Art, Censorship, & Birthday Shots of Tequila with Nanna – Part 3 – Nanna Covers Her Tracks
February 20, 2011
Continued from (Art, Censorship, & Birthday Shots of Tequila with Nanna – Part 2 – In Which Nanna Might Have Robbed a Crack House)
“She has to be in her eighties and you took her out for shots of tequila? Are you nuts?” The Mrs. was standing at the foot of the bed, hands on her hips, tapping her foot and apparently doubting me.
“We went for a birthday drink after I picked her up at the airport. Just a little dive place on the way to her condo.”
“And then you guys got into a bar fight – right?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You’re not sure.”
“Not really.”
“How did you get here?”
“She dropped me off.”
The nurse came in and checked the IV, wrote something in the chart, raised an eyebrow, nodded to the Mrs., and walked out.
“Where is she now?” I asked.
“I talked to her and she said she was on her way down here to see you, even though SHE says you left her at that dive bar!”
“Figures.”
Nanna peeked into the room from the hallway and tapped lightly on the door. She tiptoed into the room holding her purse with both hands.
“How you doing, Honey?” she whispered as she came over next to me.
She felt my forehead and gave me a peck on the cheek. The Mrs. was talking with the nurse in the doorway.
“Not bad, Nanna. Not bad for having a psychotic nanna that robs crack houses and tells my wife I left her in a dive bar by the airport. Other than that not bad.” I whispered.
She patted my hand. “You really need to lay off that tequila honey.” She took a small bottle of Visine out of her purse. “Now just follow my lead,” – her eyes narrowed, “and watch your tone.”
“My wife thinks I got into a bar fight for crying out loud.”
Nanna quickly put the Visine in her eyes and let it run down her cheeks. Then she turned around before we both looked up and saw the biggest policeman I have ever seen in my life as he stepped into the room and flipped his notebook open.
Nanna turned on the crocodile tears like a Visine faucet and began to wail at the policeman.
“Oh NOW you show up!” she shrieked and opened her purse for a tissue. He’s been mugged and barely clinging to life and now you show up – where were you when he needed you?”
The policeman stopped abruptly. “Mugged? He was mugged?”
“Well obviously! Look at him! He’s so brave . . . why are you policemen never around when we need you . . .” She carried on for quite some time. Tears and wailing and crying and complaining and lamenting and sobbing and really working herself up into a frenzy. The nurse and the Mrs. came over and tried to calm her down with very little success. No surprise there.
The policeman turned to me and asked where I was when I was robbed.
“Look at him, look at him – can’t you let him rest before you make him re-live everything!” Nanna sobbed, “Have you no decency! Leave him alone, he needs his rest!”
I closed my eyes and wished they would all go away.
The policeman left his card with the Mrs. and asked her, to have me, call him, later. I could hear everyone leaving the room as I fell back asleep.
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I woke up some time later to see Nanna had dropped the bedrail, pulled up a chair and was using part of the mattress as a table as she counted out several piles of cash next to my arm.
She smiled at me. “We’ve got the booth money for this year’s art shows all right here, Honey.”
I looked at her as she proudly counted the money and smiled at me before I fell back in my pillow, and prayed for a quick and sweet release of death.
(to be continued)
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