FirstLineFiction beta

from Contest #2

All the trouble began when my grandfather died and my grandmother - my father's mother - came to live with us. Nonna sat on our faded blue loveseat positioned directly across the room from me, her short, stout legs just barely brushing the surface of the floor. She sat calmly, my parent’s bickering providing a soundtrack for her thoughts, as she silently awaited the verdict of their argument.

The current circumstances were of no shock. Nonna was a markedly peculiar breed of houseguest, one with whom we were never quite sure what to do, and who was of a rather difficult caliber to tolerate.

 Her personality sent us spiraling in every direction entirely uncertain of our own thoughts, feelings, and actions. She was a hawk hovering over our conversations, picking out our oddities, and dissecting each familial misstep any one of us took.  An endlessly waving index finger was thrust in our faces; ancient, wrinkled hands were thrown up in frustration as beautifully agitated Italian phrases were spewed from her mouth.

    She was a woman forever entrapped in a world that no longer existed, but one that she desperately depended on for her heritage. Ever inquisitive, judgmental, and stubborn, a whirlwind of disorder followed wherever she went sending my mother into tirades that would last for days. Thus, utterly fed up, offended, and somewhat sleep deprived, my mother had come to the unwavering decision that Nonna could not stay. Following countless criticisms toward her cooking, accusations of a lack of concern for her children, and constant mentions of my father’s clearly disastrous knack for choosing a suitable wife, my mother had eventually become filled with an ocean of fury that was yearning to stretch out its colossal waves and engulf anything in its path…and Nonna was teetering along its sandy border.

It happened on Thursday. My mother crossed wearily over the threshold, arms laden with groceries, and used a handy foot to close the door behind her. She scanned the room intently, searching for the ancient caramel face she knew all too well—and wished she hadn’t—until she wandered across it. She stood for a moment, narrowed her eyes and presented Nonna with a silent challenge. It remained that way for some time, the two women peering intently at one another as if their expressions were speaking words. It was as if an entire conversation, an entire argument had been exchanged within that seemingly unending moment, yet not a thing had been resolved. My mother broke from her gaze, let out an exasperated sigh and used enormous effort not to storm angrily into the kitchen.

My father rose from his comfortable position in his favorite ancient brown armchair, worn and fraying at the edges from overuse, and reluctantly followed my mother into the kitchen.  He had just barely floated through the white swinging door when she started.

“I don’t know why I ever agreed to allow that woman to stay here,” she practically shouted.

 “Hey, hey now, that is my mom you’re talking about hun,” my dad stated calmly.

 “I know,” she sighed, “but it is beyond frustrating having her around. She’s cranky, she’s constantly criticizing, and does she have to make her hatred for me so obvious!?” she huffed.

     “I know sweetie,” he said as he walked toward her, his arms open wide, preparing for a comforting embrace. “It’s only for a little while longer, just until we can find a more suitable solution.”

 

    My mother accepted him wholeheartedly, entwining her arms around his waist and leaning into his warm chest. She sighed. “Well we better find one soon!” she said teasingly. And just like that, her mood improved.

 

    “Oy! What in the world is-a going on in that kitchen?! Do you need some help Shay?” Nonna shouted from the living room. “You know there’s-a nothing like a little Italian touch in the kitchen! I could help you get things out here a lot faster.”

     As quickly as it had disappeared, my mother’s fury returned, rearing its ugly head and searching for an unsuspecting prey to pounce on. She pushed away from my father and clamored through the kitchen, determined to reign over her household—and its guest—with an iron fist that was well overdue. My father grabbed her by the forearm just as her hands pushed eagerly through the large, rectangular, wooden barrier that separated her from my grandmother, and swung her gently back into the room.

“Please,” he pleaded.

She sighed. “She needs to leave,” my mother stated vindictively.

“Shay!” Nonna called from the living room. “Shay, dear, what is taking you so long?!” she asked. “Never in my life have I kept my children waiting so long for a meal. You must need help…” she prodded on.

 

My mother glared at my father, gritting her teeth in a remarkably arduous attempt not to immediately respond to Nonna’s clearly instigative remarks. She stared expectantly at my father,4 everything in her gaze hinting toward the fact that she felt this most recent exchange was more than enough proof of Nonna’s intentionally irritating behavior.

 

“Oh, please,” he started condescendingly.

 

From then on the conversation progressed from a simple, marital exchange of diverging views to a sudden outburst of heated berating and absolute discord.

 

    Thus, here we sat, Nonna and I, an uncomfortable silence filling the room as we both listened for the outcome of the noisy dispute transpiring but a few yards away.

We listened silently for some time, each of us bearing witness to an aftermath we had both greatly anticipated. We remained this way for a bit, each of us sitting motionless, positioned on opposite sides of the room, and barely making eye contact. After some time Nonna looked my way, an innocent expression placed delicately across her fragile face and shrugged, ever so slightly. I stared at her, astonished. She had known exactly what she was doing, planning each move accordingly in a sadistic attempt to ruin my mother’s past weeks. Just then, her expression altered and was replaced with a smug smile that can only be described as entirely Machiavellian. I shrugged, cocking my head slightly to the side while doing so.

I smiled back, a devious look exchanged among us, and simply replied, “Well played, Nonna.”

back to Contest #2