My father called me while I was sitting in my car in the drive through at McDonald’s. I had just handed the woman behind the window my debit card as he told me that Grandma Max had died. My grandmother was not an open book, she seldom spoke of her past, neither child nor adult. I asked her once, when I had become an adult, to tell me about her childhood and she began by telling me about her mother. She told me that the day her mother died was like losing her best friend. I don’t remember much about the rest of our conversation, and I am ok with that. I asked her a lot of hard questions about the stories she’d always avoided, and she answered every one of them fearlessly, and though that past may survive in her brothers, I am happy to let that part of her memory die without giving it a second thought, because regardless of the struggles and difficulties of her past, she loved me thoroughly without question. So I will always focus on the stories she chose to tell when I didn’t ask, and the life we lived side by side. I will remember her as I always have, her grandson.
And our story begins like this…
There is an alley that runs through Warwood, in Wheeling, West Virginia. My grandmother walked that alley daily, in hindsight it strikes me how much of her life and mine was spent walking through that alley. It was not very wide, only one car could fit through, and though I drove through it frequently as a teenager. Now, when I visit I refuse to even attempt a trip through because the alley was constructed out of blind intersections and potholes.
When I was very young Grandma Max would visit every Saturday. Our visits were always the same. My brother and I would put on our shoes and we would walk, for my grandmother did not drive. We walked for what seems like hours, but it was always worth it. It was worth it because at the end of our walk I would gaze ever so hopefully on the golden arches of McDonald’s Restaurant. My brother and I were regular visitors to McDonald’s, sometimes after school Dad would pick us up in his yellow truck and take us through the drive through. That generally happened on Thursday, because Thursday was pay day. But there was one big difference between my father’s visits and my Grandmother’s visits, Grandma would buy us Happy Meals.
My father’s refusal to buy happy meals was very logical. First, it wasn’t enough food. Second, nuggets didn’t come in happy meals at the time, and dad wasn’t going to let me waste a hamburger. And finally, the toys were cheap and often broke or didn’t work right. Grandma however, bought the happy meal and an order of nuggets so I could get my toy, even though in most cases the toy was either forgotten or broken before I got home.
After McDonald’s we would stop in to see my Grandma’s best friend Katherine. Katherine worked at a dry-cleaners on Warwood Avenue. I remember she would always give us pennies or nickels while they talked, Aric (my brother) and I would feed them into the gum machine. The gum machine would spit out these tiny square shaped pieces that, after 5 minutes, tasted like cardboard. Though, for some reason they were great. I didn’t realize until later how much Katherine treated us like family. She would send us a gift on Christmas and did not mind us raiding the penny tray by the cash register.
Some days we went to her home to visit, I don’t remember much about her home other than the ring shaped pipe holder on the end table, I didn’t figure she actually smoked them but I could not get over how cool they looked.
Grandma’s rented a house right off the alley, and after leaving Katherine’s we would sometimes stop by. I don’t remember a lot about that house, only really the day it was torn down. I don’t know if that place held good memories for Grandma, and I never thought to ask. I remember a lot though about the duplex she rented on 19th street afterward, it also sat right on the alley. The apartment had a boiler in the basement and a radiator in the living room. During the winter by brother would scoot by in his sox touch the radiator to watch the spark, then he would touch me to watch me jump.
We spent a lot of time in that alley, walking ever to and fro. If you grew up in Warwood with me you may remember my Grandmother walking through. I also grew up in a house almost right off the ally, and I imagine next time I am home I won’t be able to sit on that porch of the house, without expecting Grandma Max to come around that corner and walk Aric and I to McDonalds.
On the phone I couldn’t help but tell my father how glad I was that he waited to call until I was in the drive through at McDonald’s. It gave me the chance to think only of her as I drove to my meeting eating my chicken nuggets. I think next time I may get a happy meal, of course they don’t have enough food and the toys always break anyway. But still, a happy meal, an extra order of nuggets, a milkshake, and Grandma Max, what could be better?