Spending Time with Grandma

We walk through the door to long lacey curtains fluttering and the smell of wood and dust. Sitting on the pilly couch, a petite frame shouts curses at the television between breaths from her oxygen mask. We take turns kissing her cheeks, crinkley and powdery like molasses cookies when you make them right. I patter into the kitchen to sneak Fig Newton's, before running downstairs and crowding into the basement to watch Bay Watch alongside everyone else.