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         The garden is shielded by blooming dogwoods. A miniature picket fence protects Grandma’s vegetables from the gray rabbits that come out of the woods behind the house. There’s dog piss on the fence. Chico gets mad when Grandma doesn’t walk him. I watch him hike his leg, balancing on three paws, a look of pure intent on his wet nose and black marble eyes; I stand up because the cement step is getting cold.

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         As soon as I step inside, Grandma’s jangling her keys. She takes a nap at four every day after tending to the garden; she slept too long and now she wants to go out. “I got to burn it off before nine,” she says, sitting in her Aspire. It’s cobalt blue with heather gray seats that smell like ashtrays. I don’t want to get in, but I must. The motor mounts are worn out and I feel every bump, crack, and sewer grate in the town asphalt.

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         It’s Africa again. There’s a lion in the distant underbrush; I can see his mane as he creeps by. Grandma smokes a cigar in the jeep, letting the ash trickle off onto the tires. “God it’s hot,” she says. Our tour guide looks flushed and he keeps glancing awkwardly away from my eyes. I won’t ask him where the gazelles are again, or the zebras. I guess it was nice enough to see the giraffe’s head nibbling leaves a mile back. Grandma starts hacking and scratches out, “Lord was this was a waste of my money.”

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         But it wasn’t much different from the plane trip to London last year when Grandma first got the checks. It had been so cold the heat was on full blast, and that nice lady forgot my peanuts. I didn’t tell Grandma because she doesn’t like it when I complain. The good part of the trip was Grandma let me try one of the stewardess’s tiny wine bottles. “Really?” I asked to be sure. “Yeah, go ahead. By God Jerry, you do know you’re a man?” I sipped it and didn’t talk the rest of the way.

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         The thing about elevators is that they are too small. Grandma drags me to the mall just so she can ride the elevator from floor one to floor two, because on floor two there is Belk. I am six feet tall with wide shoulders. I could have played football in high school but I couldn’t remember what to do with the ball at try-outs. Grandma is getting mad because I’m whimpering in the elevator. I am embarrassing her again.

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         The last time I embarrassed Grandma I was fifteen, and I cried because I didn’t want to come out of the store bathroom. Something happened to my body while I was in there; I thought Grandma would be mad about it if she saw it. I don’t want to be called names again today, or have Grandma tell people: “I’m so sorry, he’s retarded.” So today I say to Grandma in Belk, “I am a man, even if I’m afraid of the elevator.” She drops the blue dress she is holding and reaches up to place her hands on my face; I think she is smiling.