Page 117 of Grown

There are only a few dedicated swimmers and surfers out here. In early June, the water still has a bit of winter’s chill, not the warm bath conditions we have in the summers. The water sinks its icy teeth into us but feels just fine to me.

“So. How long we gonna float out here? Getting late. Thinkwe should head in? Maybe pick up some Popeye’s on the way home? Crispy shrimp?”

The salt water burns the back of my throat. Nearby, a plastic bag floats and I think of the jellyfish. I can almost feel the remnants of his sting, the force of his hit, the rage in his eyes, the ice bucket...

I turn, waiting for the next wave.

She chuckles. “I guess not.”

“Just a little while longer,” I finally say.

Don’t know when I’ll be able to do this again.

There’s a rancid smell in Grandma’s apartment that makes it impossible to eat.

As she fixes us hot cocoa in the kitchen, I search for the culprit, digging through boxes of old newspapers, bags of empty plastic bottles, and crates of records piled to the ceiling, blocking the sunset. Behind another set of boxes in the corner is an old empty fish tank. I peer at the horror inside.

“Um, Grandma... I think the turtle is dead.”

She scoffs. “No, it’s not, honey. He’s being silly. Come on now, before your cocoa gets cold.”

I draw in a breath, re-covering the tank and cracking a window to air out the suffocating stench. We sit in the dark living room, watching her old box TV with the funny clicker remote. Daddy set up her Amazon fire stick to watch, but she’s committed to basic channels.

Her home has either shrunk or I’ve grown. I always considered this place a castle, but now I see it for what it reallyis. The clutter, the random articles from the beach she found with her metal detector. Forks, spoons, half-broken jewelry. She was fascinated by humans’ trash. Just like Ariel. It was the perfect house for that hoarder show Shea likes to watch.

How did we all fit in here before?

“Grandma?”

“Yes, honey?”

“What happened when you found out you were sick?”

She laughs. “I’m not sick, baby. That’s the problem. I see things clear as day. It’s everyone else that don’t see what’s right in front of them. People see what they want to see all the time.”

I nod, cooling my cup.

Grandma glances at the chair next to her. “Oh no, she wouldn’t want to do that.”

I look at the empty chair then back to her. “Do what?”

Grandma giggles, waving me off. “Oh nothing, you know they just love your voice, that’s all. They want you to sing.”

The empty chair says nothing.

“Um, sure, Grandma. Why not?”

Grandma nods at the chair. “Ain’t my grandbaby something? Y’all say thank you. Not every day we get a real star in here.”

The crates of old vinyls are covered in two years’ worth of dust.

“OK, you want some Whitney or Aretha?”

“No, we need a classic! We just came from the sea! They want that!”

“Little Mermaid?”

“Yes! That’s the one.”