Shit For Brains

I think of my grandmother, Buddie, a.k.a. Beelzebubbe born fifty years later. She will start Microsoft or build the Luxor in Vegas or rub out a leader of the Jewish Mafia so she can steal his empire. Hers is a life defined by a kind of misdirected nuclear energy. Maybe having a family is her biggest mistake but doing anything else isn't an option in her town, in her social circle - even as she bolts that circle the first time she and Zadie made a buck, never really looking back except to dredge it up once in a while to prove how she and Zadie are morally superior to everyone else who doesn't know the value of a dollar.

She and a childhood friend save the nickel the streetcar costs, and walk all the way to the movie theatre downtown so they can have both popcorn and a pickle. When I was a child we didn't have feet.

Buddie's favorite place in the world is Vegas, never once said with the preceding "Las." In some years she goes as many as nine times, never winning or losing more than a few thousand, which keeps it from seeming like an addiction. What appeals to her is the timelessness. No phones, no sunlight, no children or grandchildren, and usually no husband. She likes secrets and she withholds information for no real reason, things that don't matter to anyone but her. It has its advantages sometimes. Toward the end of his life Zadie is getting a bit forgetful. It isn't Alzheimer's or even senility, just a general lessening of his mental prowess, like only being able to recognize the abbreviations on the Dow for stocks he owns personally rather than the abbreviations for every single company listed. Buddie has planned a trip to Vegas with a friend. This is completely normal. Zadie no longer wishes to accompany her anywhere. But she keeps the trip secret if for no other reason than because it gives her pleasure. At the last minute her friend backs out, selfishly deciding to stay in San Antonio when her husband has a heart attack. It may be a cliche, but Buddie's actual response is, "Everything happens to me." Later that night Buddie is playing gin with her niece, my cousin Edy. Zadie walks into the kitchen and Buddie turns to him impatiently. "Are you packed yet?" she demands. He looks confused. "Where are we going?" She turns on him violently. "I told you! I told you we were going to Vegas tomorrow! What? Do you have shit for brains now? Is that it? I told you! I told you! I told you all about the trip!" She slaps her hands on the table for emphasis several times, going so far as to disturb the deck of cards next to her placemat. "I told you!" In a bit of a fuddle Zadie mumbles that he will go pack, that he's sorry he forgot. When he is gone Buddie turns to Edy with a laugh. "I didn't tell him."