Calliope She tugs down the left side of her New-Orleans-style blouse to reveal an inch-long inkblot on her breast. Instead of the shock she anticipated, I’m merely puzzled. “But Gramma, why didn’t you get a flower or something? Why that?” She turns to me, offended. “What, you don’t like it? I saw it up on the wall over there and I kinda liked it. So I got it.” “But a division symbol?” “What? So that’s what this is? Some math thing?” “Well, what did you think it was?” I demand of her. “I saw a coupla boys wearing it on their jackets—I thought it was a hot new gang sign.” Choking with laughter, I’m kept from commenting. She continues, unperturbed. “Since I’m eighty-three I figured I might as well. No one will care if it sags later, ‘cause I’m already old.” “Oh, but Mama,” Mama gasps with exasperation, “how can you do this to me?” “Do what ta you? I don’t recall you gettin’ poked with a needle in a tattoo parlor an hour ago, so what are you gussing about?” Aunt chooses this moment to pull open the door. She waltzes in, carrying her black pleather brief case. She dumps it on the couch next to Mama. “All right, what’s the fuss? Everyone get in the car if we’re goin’ to do this thing.” At just sixteen, Aunt got a full scholarship to Stanford. That was the same year that Mama gave birth to Cathy. Aunt’s the only one of us besides Cathy that has been to college, and now she pays all the bills. She won’t ever let us forget that. So whenever she comes home from work, she always acts like she has this invisible power over us. Throughout the night, however, her mulishness fades until, by morning she’s so meek that you could tell her to clean the toilet for you and she’d do it. “Gramma’s got a tattoo,” I say to her, as her eyes shift between us warily. Aunt stares. “What? Mama why—” Gramma interrupts her to scold me. “Now hold up there, Cass, I don’t rat you out when you go and do something naughty. I’d hoped you’d do the same, but I guess not.” Aunt stamps her foot angrily. “Oh, I don’t care! Just get in the damn car!” We scuttle to obey. On the way to the show, Gramma spots a UPS man delivering a three-footlong package. She eagerly starts to roll down her window. I reach across her to grab her devious hand. “Gramma, no!” She pushes against me, struggling to gain the window crank. She’s panting furiously. “Let me go, Cass!” “No!”
d 66