Dad looked at me.
Hattie looked at me.
“Meg, my dear, let’s not raise our voices at the table,” he said.
“Sorry,” I said, trying to calm down. “I’m very sorry it’s just that”—I glanced at Hattie—“as I mentioned to you earlier, I have some very important news, even more important than the end-of-school dance festival, which happens every year, but this news, this has never happened before and I really want to tell you about it and if you look around, you will see that it’s about Strawberry Days.”
Dad smiled.
“Do you already know?”
He nodded, taking a bite of burger. “I do.”
“About the Strawberry Ambassador Competition?”
He nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell me?!”
He put a finger up because he was chewing. “I just found out today,” he finally said.
“Really?”
“I’m a lowly clerk, they don’t tell me things.”
“Dad!” I cried. “Can you believe it? This is everything! This is the best thing that has ever happened to me. We have to win. We have to.”
And then I was the one who couldn’t stop talking. I really couldn’t.
“We must start preparing. Diego is for sure going to do it. He’s always out to get me, and he can’t win, Dad. You know he can’t win.”
Dad agreed.
I kept going. “I wonder why it’s just sixth graders? And how will they judge? Are they using judges? Do you know what the challenges are going to be?”
“Nope,” Dad said.
Ugh. I took a bite of burger and kept talking. “You’ve seen the bikes, though, right? They are so amazing. Me and Hattie saw a video about a lady who rode one all the way from Maine to Alaska! She had her guinea pig in the basket with her.” We’d managed to do a bit of research amid preparing for Dad to get home.
“No,” Hattie said. “That was a dog.”
“It was?”
“Yeah. You thought that was a guinea pig?”
“Well, whatever. Maybe we could ride them to Prince Edward Island!” The thought just popped into my head. I’ve always wanted to go where Anne of Green Gables was set and right then I knew I’d ride there, even if it was thousands of miles away. With an electric bike the whole world was my oyster. I’d ride there, my hair blowing in the wind, the ocean salt spraying on my face, maybe our cat Daisy in the basket like that lady in the video.
Hattie said, “It’s an island. You can’t ride a bike to an island.”
Then me and Hattie got in another argument and I couldn’t hear what she was saying over my voice talking over her until Dad broke it up by clapping like a sea otter.
We both went silent.
“I have some bad news.” Dad sat back and looked at the ceiling.
He had bad news? About the competition? About Prince Edward Island? We didn’t have to go to Prince Edward Island. It was just an idea.
“I’m so sorry, Meg,” he said.
I looked at Hattie. She looked at me.
“It’s just that…” He closed his eyes. “I feel so bad…” He covered his face. Was he crying? “I feel so bad…for your friend Diego and how he will feel when we CRUSH this competition and we will ride those bikes wherever we want. We are going to be unbeatable!”
He jumped up and started doing the Roger Rabbit, which is an old dance move that my dad used to do in high school. Usually it’s pretty embarrassing and I encourage him to never ever do it, but that night, with the Strawberry Ambassador Competition win pretty much our destiny, it was the most beautiful Roger Rabbit I had ever seen. Hattie and I joined in and we all danced the night away.
5
Grandma Sally
I now interrupt the Roger Rabbit Strawberry Celebration to discuss a pressing matter. Some of you may be thinking, What about the grandma? What about the menace? Isn’t she your partner? Isn’t she the subject of this very well-crafted exposé?
Don’t worry, all will be explained in due time.
Grandma had not entered the picture the night of our party. But looking back, I sometimes wonder if she had some kind of supernatural idea that it was coming, that she was coming.
In fact, sometimes I wonder what she was doing the night we were drinking delicious strawberry lemonade, daydreaming of riding bikes to islands, and dancing our faces off. Was she eating tomato corn chip sandwiches (her favorite) and planning my demise? Was she sitting in a bathtub (she makes her own bath bombs) laughing at our delight? Was she practicing a solo (alto but sometimes second soprano) about ruining children’s lives?
I mean, technically she had no idea there was such a thing as a Strawberry Ambassador Competition at that time, but that doesn’t matter. I still choose to think she had some kind of foresight, some kind of idea, that she was about to do something major to interfere with my happiness.
So before I go any further, it’s very important for you, dear reader, to get a clear understanding of my grandmother and some of the changes (she might call them “evolutions”) she’s been going through so that when infiltration and sabotage happens later—not much later, mind you; our celebration was very short-lived—you will understand what I was dealing with.
First of all, as mentioned, Grandma Sally is married to my Grandpa Arthur, who is an accountant who hasn’t retired yet because he loves working with numbers, helping people, and wearing bow ties. He looks just like my dad except he has a mustache that he combs and puts oil on. He also likes reading the newspaper (the actual newspaper!) and he enjoys putting ketchup on all food, including mashed potatoes, corn, turkey sandwiches, and macaroni and cheese. It’s very disturbing but that’s a topic for another day.
That’s Grandpa Arthur. I love him very much and he always gives us black licorice, which is delicious and Hattie hates it so I get all of hers.
I also love Grandma Sally, aka the enemy, who never gives us black licorice. She’s a chocolate lover.
Once upon a time Grandma Sally was like other grandmas. Along with Grandpa Arthur, she raised my dad and his sister Jenny, both at home and at school because she taught Family and Consumer Sciences at the local high school.
People say she was an excellent teacher even though she gave my dad a C in her class because he kept not getting up in the middle of the night to feed a fake baby she made everyone take care of to see if they were going to be good parents.
Grandma did so well at teaching that she won the Golden Apple and Teacher of the Year before she retired.
She then took care of Great-Grandpa Jack until he died. Dad is proud of her, despite his not-so-good grades, and he’s actually a pretty good dad so her fake baby test was unfair, I think.
We go visit Grandma Sally and Grandpa Arthur a few times a year.
When we are there, we usually go swimming, paint mugs, and make root beer floats.
One time she helped us learn how to sew shorts with whatever cloth we picked out at the store. Hattie chose the weirdest fabric with floating cupcakes and unicorn heads.
We’d do puzzles and play charades (Grandma could do the best Dog Man) and she’d read us stories, so many stories.
Pretty normal Grandma stuff.
No problems.
Everything fine.
Expected.
Then, a little after Grandma retired from teaching, the “evolutions” started.
I will number them for organizational purposes.
EVOLUTION #1:
She dyed her white hair purple.
Like bright purple.
Like grape soda purple.
Some might say, “Who cares? I dyed my hair pink yesterday.”
And I’d say, “Yes. I like pink hair and turquoise hair and blue hair. In fact, one day Lin and I hope to dye her hair rainbow.”
The issue here is when Dad saw her for the first time with her soda hair, he froze.
“What’s wrong?” Grandma asked, smiling. She had never ever done anything remotely colorful with her hair. Ever. “You like my new look?”
“When did you do that?” He dropped his suitcase.
“Oh, just trying something new. Did you know you can dye your hair using Kool-Aid? I’ve been doing research. You can also use sage or carrot juice or even coffee!”
Dad stared at her. “You did that with Kool-Aid?”
“Yup. I love it and can’t wait to run more tests.”
After that trip, Dad told us we could not copy any of those kinds of science experiments.
EVOLUTION #2:
She gave up the living room couch.
The next time we were over, Grandma had red hair—beet juice dyed, she let us know—and when we walked into the house, we got another surprise…there was a trampoline! It had replaced the living room couch! It was a small one, but still!
“What in the world, Mom?” Dad said.
Hattie and I screamed. We ran and jumped on it immediately, as anyone would. Dad was dumbfounded. “You got a trampoline? Aren’t they bad for people in your, errr, condition?”
“What did you just say? My condition? You mean my age?”
Dad flushed. Grandma did not like comments about her age. I could relate—having a birthday that came late in the year used to mean kids would call me a baby. It’s not like you had any say about how old you were.
“Come on, Mom, you know what I mean. We never had a trampoline growing up. You said they were dangerous and didn’t you say you wanted to go easy on your right ankle? The one you hurt as a kid?”
“Did I say that?”
“Yes, Mom, you did,” Dad said emphatically.
“Huh,” she said. “That’s odd. Either you heard wrong or I was misinformed, because first of all, they are safe. Second of all, they are excellent for your health. They help with circulation, digestion, and elimination and boost brain function.”
Elimination? Gross. I made a face at Hattie, who made a face back.
“And third of all, I bought trampolines, plural.” Grandma smiled.
“There are more?!” I said.
Hattie and I stopped jumping.
“Yes. I found them at a yard sale and they were practically free, right, Arthur?”
Grandpa Arthur was sitting in his recliner watching us jump. “They were a dollar each, so not free.”
“Where are the other ones?” Dad asked, sounding more alarmed than excited.
“Try the kitchen, the bedroom, there’s even one in the bathroom,” Grandpa said. He didn’t seem too excited either, more bored really.
“But why?” Dad asked Grandma.
“Your dad hasn’t been as enthusiastic about exercise lately, so I thought I’d put them where he could see them and maybe when he was walking by he might take a jump.”
“Not likely,” Grandpa Arthur said.
Grandma gave Grandpa a look.
Dad gave Grandma a different look.
And I gave Hattie a very, very different look before we each raced off throughout the house with Dad yelling after us to be careful.
EVOLUTION #3:
She decided she wanted to go flying.
The last summer we went to visit and rather than watch movies and eat popcorn, Grandma had us make dream boards.
“Dream boards? What’s a dream board?” Dad asked.
“Dream boards are where you cut out pictures and words that show how you envision your future, who you want to be, what you want to do,” Grandma said.
“Are you serious?” Dad said.
Mom elbowed Dad. Then she said, “I think it sounds wonderful, Sally.”
“Thank you for that, Stephanie,” Grandma said. “We can’t all be sticks in the mud, can we?” Then she said, “Come see!”
In Grandma’s bedroom it was a dream board explosion. They were all over the place. Like every wall was plastered with Grandma’s dreams, and wow, were they big.
There were pictures of rock climbers and magicians and skydivers. Pictures of artists and builders and scuba divers. Pictures of puppies and beaches and famous actors.
There were also words from magazines glued all over the pictures. LIVE LIFE! GO BIG! DARE! WONDER! EXPLORE! And Grandma’s favorite saying that she made up, I think, was painted huge over the bedroom door: GO BOLD OR GO OLD!
“What is going on?” Dad said. Poor Dad.
“Your grandmother is redecorating,” Grandpa Arthur said. He leaned against the wall, almost dislodging a dream board on travel destinations. “She’s discovering her inner self.”
“Is that what I’m doing?” Grandma said. I couldn’t tell if she was mad or not.
He smiled. “What would you call it?”
Grandma put a hand on her hip. “I’m figuring out what I want to do next, is all. I think it’s helpful for everyone to think about those kinds of things. Your grandpa is busy at work and I’m busy doing this.” She gestured to the walls.
All of us were kind of overwhelmed. I mean, as I said before, not only had Grandma had the same hairstyle for years and years, she also wore the same jeans, the same shirts, the same shoes. She’d lived in the same house, drove the same car, and ate the same muffins since we were born.
Now we were standing in her dream room.
“You want to jump out of a plane, Mom?” Dad asked, staring at a picture of a person hanging from a striped parachute in the sky.
She folded her arms. “I do, Peter. I really do. And I’ve met some ladies who I might do it with since your father has no interest.”
Dad looked at Grandpa Arthur, who seemed older than usual. “She has an adventure group now,” Grandpa said.
Dad turned to Grandma Sally.
“Yup. It’s fantastic. Women of all walks of life and it’s really opening my eyes to the possibilities. We’re going to learn to belly dance.”
Dad went pale. I wasn’t sure why that was so bad. I thought the trampoline in the bathroom was way weirder but also very awesome.
“And I’m trying out for a play!” Grandma said.
Dad had to sit down. Grandpa Arthur rubbed his shoulders. “You’re going to be amazing, Sally,” Grandpa said. “Isn’t she, Peter?”
Dad sighed. Then he said, “Yeah, Mom. I’m sure you will be.”
We all came home with posters of our dreams, but Dad told us he wouldn’t sign a release to let us go skydiving and not to bother to ask.
FINAL EVOLUTION:
Grandma is going to become famous.
It was that Christmas where, instead of staying at home, we drove eight hours to see Grandma in A Christmas Carol.
She was the Ghost of Christmas Future, which personally is my favorite ghost if you want to know the truth, and she had no lines but it didn’t matter. She was so good! Like the creepiest Ghost of Christmas Future I had ever seen. She wore a huge mask and a big old black cloak and walked around on stilts so she could tower over Ebenezer Scrooge.
Grandma told us she’d practiced for hours to make sure she didn’t fall. Then she gave us all stilts as gifts!
On the car ride home, I heard Dad say to my mom that it was an old-life crisis.
“That’s not a thing,” Mom laughed.
“I think it is,” Dad said. “She went skydiving, Steph. You don’t go skydiving when you’re almost seventy.”
“Why are you so upset about this? She’s having fun,” Mom said.
Dad sighed. “I don’t know. It’s just, I don’t know.”
At first I agreed with Mom. Why was Dad so upset about Grandma trying new things? Then I thought I might be scared if Dad or Mom started jumping out of planes or started belly dancing without telling me. You come to
expect people to be a certain way and when they suddenly change, it can be hard.
This is all to say my Grandma Sally was going bold instead of old and, in a lot of ways, it was great for me and Hattie. We liked seeing what was going to happen next. She was trying out to be Miss Hannigan from the musical Annie for her next play, which is a plum part, she told us. PLUM.
“This will be my breakout role. Mark my words,” she said to us over the phone. “Wait until I get in the movies, girls. I’ll bring you out to Hollywood.”
Who wouldn’t want to go to Hollywood?
No skin off my nose, as Grandma used to say.
None at all.
Until…until there was skin off my nose. Way too much skin off my nose, and it was coming right around the corner. Fasten your seatbelts.
6
Shipshape
But before Grandma Sally comes in, I had to get shipshape.
For two weeks I worked on my essay. I walked to the lake and threw rocks in because sometimes that helps me brainstorm. I wrote it in pencil first. Then again in pen. Then I wrote it on the computer, draft after draft, trying to get it just right.
In the meantime I wrote Dad notes like WE CAN DO THIS! and THERE IS NO I IN TEAM and ALONE WE CAN DO LITTLE, TOGETHER WE CAN DO SO MUCH. I found that one online and it’s by Helen Keller. I think it’s really good. I left the notes in his office and in his walking shoes and in the bathroom.
Dad said they were helping.
“Are they really?”
“They are. I gotta say. They’re motivating.”
He left me notes back.
STAY STRAWBERRY! Or THEY CAN’T TAKE US DOWN, THEY CAN ONLY HURT US BERRY MUCH! Or WE ARE THE (STRAWBERRY) CHOMPIONS!
We did sit-ups and push-ups. We memorized the most recent census of the town. Dad made a huge poster with a list of all the past mayors of Jewel and the members of the school board and town council.
“Why are you doing all this?” Mom asked after work one night.
“Steph. We have to be prepared. They could have a town trivia game.”
“Yeah, Mom,” I said. Dad and I had made a list of possible events, and trivia seemed like a no-brainer.
The War with Grandma Page 3
