“Oh my god Julie, you should have seen it the other day!
“She looked like a rooster!”
Picturing Grandma with a gleaming silver mohawk makes me grin, but I’m also a little distressed.
Ten minutes ago my phone rang and “Trudis” flashed on the screen. I said hello to silence. Then coughing.
“Grandma! It’s Julie, are you there?
“Grandma! — Grandma!”
Silence. Faint breathing. Another cough. Slighter this time.
I’m afraid to hang up. I don’t want to break my connection with her. But she’s not responding —
So I call my sister.
“I’m serious,” she continues, “they’re down staff and a mad man’s got the comb —
“Yesterday, Alli and I were there and it was combed straight down. One long sweep from the back of her neck to her forehead.”
Premeditated, I think. Some kind of signature?
“And then, I go out into the TV area where they’re all lined up,” she stops to take a breath, “and you are never going to believe this —”
Oh, yeah?
“Every last one of ’em — heads hangin’ down — with the same hair!”
I’m roaring now, imagining this joker armed with spray bottle and comb going down the assembly line. Just doin’ his job.
Efficient little devil.
JULIE ANN STEVENS 