I Kissed Bruno Mars & Other Lies My Grandma Told

“Cause I remembered how much you loved to dance…”. I couldn’t help but to smile and turn up the volume. Bruno Mars’ silky voice filled the car as thoughts of Grandma filled my mind. I remembered her sitting on the front porch, drinking her “lemon-aide”. Even at sixteen I knew that it was more than lemons giving a twist to her daily beverage—

I scrambled up the three wooden steps that have always leaned to the starboard like an overloaded sailboat, taking out my ear-buds.

“Hi, Grandma.”

She’s not actually my grandmother. In fact, she’s not even family, but that hadn’t stopped her from taking me in after my parents had determined opiates were more fun than raising a kid. I was eight, almost nine, when they hit highway forgetting about the little boy they left sitting at the table eating frosted flakes with no milk. I ended up in a mismanaged foster system. There was no family on the island, and the ones far away were too wrapped up in their own lives to accept the challenge of raising an eight-year-old boy. Thank God Grandma was the hidden treasure in the foster family chain.

“Is that Bruno your listening to?” She asked, taking a sip of her drink, the ice cubes clinking together audibly.

“How do you know Bruno Mars’ music, Grandma? I thought you were more of a Wayne Newton fan.” I said, sitting down beside her.

“Don’t knock Wayne Newton, he was so handsome and pretty good crooner. But…”

I waited. A story was coming.

“I never kissed Wayne Newton.” She finished.

It was only the beginning,

“Grandma, you kissed Bruno Mars?” I said smirking.

She refilled her glass from a blue pitcher resting on the small white plastic table, “Yes I did. And he kissed me right back.”

I stared into her eyes, “Come on Grandma, Bruno Mars?”

She took a long gulp of her drink, wiping her lips with the back of her hand, “The same one you were just listening to.” She beamed, gazing out across the small front yard.

Smiling at her, I said, “Okay, you have to tell me about this one.”

“This one?” She replied sitting up straight, pushing her boney shoulders back, “Do I detect doubt.”

If you believed all the stories Delores Lynn Green, my grandmother, had weaved, you could only come to two conclusions: 1. She has lived a most incredible life, one that could scarcely fit into three lifetimes. 2. The capacity to uncloud the blurred line between truth and make-believe is beyond her capabilities. In other words, she has told many lies. Kissing Bruno Mars may be the biggest whopper yet! But I decided to humor her, after all, she is my grandma.

“No, no, not at all. Is this like the time you danced with Bill Clinton?” I couldn’t hide my grin.

Sitting back, “No, that was rather proper. And he didn’t kiss me. Now he did grab a little piece of my booty when the dance was over.”

“Grandma!”

“With Bruno,” she proceeded without equivocation, “it was quite informal. It was at the Walmart.”

“Walmart? Really, Grandma.”

“Well, I suppose I should say in the parking lot of the Walmart.” She took another sip from her glass. Unusually hot weather had arrived in Kaneohe, causing beads of perspiration to take shape on the surface of the glass.

“I had just bought a new microwave and was having a tough time putting it into the trunk of my car. When out of nowhere someone asked, ‘Do you need some help?’. I knew it was him right away. Those beautiful eyes and wavy hair.”

“Grandma, I don’t think Bruno Mars goes to a Walmart. Maybe it was somebody who looked like him.”

“Are you going to let me tell this or not?” Her snaps were seldom seen but always powerful.

“His Mama had died that summer, and he came home to say goodbye. Anyway, I said to him, ‘Bruno, that would be very nice of you.’ Why, you should have seen the look on his face when he realized that this little gray-haired woman knew who he was. He put the oven in the car with no problem at all, he is pretty song for a singer. We talked for about the next fifteen minutes. I asked him about his music, did he have any new songs coming? Of course, we talked about his mama, but just for a minute, I could see that it still hurt to think about her. We got to talking about food, don’t ask me how we got there, but we did. So, I gave him my recipe for key lime pie.”

“Key lime pie?” I asked her.

“Oh yes! Bruno loves key lime pie. And he ain’t afraid of the kitchen. Then Bruno reached over to shut the trunk lid. When he did, that beautiful face was just inches away from mine. So, I kissed him. Right on the mouth!” She laughed, picking up the pitcher.

“Grandma!” I said, shaking my head and laughing with her.

“And he kissed me right back.” A little more than a whisper, crowned with a dreamy smile.

I sat looking at the woman who had taken me into her home when no one else would. I loved her so much, even the wild tales she told.

“You still have doubts.” She said after a few minutes.

I shrugged my shoulders, but didn’t reply.

Grandma took my hand, “Kimo, oe pono mau manaoio, you must always believe—I will never lie to you and I will never leave you. Aloha wau ia ’oe.”

“I love you too, Grandma.”

Almost two years have passed since she made that promise to me. Blurred lines, I guess. Her stories of Bruno Mars, Bill Clinton, even one of how she helped Ron Darling learn to throw the splitter were little lies that made her who she was. But the big lie is the one that hurts today—I will never leave you.

I turned the car into the church parking lot. Only a few cars were there. Grandma didn’t have many friends.

“When I was your man. Do all the things I should have done…” I turned the radio off and got out of the car. Inside the church, they were still setting everything up. A large portrait of Grandma stood where the coffin would have been if she hadn’t been cremated. The flower arrangements I ordered sat on either side of her portrait adding a cheerful brightness to the somber scene. Someone had sent a large arrangement of beautiful hibiscus. The bright yellows and brilliant oranges made the solid white of the gardenias I ordered seem almost pale.

A card was tucked in the hibiscus. I was curious who had sent the flowers. I removed a beige card, blank on the outside, from the small white envelope. As I read the words tears fell down my cheek and a smile crossed my face—

“Best key-lime pie ever! Love, Bruno”