Only Cranberry juice. That was all that was left. Nana always insisted that we have some. It stood up there, on the third shelf of the refrigerator, a blob of crimson that sneered down on the world below. No one ever drank the cranberry juice but Nana. Usually there was an exciting bottle of soda or a friendly gallon of milk nearby. But not today. The cranberry juice was once again the silent victor, smug at having outlasted the other beverages. Slamming the refrigerator door in disgust, I reached for a glass and held it under the faucet. A few minutes later, Nana came in.
“Why are you drinking water?” she asked me. “I thought you wanted some milk.”
I made the pouting face that only five-year olds and attractive women can get away with, and whined “But there’s no milk left!”
“Well you could always try some cranberry juice,” she replied. “I like it. It’s sweet.”
“It’s really bitter.”
“Alright, well enjoy your water then,” she said as she poured out some of the cranberry juice into her cup. I watched her, and pouted.
* * *
The door was locked, so I knocked and waited. Soon Gloria appeared, and let me in. The screen door whined like a spoiled five-year old as I closed it gently behind me. Stepping into the room, everything was just as I expected it to be. There she was, sitting in her wheelchair by the television set, where an episode from Green Acres was playing. She turned slightly at the sound of the door, but her eyes remained fixed to the television.
“Dorothy,” Gloria hummed in her soothing voice. “Your grandson’s here to see you.” I sat on Nana’s left in a wooden chair that usually stood at the table. Now her head turned all the way to me, tilting back as it did. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out but a whisper.
“Hi Nana,” I said, taking her hand. “It’s me.” Her brown eyes looked into mine, and I could see she wanted to tell me something. Her mouth opened and closed again.
“Would you like something to drink?” Gloria asked. “We have water, orange juice, some cranberry juice…”
“Oh, just some water would be great,” I answered. “Thanks.” As Gloria left the room I looked back at Nana. She leaned over a bit, and slowly laid her head upon my shoulder. I said nothing. She said nothing. We sat in silence and watched Green Acres, while in the kitchen we could hear Gloria running the faucet.
* * *
I woke up and everything was bright. My mother was on my left, telling me to wake up, and I looked up at her blearily. I could hear footsteps, many footsteps on the other side of door, and I pictured giant ants marching though the hallway. “What’s going on?” I mumbled. “Just stay where you are for now,” my mother said. “Something’s happened, and I want you to be out of the way for a little bit.” Her voice was calm, but her face was as hard as a stone. I looked into her blue eyes, and could see that she wanted to tell me something. But my mother said nothing more. Instead, she walked back to the door of the bedroom and opened it. I could hear a man on the radio in the hallway, but I couldn’t tell what he was saying. Then the door closed and everything became muffled once again. I stayed where I was, not wanting to break my promise. So I sat in the white bed, on the gray carpet, staring at the pale gray walls. Finally, my curiosity got the better of me. I slipped out of bed and walked to the door. The brass was cold in my hand as I turned the knob and pushed. There were a few men in white uniforms standing around outside. I looked across the hall where Nana’s room was and saw that the door was ajar. Chilling fear flushed into my head. A moment later, Nana was wheeled out on a stretcher.
* * *
As I ran out onto the stage, everything was bright. The merry trumpets of the Party Scene sang out over the sound system, and I hurried to my place. There wasn’t much dancing for the kids at this part, so I took the opportunity to look out into the audience. The light reflected off the first row of people, shining back in their stoic glasses. As the rows ran back farther and farther, I could see fewer and fewer of the people, but I knew that Nana was out there somewhere, watching. This was my first show on a real stage, and I wondered what she was doing. Maybe she was pointing at me and whispering to my father that I had just appeared. I smiled, and turned back to my friends.
* * *
We sat uncomfortably in the small blue room. There were no lights on. The windows opposite the entrance let in rays of pale white sunlight, the kind that always comes as the day is dying. The doctor sat behind his desk as he spoke, peering through his shining glasses. He told my father that Dorothy was now stable, but needed to be given constant care. In addition there would be issues over how to get her safely home from Boston. The car that we had brought wasn’t suited to carrying someone on a stretcher. Looking down at my thumbs, I wondered where Nana was. I wondered what she was thinking. I wondered if she could think. My father answered the doctor’s questions slowly, and methodically. It was suggested that our family start thinking about rest homes, but my father had a very different plan in mind. He wanted to hire 24 hour care for Nana, no matter what the expense. We would set her up in the smaller house we owned across the street, where she would live entirely on the first floor so as to not have to worry about stairs. She would, after all, be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of her life.
* * *
My father came home around 6:00 in the afternoon and I greeted him with a hug. “There’s no more milk,” I told him.
“Uh oh,” he said smiling. “Well, that’s alright because I have something to tell you. Where’s Nana?” I ran back into the kitchen to get her. When he had all gathered in the first floor hallway, my father told us we would be going on a trip. “I’ve been asked to speak at MIT.” He said excitedly. “So I figured we could all go down to Boston.”
* * *
After the show ended, I ran out into the audience to find my family. They were where I had expected, sitting far to the side so Nana could stay in her wheelchair. Gloria was wrapping a shawl around Nana to protect her from chill. So many years had gone by since the first time I had walked out on that stage. I couldn’t even remember what it had been like to come out into the audience to find Nana and my parents happily chatting. I would still find Nana and my parents, and Gloria now, but all Nana could do was try to smile.
* * *
Nana was back in the hospital. She’d contracted a urinary tract infection and was under careful observation. As I sat in the waiting room, the sun slipped below the horizon, like an egg yolk into a bowl. Visions of memories danced in my head. When we’d taken Nana away from the hospital, we’d thought it would be the last time that we would have to confront the reality of her illness. As long as she was safe at home we could pretend that nothing was wrong. And yet here we were. There was no escape. Sooner or later, we would always come back. We would all come back. My father came to sit by me, and put his arm around my shoulders.
“You know, we should really take every day with Nana as a blessing,” he said. “There won’t be many days left.” We watched together as the light changed from orange to mauve to violet to black. Three days later, Nana was gone.
* * *
I had never been to Boston before. As we drove into the city I watched in amazement as the buildings grew around me. Nana sat beside me, and if I didn’t know better, I’d have said she was just as excited as I was. The hotel we were staying at was plain but nice. There weren’t many furnishings in the pale gray rooms, but everything was very clean. There was a nice hallway, which branched off into two bedrooms. One of the bedrooms was where my mother, my father, and I would sleep. The other, directly across the hall, was for Nana. We put our suitcases in their respective places, and turned on the television. An episode of Green Acres was playing. While my father took out his computer to work, Nana and I watched the show. I said nothing. She said nothing. After a while, Nana leaned her head against my shoulder. After about half an hour, the show ended. We were all pretty tired, and Nana said she would go to bed. As she closed the door to go into her bedroom she turned one last time.
“Goodnight everyone,” she said.
I smiled. “Goodnight Nana.”
* * *
I turned the cold brass knob of the door and walked into the house. Everything was silent. The bed was gone, but it was still possible to see where the casket had stood. The television was still there, but the cable had long been disconnected. Glossy portraits lined the walls, showing a young girl contorting into complicated poses. Dancing had run in the family. I turned on a lamp and saw a book called “Where’s Heaven?” sitting forgotten on the table. Some woman had given it to me at the wake and had told me that it would “help.” I remembered the wake. It had been an open casket, and I had looked in to see Nana resting peacefully on a bed of satin. She had almost looked alive, and when no one was looking I had reached out and touched her arm. But it was cold, and hard as a stone. Recoiling in horror, I suddenly became aware of a sickly sweet smell in the room. Stepping away from the casket, I ran back upstairs, forgetting about the book on the table. Now here it was again. The woman had told me that this book would take away some of the bitterness that I felt. But maybe bitterness was something that I needed. I left the book where it was and went into the kitchen. Almost everything was gone. The flower pot and the stacks of instant coffee had vanished from the counter, where they had sat beside the faucet. I opened the fridge. There was almost nothing in there either. Only cranberry juice. That was all that was left. I took out the bottle and reached for a glass.
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