A Man Named Dave

from the built-up anticipation, all I could do was roll out my sleeping bag, which was strapped on the motorcycle, and sleep on one of the patio chairs on the deck. The next morning I awoke to the sound of the sliding door opening. For years I had fantasized of greeting Grandmother with a warm embrace, as I had seen in so many movies, but before I could unzip my sleeping bag Grandmother was standing over me with her hands on her hips. “So, I see you made it,” she stated more than asked. “Sorry,” I yawned, rubbing my eyes, “it was a long drive.” I smiled as I stood close to Grandmother, then awkwardly leaned forward to hug her. For a second I thought she flinched. I gently held her, wrapping my long arms around her back. Although she returned the gesture, the hug seemed mechanical to me – it had no emotional significance. As Grandmother pulled back, I let go and followed her into her mobile home. An overwhelming scent brought back to me the days when Mother would bring Ron, Stan, and me over to Grandmother’s apartment in San Francisco, where we would spend the entire day decorating her artificial Christmas tree. My God, I thought. I must have been five, maybe six years old. After all those years Grandmother seemed to have the same pieces of furniture in the same perfect condition. I stood with my mouth open as my fingers ran over her piano. Grandmother’s house was like stepping into a time warp.
    Still a whirlwind of energy in her seventies, Grandmother took me on a trip to the local bakery to purchase a few loaves of day-old bread, then a brief but spastic tour of the city in which her stop-and-start driving left me nauseous – pointing in one direction, while flooring the accelerator and wheeling the car in a completely different direction. Afterward we both settled outside on her patio for lunch.
    For whatever reason, I could not get myself to relax. All I could think about was not saying or doing anything that might make Grandmother upset. So far my visit was nothing like I had hoped for. I couldn’t even look at Grandmother’s face for more than a few seconds. I found myself turning away whenever I spoke. As I picked at my food, I realized that I was intimidated. Being with Grandmother in person was completely different than our relationship on the phone. In front of her, I was a pathetic child.
    The situation became unbearable. Clearing my throat, I broke the ice by asking, “Are you still getting some good golf time in?”
    By the flash in Grandmother’s eyes, I knew I opened with the right question. “Just last week I played a round with a general from Hill Air Force Base. He’s a general officer, you know. I asked if he knew you and, well, I guess there are so many of you soldiers –”
    “Airmen,” I corrected.
    With a sandwich in her hand, Grandmother stopped cold, staring me square in the eye. After a long silence I apologized.
    “Well, anyway, you should take time and visit the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs. Yes,” Grandmother stated, “you must go and see the chapel. I have a map here somewhere. Now, where did I leave that map?” As she stood up to leave, I accidentally brushed against her arm. “It’s okay,” I said, “we’ll find it later.” In a flash Grandmother pulled away and stomped into the house. From outside I could hear her going through various drawers, searching for the elusive map. Minutes later, Grandmother returned to the patio looking defeated. “We’ll just have to go to AAA. I go there all the time. The girls there are so nice.”
    The thought of another drive with Grandmother made my stomach flip. “Grandma, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to have you go through all that trouble, but I’m not going anywhere near the academy. My leave is up in a few days. I’ll have just enough time to make it back to the base.”
    “Then you just make time, young man,” Grandmother snapped.
    I nearly dropped my sandwich. Looking into her eyes, I was met with another cold, hard stare. It took me an instant to realize my error. I was in no way trying to be impolite or disrespectful. I was only trying to make a point that to me seemed perfectly clear. Traveling over twelve hours a day on a motorcycle on the interstate for three days meant I truly did not have time for any side trips.
    Trying to redeem myself, I changed the subject. “Anyway, about two months ago I got a letter from Russell. I hear he’s going to join the marines. You must be so proud – the three of your grand kids in different