---

 

This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “I wrote this in the dark” Down in the Dirt, v207 (5/23) Order the paperback book:

Order this writing in the book 2023 in a Flash the 2023 flash fiction & art collection anthology		get the 298 page flash fiction & artwork & photography collection anthology as a 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Stanley’s Grandmother

Denise McCabe

    He was sitting outside the Starbuck’s with his friend when I parked my car to go to the cleaners. He gave me a wide smile, full of white teeth and deep dimples, and I smiled back, thinking I must know him somehow, but how could I have forgotten such a face? I kept my cool and took care of my dry cleaning, and then on a whim, decided to stay and have a flat white.
    “You came back,” he said.
    “I did.”
    I went inside to order my drink and when I glanced out the window, he was talking to his friend, his back to me. He looked Israeli or maybe Iranian. Dark curly hair, swarthy skin, dark eyes. The dimple was sort of an anomaly, but it made him much more interesting.
    It was a full five minutes before my drink was ready and I was nervous that he would be gone by the time I got outside but he was there, and he looked up when he saw me. That dimple drawing me again.
    He patted the seat between him and his friend.
    “We got an extra seat here,” he said, and his voice was pure New York.
    I sat. We introduced ourselves. His name was Stanley; his friend was Louis, or maybe Lewis (I didn’t ask him to spell it), and he seemed amused by the whole Stanley and me situation. It wasn’t even a situation yet, but I wanted it to be.
    “So, are you married Marley?”
    Marley is me, or I, if you are respectful of grammar.
    ‘I am not.”
    “You say that very emphatically. That’s good to know.”
    “I’m divorced.”
    “What a coincidence. So am I!”
    He said it with such enthusiasm that Louis (or Lewis) and I caught each others’ eye and smiled.
    “Is he always this way?” I said.
    “If you mean crazy, then yes.”
    “Louis and I are on a mission today,” Stanley said, ignoring the last exchange.
    “Are you a spy?” I asked.
    “We are trying to find a present for my grandmother. She’ll be 95 next week.”
    “Wow, good for her.”
    “Yes, she’s healthy too, knock wood.”
    He rapped on the table top, even though it was metal.
    “I could use a woman’s perspective I think.”
    “Well, what is she like?”
    “She’s practical, but with a romantic streak.”
    “Maybe a book of poetry? Or some perfume?”
    “I think you should come shopping with us.”
    “I can’t. I have to get back to work.”
    “You could call, say you got an upset stomach at lunch and had to go home?”
    “Give me a minute,” I said, and walked to the edge of the parking lot for privacy.
    Against my better judgment, I called my boss and said that a family emergency had come up and I had to take the afternoon off. I didn’t say it was my family, so technically it wasn’t a lie. I felt silly, like a teenage girl sneaking off with the guy her parents wouldn’t approve of. I went back to the table, and Stanley was smiling that big wide smile.
    “We’ll take my car,” he said.
    *****
    The three of us ended up at the mall in Century City, which had every store known to mankind and the most confusing parking lot I’ve ever seen. I usually hated shopping there for that reason. Stanley found a spot near the Nordstrom’s escalator and took a photo with his phone of the area marker. Trust me, it is the only way to find your car in that maze.
    I had never met his grandmother and had no idea what she would like, and no idea what I was doing there but it was fun going in and out of shops, watching the two friends on a mission to find the perfect gift for a woman who had survived the ups and downs of life for almost a century. Stanley sprayed perfumes on strips of paper and waved them in front of my nose to get my opinion. But perfume is a very personal thing, and I told him I couldn’t possibly decide. He seemed disappointed.
    “What does she normally wear?” I said.
    “Something flowery, I don’t know what it’s called.”
    “Forget perfume. What else does she like?”
    “Opera, food, books. She mostly listens to books now though; her eyes get tired if she reads too much and she’s too stubborn to wear glasses. Do you believe it? 95 and too vain to wear reading glasses.”
    “I believe it. There’s no age limit on vanity. I think it’s healthy. Probably keeps her young.”
    We had been in the mall for almost an hour and were no closer to settling on a gift.
    “Do you have a picture of her?” I said.
    Stanley took out his phone, scrolled a bit, and showed me a photo of a surprisingly young looking woman, with strong features and a short, neat haircut. She was wearing what looked like a cashmere sweater and smiling into the camera.
    “Great picture. Is this recent?”
    “A few months ago, yeah.”
    “She looks like a teenager.”
    “She acts like one too.”
    “I have an idea. What’s her favorite opera?”
    “Anything by Puccini. La Boheme, Madame Butterfly, Turandot.”
    We went to the Barnes & Noble and bought discs of all three, then an audiobook on famous composers. Finally, we stopped at the Italian grocer and stocked up on various items for a picnic. Stanley watched in awe as I tossed various items into the cart, while Louis (or Lewis) videotaped the experience on his iPhone.
    “You’re a genius, and I should marry you,” Stanley said as we made our way back to his car. He dropped me back at the Starbuck’s, gave me an affectionate hug that almost crushed me, and drove away.
    I can’t remember a day when I’ve had so much fun.
    *****
    I looked for him every day after that, and was disappointed at first, then embarrassed for making such a thing about it. In time, the memory of that giddy experience began to fray at the edges, as if losing its peripheral vision. There are times in life that have to be chalked up to grace and revered for what they are with no expectation of more to come. We had never even exchanged phone numbers or even surnames. What remained for me was the feeling of being included for a brief moment in the lives of these two men, and the clear affection they both felt for each other and for Stanley’s grandmother. My grandparents had all died long before reaching the age of 95. I had loved each of them, and yet taken each of them for granted. I admired Stanley for not doing that.
    I did wonder sometimes as I sipped my flat white if his grandmother had enjoyed the gifts I had helped choose.

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...