her last words were “no gods, no masters”
i found grandma out back kneeling by the stream.
“what are you doing?” i said.
she plunged her hand into the water and pulled a trout out of the stream.
“i am remembering,” she said.
grandma had been up in the tree for three whole days.
“why are you in that tree, Doris?” grandpa said.
“why are you on that ground, Fred?” grandma said.
once on the way to school Karl Barx got away from grandma and ran across the street to chase a squirrel. Luke Calwell’s mom saw us.
“you should put your dog on a leash,” she said.
“we’re all on leashes,” grandma said, “he is free.”
“how did the PTA elections go?” grandpa asked.
“i told them all hierarchy is inherently oppressive, regardless of context,” grandma said.
“what did they say?” grandpa said.
“they put me in charge of the bake sale,” she said.
me and grandma were walking in the woods and we saw a wolf. i was scared, but grandma got down on her hands and knees and the wolf walked right up to her.
the wolf stared.
“hello again,” grandma said.
the wolf howled.
one day grandma and Karl Barx came to pick me up from school. Luke Calwell was on the swings.
“hot lunch is gross,” Luke Calwell yelled at me, “only poor kids eat hot lunch.”
Karl Barx shot across the playground, tugged Luke Calwell off the swing, and peed on him.
Luke Calwell started to cry.
“why did Karl Barx pee on Luke Calwell?” i asked.
“so Luke Calwell would learn the proletariat have teeth,” grandma said.
me and grandma and grandpa were eating ice cream on the porch. grandpa was upset.
“what am i? i am nothing! i am just atoms!” grandpa said.
“then you are also the birds in the trees and the rabbits in their warrens,” grandma said.
grandpa took a deep breath.
“thank you, Doris,” grandpa said.
“any time, Fred,” grandma said.
i went into the backyard and found grandma and Karl Barx covered in mud from head to toe.
“why are you and Karl Barx covered in mud?” i asked.
“we are acknowledging our true nature,” grandma said.
“woof,” Karl Barx said.
Last time: Remembering Grandpa