My grandma is dying.
We sat outside her room, and my mom was crying into her hands, and my dad was absently rubbing her back and staring off into the distance.
Her room sat at the end of our house, and mom pulled chairs from our dining table and placed them along the wall of the hallway to simulate a morbid scene. Grandma didn’t want to be taken to the hospital, so mom brought the hospital to her.
Grandma called out, and mom jumped up and quickly entered her room. She came out seconds later with a perturbed expression on her face.
“She asked for you, Millie.”
My heart dropped into my stomach. I don’t do well with death, especially when it’s my grandma. I was close to her, a lot closer to her than I was to my parents.
I stood, and entered her room.
It was dark in there, and just smelled sickly. Her heavily draped room suddenly felt claustrophobic and stifling.
She demanded that we leave her salmon pink curtains tightly closed, so only a thin sliver of light leaked into her previously vibrant room.
“Millie,” grandma’s weak voice beckoned me from the mound of blankets on her double bed.
I hesitantly paused, before walking closer and catching her free hand. Her hand was as light as bird bones.
“Yes grandma?” I lowered my voice, my normal voice would seem too loud in this room.
“I want to absolve myself.” Grandma whispered, her hand squeezed mine lightly.
“You don’t have to, grandma. You wer- are a saint.” I smiled at her, but I knew it was a grimace.
“—need to absolve myself from my sins. And my family’s.” Grandma continued as if I never spoke. “It was a different time, when we were growing up. We struggled a lot. We lived on a farm, my daddy was a struggling man. My momma just decided that us girls needed to mind our business. Anyway, there was a particularly bad year that rolled into two more years. My daddy came home one day with a butcher paper package and he wouldn’t look us in the eye. We never questioned it since my daddy was the man in the household. One day, I got curious. I followed him when he went to go and pick up the meat for the house and-“
Grandma pulled her her hand out of my grasp and looked away from me. I pulled her hand back into my grasp, my pulse kicking up.
“Grandma?” I asked quietly. I don’t know what I’m asking — are you okay? what did my great grandfather do?
“Millie. It was human. Human meat. He saw me and — and he got so unfathomably angry but I left before he could whoop me into next week. I ran home and my momma yelled at me for hours about shirking my duties and chores. Daddy came home with a different coloured butcher paper full of meat, and he eyed me silently. I ate it without any complaints, but I could taste that it was different. The other stuff was richer and tasted be- tasted something different.”
I wanted to recoil and run away from my grandma, close my eyes against the depravity I just heard.
But the way she was describing the taste, it made me think of mom’s special supper. She made it every so often, and she made a huge deal out of it. I wasn’t allowed to go over to my friend’s place or invite anybody over.
I gulped, and grandma saw it, and her face changed, and she started wailing.
I ripped my hand out of her grasp, and mom immediately opened the door, as if she was standing there.
“Millie!” She scolded loudly. “You’ve upset her.”
I blushed darkly and ran from the room, tears and shame bubbling on the surface. Dad tried to stop me, but I shrugged him off and ran to my room.
I decided I’ll become vegan.
Think I’ll end the post here… don’t judge me too much.
May 19th
I told my mom the next day, and she eyed me silently.
“No meat?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, maybe not a vegan, but a vegetarian. Still, yeah, no meat,” I smiled nervously at my mom’s expression.
“Hm, interesting. So you won’t be joining us for my special supper in about,” she paused and quickly glanced down the hall and back again as if it was a subconscious action. “A day or two?”
I swallowed against the rising nausea crawling up my throat and grinned. “Yeah, sorry mom.”
She nodded stiffly and continued to wash the dishes.
I stepped out of the kitchen and make my way down the hall, before my dad stopped me.
“She shouldn’t have any visitors, Millie.” Dad said gruffly.
My heart pounded and my hands shook. Somehow, why do I think grandma didn’t really have a say in going to the hospital or not.
— My grandma died two days later.
Now we’re at the dining table, with plates of food placed in front of us.
Mom and dad had seasoned meat and mashed potatoes and some caramelized carrots.
I had a plate full of carrots and mashed potatoes, and I tried not to look at their food with any type of longing. Not that I’m trying to eat anyone, but my sudden choice of vegetarianism is really out of survival.
My mom stared at me as she took her first bite, and the lump of mashed potatoes I ate suddenly turned into a ball in my stomach.
I glanced away from her and stared at my plate. My mom started tapping her steak knife against her plate.
“You’re sure you want to stay a vegetarian, Mil?”
“Mhm,” I acknowledged, looking up at her. Dad was silently eating too, but his eyes were trained on his plate.
“Okay, but I went through all this trouble…” mom said, shrugging offhandedly.
“I see that, it’s just that I’ve been thinking about this for awhile and with grandma dying, I thought a lifestyle change would be good for me.” I said, suddenly now wanting to cry.
Grandma did what she had to do survive, but mom and dad are well off. I don’t know why she started doing this — or dad, for that matter.
I swallowed loudly, and quickly grabbed my water and half chugged it. My mouth went dry.
“Can I be excused? I’m not feeling well.” I asked, my eyes skipping over their plates.
“Leave your plate, I’ll clean it up.” Mom said dismissively, an angry expression on her face. She still hadn’t stopped tapping her knife against the plate.
The haunting tapping followed me all the way to my room, and I rolled myself onto my bed and fell into a fitful sleep.
Something wakes me up. I quickly hop onto my phone and tap “schedule post for 20 minutes from now.”
I was going to post this earlier, but I was just writing this down to…I don’t know, wrap my head around things? I guess the title of this should’ve been, “Who Have We Been Eating?”
I know that posting this will make me seem like a monster, and you’ll think that my family are monsters who eat other people. In my defence, I didn’t know. My mom and dad though? Go ahead and think that about them, but please don’t think my grandma is-
Is that my door?