Island where Uncle Irving said we had a family plot.
“We don’t need
Similar Books
