All Is Lost

2

Gar recognized his grandmother walking down the highway. He pulled over onto the shoulder of the road and got out.

"Biddy," Gar said, and his shoulders sank with relief. "Where have you been? I went to the hospital to pick you up."

"Wasting your time," said Biddy. "Checked myself out before my fanny could warm the edge of the bed."

Her eyes were sharp, clear, and laser-focused. Their edges wrinkled more as she smiled at Gar.

"You're a good grandson. You know that? I told those fire boys not to evict me off my property. I don't care if its char and ruin. I still own the land. I could borrow a tent or something. But do you think they'd listen to one word I said? God! Getting old does not mean invisible or helpless."

"Biddy," Gar said.

"Don't Biddy me. Your soothing tone is falling on deaf ears, Gar Rathbone. My body may not be Olympic material, but there's certainly nothing wrong with my mind. I know what I want, and it's my right to make my wishes known."

"What happened?" Gar asked.

"I was in the back, looking through some old magazines. Racy ones that I've always kept hidden from you."

"Biddy," Gar said.

He was shaking his head in disbelief.

"Methuselah is not dead yet," Biddy said, staring him in the eyes until Gar looked away. "I heard a noise. I put the magazine down and tried to make my way to the front of the house where it sounded like it was coming from. But you remember your grandfather's old metal oscillating table fan?"

Gar shook his head. He'd forgotten about nine-tenths of the stuff his grandmother often mentioned in conversations. But out of politeness, he always shook his head and looked interested. All that hoard of junk was her treasure trove of memories, after all.

But this time, he really did remember the object in question.

"Sure," he said. "I can't remember a summer that thing wasn't a fixture on his desk."

"Well," she continued, "I stumbled over it. Not over it. Over the cord, actually. That's why I had to be rescued."

"You were out? Unconscious? Biddy, you could be suffering from a concussion," Gar said.

Biddy saw the concern in his face.

"No," she said. "Nothing like that at all."

Gar stood waiting. The fingers on his left hand nervously drummed against his pants leg.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I didn't hit my head. I sat down on my bottom. Hard. Guess it knocked the wind out of me for a minute. When I stood up and went to the door, the handle was too hot to touch. See."

Biddy showed Gar the pink burns on her palm.

"Did you let them check that for you at the hospital?"

"I most certainly did not. It's nothing. Besides, that would only give them an excuse to shoot me through the tubes, pummel me with x-rays, and poke and prod until they really did find something wrong."

Gar's face paled.

"Nothing's wrong. Which is why I checked myself out. I'm fine. Just fine."

"Okay," said Gar. "If you're so fine, where are you going to sleep, tonight? Have you thought about that? At least at the hospital, you'd have a dry bed and some food for your stomach."

"Oh, stop your bother. I've got it all figured out."

Her frail hand touched his arm.

"I hope you don't snore as badly as your grandfather used to, Roomie."