Free write: Joy

Grandpa left the screen door open so the August breeze could flow through the house.
At least, that’s what grandma had said as she sewed his jeans.
We sat in the living room watching “General Hospital” and listening to my aunt Joy rocking on her easy chair.
“Let’s go Jimmy Warfield said,” Joy said, for the third time.
I scratched my knees and wondered if it was just me or was that Sonny guy not aging?
Grandpa walked in, coughed and went for the refrigerator.
“Get out of the cake,” Grandma called.
“She can eat when she gets home,” Joy told us and began to laugh. It was another one of her phrases she liked, one of her “autisms”.
“Come on Jimmy Warfield said.” She bobbed her head as she rocked.
I looked at her, then my grandparents.
“Who’s Jimmy Warfield?” I asked.
Grandma didn’t look up, but Joy stopped.
“She’s gotta workshooooop,” Joy said.
“A friend of her’s from the day school,” Grandma said.
At the word friend Joy began to rock violently and hit her head.
“Burn it! Burnnnnn it!” She yelled.
I stared as grandma got up to take Aunt Joy into another room to calm her down. Joy lashed out, called grandma a “walking egg”.
Grandpa sighed and stooped to down next to me. “He was her boyfriend. Your grandma and his parents wouldn’t allow them to date, so we separated them. Unfortunately by that time she was pregnant.”
He looked down the hall after them.
“She never was combative before that, but now, it’s all the time.”
“The baby?”
He shook his head. “Got rid of it.”
Dinner was silent.


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