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     $$     .d""b. .d""b.                  HOE E'ZINE 1052
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     $$  $$ $$  $$ $$ss$$                 "Grandma's House"
     $$  $$ $$  $$ $$                         by, Kreid
     $$  $$ $$  $$ $$  $$                      04/7/00
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     $$  $$ "TssT" "TssT"

        there was teary mumbling everywhere inside her den, among life
 machines still plugged in and operating, ancient newspaper clippings of
 obituaries and advice columns, teary mumbling all of love and/or grace.
 except maybe for dad's mumbling.  he was searching a jungle of useless
 documents and newspapers for life insurance-type papers.
        i was looking for stray jewelry that i could pocket.  people kept
 showing me old photographs of myself found in the rubble.  there was a can
 of yams in the refrigerator, which incidentally was the worst-smelling
 part of the whole apartment.
        i found a soiled pair of panties stashed behind the radiator and
 an indian-head penny buried at the bottom of a final mound of cigarettes
 in a cracked-glass ashtray.
        there were pills everywhere, diuretics and dietary supplements,
 but i couldn't find her morphine.  i guessed that she took it all with her
 in her final, most horrible hours.
        i smelled horrible from the moment i entered that house, and the
 heat inside was even more repulsive than the heat outside on the sidewalk
 at noon. the landlord yelled at me while i was sitting outside because
 grandma's trash was starting to crowd his dumpster.  "you're talking to
 the wrong guy," i told him.
        he looked at me like i was an asshole or something, then he looked
 like he'd like to break my legs over it.  "you're welcome to come break my
 legs if you'd like to try it."
        vacant stare.  "because i'm an asshole!  isn't that what you'd
 like to do?"  he turned his back on me and went inside to yell at my
 family. maybe i was wrong about the guy.  all this mourning around me was
 making me a little bit crazy.
        "nobody does sadness like the irish," my father said.  he's only
 half-irish.
        sure, maybe i was wrong about the guy.  or maybe he just couldn't
 stand the smell of me.  i didn't change my shirt for a week after that.

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 [ (c) HOE E'ZINE -- http://www.hoe.nu       HOE #1052, BY KREID - 4/07/00 ]