Grandma Mary used to call everyday.
Every. Single. Day.
It was the usual,
"How are you?"
"Have you eaten?"
"Come over for a visit and we'll make some dead bones*."
I think part of the reason she called was because she knew the five of us were home alone wrecking some kind of havoc, as five siblings left to their own devices in a two-story house will do.
She only lived a mile away; less if you were an 11 year-old who knew the horse trails that tentacled through the neighborhoods like the back of her hand. She could have just as easily drove by and caught us chucking kitchen knives into the overgrown lawn, or peeked through the window just as some small body was mid-flight between the banister and the pile of pillows, blankets, and stuffed animals that were carelessly piled at the bottom of the staircase.
I suppose she knew better. Or rather, I think she didn't want to spoil our homemade fun.
I would try my best to quickly get her off the phone without letting on my intention. It was one lovely land line for our seven-person household, and call waiting was not in our budget. I had important phone calls I was waiting for; at any moment Joey Fama could be crank calling me to yell "Boobs!" into the receiver. If I missed that call, he'd move on to the next girl on his list and she'd be the one who would get to punch him the next day at school. And I was not one to pass up the opportunity to punch a cute boy in the arm.
At the time, I was sure she was not privy to my hurried, preteen impatience.
But now. Looking back.
Grandma doesn't live a mile away anymore. And I haven't run through horse trails in longer time than I've had my driver's license. And dead bones only get made for weddings. Or funerals.
And Grandma doesn't call everyday anymore. I think now it's my turn. I think it's been my turn for some time now.
When I do pick up the phone and dial my most familial/familiar area code and she picks up, I can't keep her on the phone long enough. Her words are kind and thoughtful, though they come out slower and with quiet cadence. I always want to tell her that I'm sorry I don't call more often, that I miss her, and that I will come see her soon. She always tells me the same thing.
"Melanie, you are always in my heart. Even when I don't see you. You're always there. You all are."
*dead bones are my favorite cookie of all time. An old tradition in my family that came about purely by mistake.
