Not to Gloat...Well, Actually, Yes.
"Here, talk to my mother."
Me: "длфшлвшйю" (No idea what I said.
I was thinking about how my mom was calling her mom-or her first husband's mom, er, her adopted mom now that I think of it...shit, someone's babymama-to ask her for money, as it had worked last time, and that even though she was technically my grandmother, I...hmm. I don't know, but money was involved, or needed to be involved, so I ...I don't know. It was just a foreshadowing of the other times I'd be traipsed out so she could pity money out of people. )
"Do you go to school?"
"Yeah. Umm. Second grade."
"That's good."
I held the phone against my ear just long enough to make damn sure I remembered both her response to the crazy idea that I was in school (as opposed to working as a bricklayer or something, Idunno) and how damn old she sounded. Daaaaaamn old. My mom was sitting in a rocking chair that was supposedly worth millions because it said "Pacific Bell" on the seat of itsweartoGod...I imagined her adopted mother who I'd been told was Cuban even though I hadn't seen a distinctly Cuban person before (this was before she had to ransack her photo albums for...probably birth certificates, and I saw pictures of the lovely Cuban lady who beat the fucking shit out of her adopted daughter and her twin brother, well perhaps not the "fucking shit out" but left them crazy enough for me to have to deal with them, anyway...also the first time I saw a picture of my dad, who allegedly did the same thing) as a little bony, decrepit woman in a black dress with white trim, rocking the same way my mother was. Or rolling a joint, whatever. I didn't imagine her holding a phone though.
Idunno if she sent money or not. For all I know, that well dried up, or she died... hmm.
Hmmmmmmmmm.
Now right now I wonder 1) if my legal grandmother is dead or not--the same semi-curious way I wondered about my dad about that barely over a year ago, not so much curious out of a concern for them but out of a desire to know for sure that I can finally stop caring, and 2) who the fuck was that? Was that even her adopted mom? Was it her adopted mom's sister?
Fifteen or sixteen years later I'm in Northeast Nevada, trying to follow native Hebrew for what I would think would be stops for either entire words or at least ideas, or any phrase I recognize a second time as I walk up the steps of their basement after my dad called my name (or at least it sounded close someone's name, and the girl with a similar name wasn't responding, so I figured best out of 2 or something).
" *Hebrew noise, my dad extends cordless to me* Do you vahn to talk to your gran dmother?"
"Wuhl...yeah, okay....umm....lakjsdfl;asd....hi!"
"Heh-looooooow! Is this Friiiiiiitiz?!"
"Yeah."
"How are yooouuuu?!"
"I'm uh....hahahaha, I'm good, how are you?"
While my dad gets up from the stairway and walks back to the living roomforeshadowinglolz, I both, try to think of something to say to a 90-year old woman the sight of whose likeness I see in my middle sister (exact same eyes) yet otherwise I really don't have much to say to, and trip the fuck out. Because...well. Just because I guess.
"Deeed you know that you have a gran'dmother?!"
My gosh. I can hear her smile. I think she repeated the question and added "in Israel" or something.
"Uh yeah I guess...*my stepmom's name* told me about everyone in Israel, yeah."
"What?"
"Huh?"
"Ummm...hmmm."
"Uh. *Stepmom's name* told me. Umm."
Pretty sure I shouldn't say "umm shit" to my grandmother, at least not the first time I talk to her anyway, I somehow hand the phone back to my dad.
"Huh huh huh....blah blah hebrew noises Yeah, Americantza."
More Hebrew noises, still can't tell where words start and stop, hangs up the phone.
"She tought you were saying that *my Aunt's name* was the one who told you about Israel. You confused her."
"*Aunt's name*? Yeah, that would confuse I guess."
"Yeah, I told her dat you're an American and have problem communicating."
"Ah well."
