That One Time

This day began ordinarily enough. I wasn’t expecting to later on have to use my body weight as a barricade to prevent my charging grandmother from knocking down my bedroom door and raising hell.

My parents had left town without me and my sister for the first time in ten years. They booked their tickets to Rome and invited my mentally unstable grandmother down from Maple Leaf Canada to look after me and my older sister. The first day they were absent, this great plan of theirs backfired in my face.

Hours after my parents were dropped off at the airport, my grandmother prepared her signature bean and was-that-pork-or-your-ex-husband soup. Nonetheless, the meal fit well in a bowl and the rich smell carried in the air. As soon as I got my hands on it I wolfed it down. All the while making sure I didn’t initiate conversation or make eye contact with either my older sister or grandmother. I tossed my dish into the sink and made an effort to wash surrounding plates. My sister was in a corner pouring steaming boiled water into a cup to make herself miso soup. She missed the cup and soaked the counter instead.

“Ugh. Melanie can you make me another one?” She pleaded.

I shrugged. “Sure.”

I repeated her process except no counters were soaked and the water actually made it into the cup. I handed her the soup with a spoon inserted in case she wanted to drink it instead of spilling it. She thanked me, looked down, stared back up, smirked, and knocked over the cup into the sink.

“You put too much water,” She sneered.

“WHAT.WHY? I DON’T UNDERS-. Okay, forget it.”

I opened my mouth to say something else but held back. I snuck up to my bathroom to brush my teeth. As I drifted off into a daydream while scrubbing my tongue a smell crept up to my nostrils. I shuffled over to the shower to investigate the source of the smell. A turd the size of Texas was in the shower drain. This had to have been the craft of one of my dogs that specialize in turd making. I held my breath, grabbed the nearest Clorox spray and went to pick up those masterpieces. Once my work was done, the evidence was thrown out. The shower was restored to its prior spotless condition and I was turning to leave then I thought “the stink. No. I must do something about the stink.” I had this brilliant bulletproof plan. I’d smear a purple, lavender soap on the drain and leave it there so the lavender overpowers the fecal smell. Feeling accomplished with myself, I walked out and left the soap to marinate in the shower. I was back to wandering in a daydream. Not too long after that, I think my sister went to take a shower because she screeched my name. I waddled over.

“What?”

“Why did you use my soap!?” she glared at me and motioned over to the shower drain.

“Well, you see, the thing is that-

“That soap was expensive! No, you owe me!” She interrupted and puffed up her chest.

“Fine, how much?”

She gave me the range of 5 to 10 bucks. I made a snarky remark that was unnecessary and basically earned me a slap to the side of my face.

A cat fight ensued. The funny thing is that she never struck with a closed fist. It was mostly just thumps with an open hand, nails, and some hair pulling.

I’m so used to my sister walking around stark naked around the house that I think I was completely desensitized. As we fought I think the fact that she was nude slipped my mind. We both aimed for each other’s face so it was a fair fight. At some point, she started to wail. This gross but fake sob that attracted the attention of my grandmother. My grandmother yelled “What are you doing” in Spanish.

There was a fire that flickered in my grandmother’s eyes. I was about to explain why I was slapping my “crying” naked sister because she had in fact “started it” and this all was a big misunderstanding. She then grabbed me and tightly gripped the sides of my arms. My grandmother is a short woman. I mean she could probably pass as a gnome if she wore a pointed hat. So when she went to grab my arms, she reached for my elbows. I easily slid out and hid behind my bedroom door. I quickly locked the door with shaky, clumsy hands. I pressed my body against the door and dialed my parents as my grandmother rammed into the door exclaiming demonio and other religious things were probably intended to exorcise me. My grandmother hasn’t visited since.

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