Gammy Ruth

I remember visiting grandma Ruth, she always smelled like herbs. As I grew up I learned what ganja was, back then I thought it’s the smell of wisdom and cookies.

“Gammy, is mommy in heaven?” I asked her one day.

“What do you think dear?”

“I think she’s up there with the angels. Flying high.”

“I bet she is, dear.”

“And is father in heaven?” asked Jacob.

“What do you think?” she said.

“I think,” I said, he’s in hell. “And old devils are pooring smelly whiskey down his throat until he cannot breathe no more.”

Grandma stopped kneading the dough and knelt down to look me straight in the eye. “Tyrone, we’ve been telling ourselves the same story since Adam and Eve. But stories are stories. Fact is, you have to look out for the ones you love and make the most of each day. Like today, it’s sunshine and I’m about to pop those cookies in the oven. You boys hungry?”

Jacob nodded with a bright old smile. I smiled, too. A knowing smile.

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