Grandma’s Eye

Nobody ever gave a damn about Lovelin, West Virginia. Not that they should have. Some of the people in town might have been less committed asses if someone had tried. Might have been worth a shot.

My Grandma Nellie always had what she called “a touch of the third eye”. She claimed that somewhere out there was another reality where Lovelin was a better place. A place where shuttered windows were flung open and festooned with hanging flower baskets. A place where children walked openly and yet people were not afraid. She claimed that the fork in the road for Lovelin had all come down to one woman. Barbara Lester. She would never tell me the story though. Until now.

I'm twelve, I'm not a moron. When Grandma tells me to fetch her “Third Eye Juice”, I do so with the full knowledge that this is to actual juice what fast food is to actual food- that is to say better. Its better. Apparently, if Barbara had behaved decently, I would never have known this fact. I remain unconvinced that this belongs in that magical Better Lovelin category but I keep an open mind. I want to hear the story. Please and thank you, and here's your “juice”, Grandma.

I'm a bit too old for sitting on Grandma's lap. I tell her this but she insists that it is here and now or nowhere and never. She fears she may not have enough time left. I sigh but snuggle up between where her chin and the third eye juice will soon be staging their courtship dance. Back and forth, back and forth. Rocker and floor. Bottle and face. Its the Lovelin dance.

Grandma begins. “Barbara used to be a cute little thing. There was a developer came into town who went mad crazy for her.”..... Grandma stops. I look up. She has put the juice down and a single tear is rolling down her face. I don't know which is more alarming. Grandma laughs. I pee myself a little.

“Grandma?” I am almost terrified to ask. “What's the matter?” Grandma smiles down at me. “I've been a bit silly about Barbara. I spent all this time telling you all how one little woman's action could have saved us all. Really, there's nothing would have saved us. We're an awful town full of awful people. That's all. All that butterfly effect crap is just another way of avoiding responsibility.

I feel slightly relieved. Enough to gather courage for one more question. “Grandma?” “Yes dear?” Is there any reality where Germany didn't win? Grandma chuckles and pats the swastika on my sweater. “No dear, that always happens.”