jawnbc | and the winner is...

He didn't mean to kill me, he was drunk Though he nearly did. But can you imagine the headline in the Kootenay Advertiser: “Girl 9 Crushed Under Back Hoe By Drunken Grandpa”? Too phreaky...

And it’s not the first time. Two summers ago I was reading in barn stalls (it’s quiet there with the cows, unless it’s milking time), totally into the exploits of that spirited Anne Shirley, when a bale of hay lands on my feet. On my feet! If you’re familiarity with hay bales is limited to TV or movies, you might assume that wouldn’t hurt. It did. A lot. My feet were black and blue for almost a week. “Opa doesn’t mean it,” was what Momma said. Well that’s what her words said; her face said “you stupid old man, stay away from my kids.” Opa muttered something about “wasted kids” (“nutteloze jonge geitjes” in Dutch, which I understand but can’t speak) and kept on dropping the bales like bombs. At the time I thought he hated me, but I was only seven then—I know better now. It’s just his way. That’s what Dad says anyway.

The good news is we only spend summers here, then it’s back to Vancouver. Opa used to live closer--up in the Valley--but he thought Abbotsford was getting too many Indians (he meant East Indians, but he doesn’t seem to like Native Indians either) so he moved to Castlegar years ago. One day he came home and announced he was moving, the house was for sale (he had the For Sale sign in one hand, a mallet in the other) and Oma should start packing. And she did, though after the house was sold and the truck was loaded up for the move East, Oma grabbed one small suitcase, got in her car and no one ever saw her again.

No one's heard from her since. And while no one exactly blames her, we all miss her. Well I don't really miss Oma--I don't even remember her. But I miss the idea of her; I mean, it would be kewl to have a grandmother to visit, like most of my friends have. But Daddy, he misses her. A lot. Poor Daddy.

So we've been in the car now for about 5 hours, and the way Mum drives we're maybe halfway there. Coming out last week the car was crammed with bags of stuff, but we left so quickly all we took was us: me, Dad, Mum and my brother. After Opa nearly killed me (again), Mum grabbed her purse and said "that's it, we're outta here. NOW" Daddy argued with her for about 20 seconds. Then he didn't. Mum got us into the car, slammed her door and stared at Daddy. After about a minute, he got in and we left. My brothers are playing their Gameboys. Daddy's just staring out the window. Mummy's singing, but with her I'm-gonna-pretend-I'm-cheerful voice. I have my headphones on,but didn't turn on my Discman. I figured out that if you pretend to listen to music, people leave you alone.

And right now I want to be left alone. I wonder what Opa's doing...