A Man Named Dave

totally confused. “What?” I begged. “Grandma, please, slow down. Did what? What are you –”
    “Don’t you interrupt me. Don’t get too big for your britches. I’m sick and tired of you, of everyone talking over me. I’ll be goddamned if I have to sit here, sit here all alone and put up with … with this!” I couldn’t believe my ears. I slapped my hand against my forehead for the crime of committing yet another atrocity. Biting my tongue, I readied myself for the next volley.
    “You know damn well what you did — storming into your mother’s house this afternoon … ranting and raving like a mad man … terrorizing her and tearing up everything in sight … throwing things … demanding this and that… inspecting every room as if you were goddamn General Patton! You’re lucky she didn’t call the police. Just who in the hell do you think you are? How in the world could you act like that at a time like this? Does anybody care to think about … to think how I feel?” Grandmother paused to cry into the phone. “I’m all alone here. I’m not getting any younger. If I live to be a hundred … I am very, very ashamed of you, David James Pelzer!”
    All I could do was shake my head as Grandmother continued to berate me. I knew it was pointless to inform her that I, in fact, had not threatened Mother nor had I destroyed her house. Even the timing was off by a day. But much like Mother, no one could tell Grandmother anything. All I could do was reply with an occasional “Yes, ma’am” or “No, ma’am” whenever I felt a response was needed. An hour later, and after repeating herself for the umpteenth time, I broke in. “Grandma, I saw her yesterday, not today. And when you talked to Mother, just before you called me, was she … was she drunk?”
    Hundreds of miles away, I could hear Grandmother suck in a deep breath. Intentionally, I had pushed her buttons. I was in no way trying to be disrespectful, but rather calming Grandmother down before she drove herself to a frenzy. Sensing she was close to a meltdown, I thought it best to bring her back to reality with a question so startling she had to see the situation for what it was: one of Mother’s futile ravings. “Well,” she insisted, “you know damn well she was! Drunk? She’s always drunk. I’m just sick and tired of her calling me. I mind my own business, you know. I don’t bother a soul, and every day it’s always something about her that I have to deal with. I’ve told everyone and now I’m telling you: I’m not getting any younger out here. It’s not easy … but does anyone care to think about how I feel? Do they? Well… ?”
    Grandmother’s self-pity sounded word for word like Mother’s self-centered speech just one day ago. “Grandma?” I lightly interjected. “If Mom’s drunk when she calls you, maybe you should, you know … not take what she says to heart.” Grandmother was by no means feebleminded; on the contrary, she was an intelligent, overbearing individual, who seemed at times to relish demeaning her daughter. As I carefully tiptoed past Grandmother, I suddenly realized the problem: her attention was never on the crisis at hand, but rather on her and how she felt at the time of the problem.
    Feeling drained, and before Grandmother could fire off another round, I said, “Listen, I know it’s late back there, so I’ll call you later. Sorry to have disturbed you. I gotta go. I’ll give Father your best. Bye.”
    As I gently lowered the telephone, I could hear Grandmother erupt like a volcano. “David James Pelzer! Don’t you even think about hanging up on me! I’m sick and tired of everyone walking all over me, like some doormat. You’d think as much as I’ve done, that someone would be kind enough to think about my feelings….”
    As I dragged myself back to the living room couch, Alice exclaimed, “My Lord, you look a mess!” Since I avoided mirrors as much as possible, I could only imagine my appearance. “You haven’t slept in Lord knows how long, and you eat like a bird. And now your face and neck are beet red …” Mr Turnbough placed her hand on my forehead. She shook her head in dismay. “… and now you’re burning up.”
    As Alice disappeared into the bathroom, I exploded, “Man, what is their problem? ” Returning a moment later, she presented me with some aspirin and a glass of water. With one swoop I tossed the aspirin into my mouth and gulped down the water. “I don’t get it,” I said to her. “They don’t care. Not one of them. Mother nor Grandmother even