Tears flowed down Grandma’s cheeks as she took the box away from me and placed it on the coffee table. “I can’t lose you, too,” she whispered.
My own tears flooded my eyes before I could stop them. At the same moment, Grandma and I reached for each other, arms wrapping around the only family we had left. I couldn’t stop crying, and neither could she. We had mourned for my parents, but it never stopped hurting. The loss never went away, never lessened. It was always there, like a permanent lump in my throat. Maybe having a gun would help me stop being scared all the time. Maybe it would give me my power back.
Before I made a decision, Grandma pulled out of the hug and wiped my tears with her thumbs, staring at me with love. “Let’s not make any decisions now. Maybe you won’t need it. But you and I are going to break out of this self-isolation funk we’ve put ourselves into regardless.”
Um.
Not sure I liked the sound of that either.
At this moment, Grandma was worse than the alley.
“What does that mean?” I asked, afraid to hear the answer.
Wiping away the rest of her own tears, Grandma took a deep breath and smiled (which kind of scared me more). “What do normal seventy-year-olds do for fun?”
“Play weird card games that no one’s ever heard of?” I guessed wildly.
“Euchre is fun. I’ll get you to like it someday. But no.”
“Oh boy. What is it?”
Grandma’s smile grew even larger as she said, “We’re going to play bingo.”
Surprisingly, that didn’t sound that bad.
“Okay.”
Hand in hand, my grandmother and I approached the flashing neon lights beaming the word “Bingo” to everyone in a five-mile radius. Okay, maybe not that far, but it was pretty obnoxious. The letters in the sign had to be at least fifteen feet high. The building itself was an old abandoned warehouse that the local community renovated to be some kind of recreation center, but after a year of almost exclusive bingo playing, they decided to make it a bingo parlor full-time with an occasional rent-out for local events. That had been two years ago. The neon sign was relatively new though, arriving about six months ago. Apparently, the man in charge, Frank Lewis, thought he had bought a much smaller version of the sign, but I was sure he was secretly pleased at the enormous size mix-up.
Older brick apartment buildings surrounded the warehouse, which gave it a homey feel, especially since the renovation design was what Frank called “farmhouse chic.” And weirdly, that was accurate. Stained gray wooden siding encompassed the base of the large square building, with red brick filling out the top. The roof was flat, which allowed the neon sign to rest safely, but a nice rustic tin awning covered the ramp and stairs that led to the monstrous sliding barn door that was open at the moment.
This was the first time Grandma and I had ever gone. We’d been hearing about it since it opened, from Grandma’s knitting group (which she hardly ever went to; I was starting to see Grandma’s point about not getting out), but we kept putting it off, bribing ourselves with sugar and a good TV binge.
Coming here for bingo was a good way for us to turn our “bad influence” on each other into a “good influence” on each other. That was why I didn’t argue. Part of me hated going anywhere, but Grandma was right. We needed to do this.
Walking through the door opening, we entered a sea of rustic wooden picnic tables and gray hair. There had to be at least a hundred people here, and they were all over the age of sixty. Frank Lewis, the head man himself, stood on a small stage next to a spherical bingo machine cage that blew out numbered balls.
Leaning into the stand-up microphone on the edge of the platform, Frank announced, “B-five.”
Maybe this should have just been a “Grandma” outing.
Grandma seemed to come to the same conclusion as she whispered to me, “This probably isn’t the best place for a twenty-two-year-old, but at least it gets us out.”
“We’re definitely out,” I agreed as I surveyed the number of wheelchairs and walkers lined against the wall.
And we laughed.
There was plenty of sugar and binge-worthy TV at home if we decided to bail, but for now, Grams said, “We’ll play two cards and go. Then we can officially say we went out.”
“Deal.”
“I’d say let’s go now, but I’m trying to be the responsible adult.”
“Two cards.” I winked.
“Two cards.” She winked back.
Near the back, there were two open spots, and we sat down. Every table had a stack of bingo cards lying in the center, so Grandma and I each grabbed one.
A lot of eyes were on me as if they were witnessing a sight they hadn’t seen in a while. My trusty stomach already began to turn, but after a few more numbers being called from Frank, everyone re-focused on their bingo cards.
After a while, my mind began to wander, as Frank’s voice was strangely soothing, announcing each number. By the time people yelled out that they won, my board was nowhere near any kind of bingo. Before I knew it, my eyes began to droop. Trying to keep my ears out for Frank, I missed a few numbers along the way.
Maybe if I took a little nap sitting up, no one would notice.
“BINGO! BINGO!” A woman in her eighties jumped up and down with glee, waving her arms as if we couldn’t all see her.
Clearing his throat, Frank applauded in the woman’s direction. “Congratulations, Clarise . . . again.”
Ooo. Again. Sounded like I missed out on some drama when I spaced
