My daughter has a new trick. Feeding while simultaneously striking the happy baby yoga pose. How is this possible, you wonder? Only when we’re in the side-lying nursing position and she turns her head so that she is lying flat on her back, tiny toes in the air, chubby hands clutching tiny toes. Still attached to my nipple. It’s pretty entertaining. Even when I’m desperately trying to coax her into dreamland.
Moving on, I’m back this week for more of the Red Writing Hood, brought to us by the Red Dress Club. The prompt calls for me to write a story based on the following.
Character – an elderly woman
Setting – baseball game
Time – during a thunder storm
Situation – someone has or will hurt someone
Go here to find out how I got that prompt.
Eleanor’s rear-end was wet and numb. She may as well have been sitting in a bucket of ice.
“I should be sitting on one of those damn doughnut pillows for old people like me whose ass has melted away,” Eleanor grumbled under her breath.
Here she was, 81 years on this earth, sitting on a very cold, very hard bench at a baseball game. And God was angry at the people. Not only were the clouds pouring rain, they were running into one another. Tumbling, clapping. Deafening thunder pierced the air, with the energy of the crowd filling in any gap in the commotion. Umbrellas were nearly poking out eyes, which luckily for the eyes, were hiding beneath rain jackets and ponchos. Pure pandemonium. And far too noisy for anyone over the age of 55
“What did you say, Granny?” Eleanor’s twelve year old grandson peered up at her curiously from underneath his bright orange hood. Or rather, he peered over at her. While Sammy was growing by the day, Eleanor was shrinking. Sammy was nearly eye-level with his beloved grandmother. It wasn’t something that Eleanor liked to think about.
“I said, the thunder is so loud I am beginning to think that my doctor was wrong about me being hard of hearing!”
“I think you can hear just fine, Granny,” Sammy said sweetly. To Eleanor, he was the perfect little boy. And to Sammy, she was the perfect Granny.
Meanwhile, in the row behind Sammy and Eleanor, a young woman, with a man trailing behind her, was squeezing through the crowd to find their seats. When she was directly behind Eleanor, the young woman let out a squeal. Loud enough that the heads in the surrounding crowd turned to look at her curiously. She was certainly not concerned about causing a scene.
“Jack! This guy just pinched my butt!” The woman screeched to the man beside her, gesturing to a rather tall and very meaty young man with a shaved head. He was wearing a thin white t-shirt with a familiar beer logo. No rain jacket, already sporting a small potbelly even though he couldn’t have been older than 30. Perfectly perpetuating the stereotype of a male chauvinistic pig.
Jack stepped up. He was also tall, but lean and powerful. Jack and the young woman wore matching blue rain jackets, blue jeans and white sneakers. The only dissimilarity was Jack’s baseball hat. The eyes underneath the hat were turning to stone and the heat from his mounting anger turned up the temperature at the baseball game on that cold, thundering afternoon.
But before Jack could throw the first punch, Eleanor turned around and grabbed the meat head ass-pincher by the balls.
“Young man, did you pinch this young lady’s rear-end just now?” Eleanor demanded in her shrillest, most authoritative old lady voice. She squeezed his balls as tightly as her worn, arthritic hands would allow. The young woman crossed her arms and glared at the man who had just violated her.
“Um, I thought she was someone else…” The meat head was clearly embarrassed and too shocked by Eleanor’s hand on his balls to move or say much or even offer a better excuse.
“You are full of shit!” The young woman howled at him as she pushed her long blonde bangs out of her eyes. Eleanor would never understand why the girls liked to keep their hair in their eyes. She would also never understand why some young men behaved so badly. Like wild little animals. Didn’t their mothers teach them to be men? Manners? Respect? She certainly did not want Sammy to think that this kind of behavior is acceptable.
“Don’t waste another breath, sweetheart. He is full of shit. We all know it. Even better, he knows it.” Eleanor turned to the meat head. “Now, young man. How does it feel to be violated by an old woman?” He was silent. This was going better than she had expected.
“Apologize. Now.” Eleanor meant business.
He apologized. The young woman shook her head at him, thanked Eleanor, and proceeded to her seat. Jack said “fuck you” to the man and followed the woman. And Sammy whispered something barely audible to his grandmother, something that she would never forget, even during those final years when her gumption softened and her memories faded into a subdued watercolor version of her life.
“You’re the coolest, Granny.”