“What’s Harley eating?” – a rottweiler greedily slurps a half-eaten something from a covertly cupped palm, well-hidden in the space between two arthritic knees.
“Nothing…” my grandmother replies, mischievous twinkles peek from underneath her half-hooded eyes.
-
“And what’s wrong with that?” – my father defiantly retorts, his voice lashing out.
“Nothing…” my grandmother replies, her gun barrel irises still silently smoking from a fire fight just moments before.
-
“It’s time… I’ve got to go.” – I shoulder my pack and hug her good-bye.
“What’s a matter?”
“Nothing…” my grandmother replies, waves of sadness swell and ebb behind her fogged portholes, only leaking slightly at the edges.
—
“Before we see her, you should know… She probably won’t remember you. She doesn’t even remember dad anymore.”
“Yeah… I know.”
Pushing into her room, I see her for the first time in years – and it’s been too long.
I see nothing in her eyes… Nothing at all.