PITCHIN' (part 1)

   It takes alot to piss-off Grandma.

   "You hitch up the wagon to an ornery mule, well after you ride to town a time or two, the orneyness just becomes a fact of life."

   Grandma had her 'usual' doctor's visit yesterday, a requirement when you live with cancer. We knew something was amiss when Grandpa drove up the driveway after picking up Grandma in town. My cousin and I watched from the front porch as Gramps parked his pickup (still 4 sale) hopped out, then made a beeline for the barn, leaving Grandma inside the truck to fend for herself.

   "Did that old bastard just leave Granny in the truck?" This is my cousin, after the fact and obvious as he usually is. And no, we don't talk that way when the old people are near, but it makes us feel important when they ain't around.

   "Well, she's still just sittin' there. Maybe we should go fetch her?" I wasn't sure what fetchin' her would involve, bit I knew that if Grandma was in a temper, I wasn't about to get within striking range of her.

   "I don't want to rile her any more than that old man already has," says cousin Henry, " and it's to hot a day for more chorin'." When provoked, either by your own transgression, or Grandpa's, or God's or whatever the heck is happening in Outer Mongolia, Grandma can throw a chore list at you quicker than a chicken chasin' fox.

   "Let's wait her out," I suggested.

   "This afternoon heat will do her in before long."

   "Then I'm goin' in," I announce bravely, stepping down from the porch, heading for the pickup.

   Grandma had her window down, but was just staring straight ahead through the front windshield. She held some paperwork in her hands, and if I wasn't mistaken at the time, I know the difference now, I believed her to be humming a hymnal.

   "You all right, Grandma?"

   Grandma slowly turned her head until her eyes met mine.  

   "Goddamn doctors," she hissed, and I don't mind sayin', even in front of Grandma, that her manner raised the short hairs.

   "Y -y- yo -you got the cancer bad, Grandma?" But she didn't hear me. I saw it in her eyes. Grandma had gone over to the other place.

   She said then, "God knows I love you, Duane, but if you don't clear away, I'm going to do something that'll leave a scar on your great-grandchildren."

   "Yes mam, I'll be right up there on the porch." I don't now, recall walking, or running back to the front porch, but I remember this - the fear across cousin Henry's face as we stood together at the porch railing, both of us with an eye toward's Granny.

   "Good news for Grandpa," I said.

   "What?"

   "She's mad at the doctor for some reason."

   "Scary mad?"

   "John Henry, I'm not to big of a man to admit that during my talk with Grandma, a little bit of pee ran down my leg." I confessed right there.

   "Just a little's too much for me, cousin," he said, hopping the railing and taken to a run across the ten acre pasture between our place and his.

   "You're a coward, John Henry," I yelled after him, "you and yer daddy!"

   By this time Grandma had stepped from the pickup, stood a moment on the driveway, it seemed, to consider her options. Then she picked up a dead oak branch that she had been asking me to pick up and throw in the wood pile for nearly a month past.    That wasn't a good sign. I waited a moment. Then a moment more. Then it happened. Right out there in the front yard.    Grandma pitched a fit.

   She proceeded to take that hunk of wood to Grandpa's pickup in a surly manner, denting and dinging and raising a ruckus to rival the fourth of July fireworks. So much so, that Grandpa ran up from his haven in the barn to see about the commotion. I jumped from the porch to stand by Grandpa, both of us feeling powerless.

   "Least she's only knocking one side of that old truck," Grandpa mused.

   It ended as quickly and as quietly as it began. We waited there, my Grandfather and I, as Grandma took in a deep breath and approached us where we stood.

   "Life's just a race," she began, telling us, " a body starts dyin' as soon as it's born. It's all about how much a soul can accomplish before the end of the race." There were almost tears in her eyes, but I knew she wouldn't let herself spill over in front of me. Tears weren't for the children, or the children's children to see. She would hold them for herself - and for Grandpa, when they were alone with each other.

   "Orval." she said to Grandpa, " I'm going to need a little while before you come in for the night."

   "I guess I can find some chores to do," he told her, giving her a smile. She gave me a smile and went inside the house.

   Grandpa walked over to his truck to inspect the damage. Grabbing the '4 sale' from the windshield, he found his grease pencil in his cover-all's pocket and crossed out the $2500 part of the post. Finishing his chore, he put the sign back in the window with a shrug and asked me to park the rig back down at the end of the driveway where folks could see it better. Then he took a long moment to look at the house before wandering back to the barn.

   I parked the truck where Grandpa preferred it to be parked and walked back up to the front porch trying to remember if I knew of anyone who wanted a Chevy pickup for $1500.00 . . . . .