My mother and sister were not at the bottom of the driveway when I got off the bus on Tuesday, May 4, 1993. I waved to Valerie like I always did and climbed the hill to our sliding glass door. Paw Paw was at the kitchen window smoking with an ashtray and the TV remote. From the stool where he sat, he could just see the tv in the living room. He was not watching Bambi.
“Hi, Paw Paw.” I said. I think he started to say Hi back, but it turned into a growl and then a coughing fit and he went back to watching the TV and smoking his cigarettes.
Mom was going to be so mad when she found out. She hated cigarettes. She often talked about how her grandmother, my great-grandmother, had died because she smoked cigarettes. I didn’t want to die. I repeatedly promised my mother I’d never smoke even one cigarette. Cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die. I thought about my promise for too long and started to unravel. I had promised not to smoke because I didn’t want to die. But then in my promise, I had said “cross my heart and HOPE TO DIE”. I had major trepidation that I might have somehow just double-negatived my intentions and was now not long for this world.
“Where’s Mom?” I asked. The sliding glass door wasn’t fully closed, and Brandi sniffed her way in behind me. Paw Paw must not have heard me, I thought.
I sat at the table and unzipped my backpack, pulling out my homework folder and pencil case. Usually there wasn’t sun glare. Usually, I watched Bambi and THEN did my homework.
A commercial came on the tv blasting from the other room, and Paw Paw ash-ed into a can. “They’re at the hospital having the babies.”
It was so delayed at first, I didn’t realize he was answering my question, the one he HAD heard.
“Can I see them? Can we go?” I bounced in the chair, excited that I would get to replace the baby dolls in my play shopping cart with a real live baby.
“Stop that jumping around, get down from the supper table with those papers!”
“Paw Paw, it’s my homewor”
“I. Said. Get. Down.” Brandi and I both stared back at Paw Paw, not expecting a sharp tone.
He stood up from the stool and looked straight at me. He bit his tongue and I saw the same cruelness that flashed through my Dad when he was mad. My Dad had thrown me against the wood paneled living room wall of that house in Mt. Airy. The circumstances and reasoning are fuzzy in my memory, but his nicotine-stained teeth and the blue vein underneath the tongue he bit are as clear now as it was that scary day so long ago.
I wasn’t going to stick around to find out if the apple had fallen far from the tree. I grabbed my papers from the table, put them back in my bookbag, and sat on the floor. There was a half wall and table and chairs blocking his view, but I could still see Paw Paw from my new spot. He had turned his attention back to his tv program and I turned my attention to Brandi.
Brandi decided she wasn’t a fan of this stranger with his strong smoky perfume and angry hollering and, most rude of all, his treat-less pockets. She laid down next to me, as close as she could without being technically in my lap. She was keeping an eye on Paw Paw too. She started a low grumble I could feel more than hear. I tried to distract her with a back massage.
For a long while, we stayed like that; Paw Paw saving money on lighters by using the end of one to light the beginning of another cigarette. His tv program was on for a long time. I didn’t want to pull my papers back out. I needed to fill them out at the dining room table, like I always did. And preferably after Bambi and before dinner. Instead, I sat frozen with Brandi, unable to make a plan.
Paw Paw smooshed a final cigarette into the top of the can he held and turned off the television. He put our cast iron skillet on the stovetop and shuffled things in and out of our refrigerator. Brandi’s eye followed him as he worked. I stood up and walked closer to the kitchen.
“Paw Paw, are the babies already here? Mom said I could hold them when they got here.”
“Get out of the kitchen til I call you for supper.”
I knew not to argue, but I was incredibly confused. I had a million questions about the new babies and I wasn’t even IN the kitchen and why did Paw Paw pretend like he didn’t hear me at all? I returned to the other side of the table and stood on the floor vent that had just come on. I twirled in circles, without a noise, and watched my dress puff up like a princess.
“Get off that vent!” Paw Paw was madder now.
“But, I’m allowed to Paw-”
Paw Paw started walking towards me and Brandi jumped up. Barking and growling and scary, Brandi positioned herself between me and Paw Paw. She had him trapped in the kitchen and was barking so loud I didn’t hear what he was yelling. I tried yelling back that I was allowed to dance on the floor vents, but he couldn’t hear that either.
Brandi jumped at Paw Paw. She pretended to bite him to warn him that she loved me and she didn’t like him yelling at me. Paw Paw made his way to the sliding glass door and pushed Brandi outside. It took a few tries because she’s wiggly but Paw Paw slid the door shut forcefully. Brandi stayed on the other side of the glass looking in, jumping and desperate to return to my side.
Paw Paw ordered me to the corner and there I stood quiet and obedient. I peeked at Brandi a few times. Then, she was gone. My legs tingled. I could hear oil popping in the iron skillet. I jumped when the phone on our wall rang loudly. Paw Paw picked it up.
He didn’t answer it the right way. You were supposed to say:
“Anderson Residence, Casey speaking, can I help you?”
Paw Paw did not answer that way.
I could tell from the context clues it was one of my parents.
“Are they here?!” I yelled, excitement bursting. Paw Paw waved his hand at me to quiet down. I waited patiently for my turn, but Paw Paw started to say goodbye before I could say one word.
“Wait! Can I talk please! Are the Babies here?” Paw Paw ignored the pleas I shouted from my corner. “Tell Paw Paw I’m allowed on the heat vent!” The receiver was already hung up. I looked at Paw Paw and started a mental list of all the things I was going to tell on him for, including those cigarettes.
He told me to sit down for supper. I sat, swinging my feet in silence. It took a very long time but suddenly a plate appeared in front of me. Paw Paw didn’t sit at the table. He returned to his stool and ate between tobacco exhales.
I finished my meal and asked to be excused like I was taught. He didn’t say yes, but I hopped off the chair anyway and took my plate to the sink. Paw Paw didn’t know any of the rules. He left the dirty dishes sit in the sink. He didn’t even put the scraps in a bowl for me to throw over the fence.
“Did you like your hamburger?” Paw Paw asked me. This question caught me off-guard. I was quick to forgive and convince myself Paw Paw was just having a bad day earlier. I took this question as an olive branch and took the bait.
“Yes, thank you Paw Paw.”
“You liked it a lot didn’t you?” Not sensing any red flags, I continued walking into the trap he was laying.
“Yes, it was very good, thank you.”
“That wasn’t a hamburger you ate and liked so much.” The cruelness returned in the form of a smile this time, and again, I could see my father’s matching smile when he knew he had cornered his prey. “That burger you ate was venison!”
I could sense that was meant to be impactful, but I didn’t know what he was talking about.
“Venison! Deer meat! You just ate Bambi’s mom!” He was so happy. He got the exact reaction he must have been hoping for.
I watched Bambi every day. He knew that. I had never had venison before. I didn’t know people even ate deer. He must have brought it with him when he moved in.
The harder I bawled the harder he laughed, tickled to the core about the completely-relatable-and-not-at-all-traumatizing prank he had just pulled. I ran to my room, the room I moved into so Paw Paw could have his own room, and sat knees to chest on the warm, safe floor vent. I cried and spit and cried until Paw Paw mimicked my baby cries from the other room and told me to pipe down. I cried into my Rainbow Brite pillow so he wouldn’t hear.
The next day my parents called again, still at the hospital under observation because the babies were so little. Paw Paw handed me the phone.
“Hello? Mom? Dad? You gotta come home. He made me eat Bambi’s Mom! Please!” I held tight to the receiver so I could get my hostage message out in its entirety before it was snatched away.
Unsuccessful, I stayed far away from Paw Paw. I didn’t want breakfast. Paw Paw put it in the fridge. Around noon he sat the cold plate of eggs on the table again. My hunger strike went on until my parents and the babies came home. I ate the smallest amount needed and checked thoroughly in case there was some of Bambi’s mom hidden under some mashed potatoes.
I was certain there would be justice, but when my family all came home no one would listen to the list of transgressions I had memorized. I cried even harder when Bambi’s mother died in all my future viewings. I knew the evil hunter was actually my Paw Paw. And not only did he kill her, but he also fed her to me.
It’s not marked down in my childhood milestone book, but this was Casey’s First Grudge. First of many.
During the summer my aunts and uncles from Tennessee came to visit. They took Paw Paw along with them when they left.
Then, we left too. On the day the entire contents of our home were piled in black bags for transport, Brandi and I stayed out of the way at our next-door neighbor’s house. They had made me a wooden flower planter as a parting gift and even let me help paint the finishing touches. They also, I learned as an adult, were the real owners of my beloved Brandi.
I remember as we took our final trip down the driveway, we all waved out the open windows. Our neighbors were crying, and I didn’t understand why. If they missed us, they could write to our new home.
But unlike Paw Paw, we weren’t heading to Tennessee.
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