Page 28 of The Jester and His Outlaw: Part One

It’s unfathomable. It will be a reality for me soon, but I’m not ready to face it. I killed both of my parents. Watched the life slip from their faces and although Gramma’s death won’t be my fault, I’m not ready to relive death.

Drawing in a breath, I release the belt on my helmet and yank it off my head. I kick my leg over and stand next to the hot bike for a moment to gather my thoughts. I can do this. If today is the day, then there isn’t a fucking thing I can do about it. My throat constricts.I can do this.

Relief. Pure relief relaxes me when I swing open the door and hear her voice. It’s quiet, strained, almost pained, but it’s there. I lock the sound away for a rainy day. “My boy!” she singsongs. I arch a brow, tilting my head.

Gramma is lying on the couch, huddled up under a mound of blankets. A box of tissues rests on the arm of the couch, and there are several wads balled up on the floor. In her right hand is a container of ice cream, the scoop sitting precariously on the edge. Two empty vodka bottles lie tipped on the dingy carpet amid the little white balls. Red rims her eyes and her wrinkled cheeks are damp.

She gives me a silly smile, the lines around her lips stretching and reminding me of when she was younger. She’s always been a cheery person for the life we’ve lived, optimistic, but I haven’t seen this sort of playfulness in her eyes in a long time.

Right now… She’s smashed.

I can’t even be mad about it. In fact, I’m happy for her. Drunk Gramma is quite hilarious.

“Gramma, are you drunk?” I laugh, my shoulders shaking as I step into the room and close the door.

“Indeed, young man. I am.” Her eyes cross and she blinks hard to focus on me. Where her glasses have run off to, I have no clue. “I’m makin’ vodka floats.”

“Pretty sure you’re supposed to mix the ice cream with root beer, not vodka.” Loosening the laces on my boots, I kick them off. I have to work this evening, but not until after dinner, so I’m going to relax as much as I can.

Soon, I’ll make something for supper that she will hopefully eat. She has consumed little lately, I’ve noticed. Most of the meals I make sit in the fridge. It’s like she has shut down and there is nothing I can do about it. The doctors want her to eat to keep her strength and prolong her time as much as possible, but I can’t make her have an appetite. She’s gotten high with me a few times and it helps, but she’s not keen on the idea.

“Root beer is for pussies, Riggsy.”

I bark out a laugh as I make my way across the living room to kiss her cheek. Her head wobbles when she looks up, and I can bet she’s seeing two or three versions of me. “Root beer just goes better with the flavor of the ice cream, old lady. I’m certain it’s not meant to get you drunk.”

“Live a little,” she titters.Oh, I’ve lived. I’ve tried every drug known to man to drown my past, but pot is the only thing I prefer. Gramma always liked her alcohol.

I move to walk away, but she grabs my hand and holds on. “Something’s wrong,” she says.

“What? What is it?” I ask frantically. “What do you mean? Are you in pain?” I drop to my knees beside her, looking her over.

“No, no, not me.” She slaps me playfully on my arm, and I sigh. This woman… I swear. “You. I can see it in your eyes. What’s wrong, Riggsy? Lady troubles?”

Cold, soft, wrinkly hands come to my cheeks and she pats the left side of my face. The tart sting of alcohol is wafting off her breath. How much has she had? Good thing she is sitting down and didn’t decide to wait for me on the balcony. I wouldn’t trust her not to fall over the railing.

“No, Gramma, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“Enlighten me, child. I’ve been home by myself watchin’ these horrible, sad stories. I need some other entertainment.” Sorry to give it to her, but this one isn’t much better.

“You know you can change the channel, right? To happier things?”

The remote launches through the air, coming straight for my head. For being drunk, her aim is spot on. I go to catch it, but it slams into the side of my hand and clatters to the ground. Gramma shakes her head, shaming me. A sparkle of laughter glitters through her sad, tired eyes, and she snickers.

“Shut up and tell me about this girl,” she orders. She is sloshed, but she is good at keeping her words straight. I could say something about it, but she’d probably tell me she’s not a rookie, and this isn’t her first time drinking. Slurring is for pussies or something.

“It’s not girl troubles of that nature, Gramma.” I pause. “No, this girl is abhorrent.”

I scoop up the batteries and the plastic cover to the remote. Shoving the batteries back in and clicking the cover in place, I hand it back to her. “You’re welcome.” I smile pointedly, to which she flips me the bird.

She narrows her swimming eyes at me and snatches the remote from my hand. “Abhorrent… that’s a… that’s harsh.”

“She’s harsh. The one who hurt Sam last year.”

“Sweet, Samantha,” she muses. “I’ll admit, Riggsy, what your friend went through was rough. But remember, people make mistakes, but they can also change.”

I scoff, not agreeing in the slightest. What she did to Sam wasn’t a mistake, it was a choice. “It wasn’t a mistake. She actively did it, Gramma. That is not a nice person.” Why I’m even having a conversation about this girl is beyond me. I’m not sure why she is appearing in my life so much lately, but it’s getting old. She refuses to get the point I want nothing to do with her.

“She dated that boy, didn’t she?” I nod. As if he’s a fucking excuse. “Love makes you do crazy things sometimes.”

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