Brokenhearted in Bakersfield
39 - AS THE LIGHT FADES FROM THE SCREEN…
Having revealed herself,
relatively speaking, as my Great-Granny and not my Auntie, Fanny tossed me out
of her boudoir for another session with Lars.
I retreated to my room over the garage after a quick stop in the kitchen
to take advantage of my new kitchen privileges.
Next day I was in Fanny’s living room (now that I got living room privileges,
too) sitting in a fancy carved chair pondering my inheritance. I calculated the odds of winning my
birthright, and I resolved to follow Brother Hickpacker’s inspirational advice
and stay close to my very rich relative.
I barely had time to finish my morning beer when Lars came dashing in, “Boy, oh
boy, oh boy. Jou better get in here real
queek. Cheez gonna blow any secon. I call Doctor Pill!”
I rushed to the old lady’s side. In the
candlelit silence I gazed down on the wreck of her face, laying there like a
petrified rock, hidden in the shadows, as blasts of flatulence detonated under
the sheets.
“Oyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy...” she
moaned.
I wanted to remain by her side, but discretion forced me to remove myself to
the far side of the room. Seeing me
slumped in the corner, Fanny gestured for me to return. “Boy,” she clawed the air with distant and
clouded fish-eyes, “come here.”
Mustering all the courage I could, I obediently drew a little nearer to the old
fossil. Approaching, I couldn’t help but
notice a surprising spring-like freshness about her, even as I heard the report
of another wicked fart.
“What’s that?” She fanned beneath
her nose.
Then I heard Great-Granny’s neck bones pop as she turned and fixed a stare at
me. “Listen up, boy, I haven’t got all day
to fool around.” I could see
Great-Granny Fanny meant business. “I’m
getting ready for my last close-up, so this is very important. The lawyer has my will, and my agent has your
inheritance.”
Exhausted, she collapsed back onto her pillows.
“Now hurry along, and go find Lars.”
Fanny’s head rolled while she whispered to no one in particular, “I need
to hold onto something.”
As if on cue, Lars sprinted into the room.
“Jour doctor eez here!”
The physician barged into the bedroom and brushed right by me. Plopping his medical bag on Fanny’s bed, I
could see his name and title Doctor Phillip B. Goode, Geriatric Attendant to
the Stars engraved in gold letters on the flap of the bag. As the doctor began pulling back the coverlet
he asked, “What seems to be the nature of the problem, Miss Kartone?” Fanny responded with another muffled
hiss.
The doctor let the covers slip back over his patient. “Well, well, well,” he chuckled. “Whatever it is, you seem awfully
fresh today.”
I could see Dr. Goode’s bedside manner was a soothing comfort to Fanny as she
lapsed into a restful sleep, or maybe it was a coma. Either way, the doctor took the opportunity
to pull me aside and say in a professionally hushed voice, “When medical
science has done everything therapeutically possible for someone so advanced in
age, it’s time to turn to a higher power.”
I stretched for the phone on the nightstand, “I know just the man.”