“Corey, you’re giving me grey hair,” I complained, after trying to put my foot through the floor for the fifth time. “It’s an abandoned, empty parking lot, but if this had been a street, we’d be dead.”
Don’t ask me why I offered to help teach Corey to drive. He’s had his permit for two months but he just hasn’t seemed to grasp the lessons we’ve given him. Eliza has given up, lest she strangle her fifteen year old son, and Clayton has found himself short on patience. Therefore, they called me, Grandpa Jacoby, to give some lessons.
“Now, when you press on the accelerator, do so gently, okay? And keep the wheel straight. You’ve been at this two months, Corey, I don’t know what’s hard about this.”
He sighed, huffing air through his lips, then biting at his snakebites (his mother signed the waiver for his age) and looked at me. “I don’t know why I can’t handle this, grandpa. Maybe I’m just a bad driver.”
I patted his shoulder. “Don’t think like that, okay? This just takes time and two months just might not be enough time. Just try your best to learn this; preferably before your mother kills you.”
He looked startled for a moment before he laughed. “Since I value my life, I’ll give it a try. But driving is harder than it looks.”
Corey once again put the car into drive and this time, we didn’t lurch forward. I also didn’t feel the need to punch my foot through the floor to stop the car with my imaginary brake. He managed to drive around the parking lot in a circle without me feeling as though my life was in danger.
“That was better!” I praised him, grinning. The sun ducked behind a cloud and I watched fat rain drops start to hit the windshield. “While we’re parked, learn where the wipers are.”
He quickly reached for the lever and activated the wipers, as the rain started to pour down. “Can I drive home?”
I shook my head, aware that he was not ready to drive in the rain yet. “Not yet. You’re not quite ready to drive in the rain, considering the roads can get so slick. Let me drive us home and we’ll work on driving in the rain another time.”
He nodded, reluctantly getting out of the car and changing spots with me. The slick roads don’t last for long, but it can make driving around a bit harrowing at times until the oils wear off. Five years of living back in California, showed me that years of driving on the snow and ice of Iowa was great practice for the first rains of the winter. The oils come up in the road and make it slippery for a couple of hours until the rain washes it all away.
“The roads aren’t even slick yet,” he complained, as I stopped at a light. We were a couple of blocks from Jimmy and I’s house, and I smiled.
“That doesn’t make you ready for them. I promise, next time it rains, I’ll let you try driving on our street, okay?”
He nodded, slumping down a bit in his seat. He’d opted to spend his Saturday with me, since he was grounded until Sunday (he stayed out past curfew on Thursday night and flunked a math test).
“Thanks for helping me,” he said, and I nodded, smiling, as we hurried inside. “What can we do the rest of the day?”
I shrugged, as thunder sounded outside. The beach was out as was just about any outside activity. I was trying to think what Jimmy and I had for the grandkids to do on a rainy day. Video games remain popular with kids, but we don’t have them here.
“Well, we have some board games, some movies, and some instruments,” I told him and his eyes lit up.
“Can I practice on Grandpa Jimmy’s drums?” he asked, almost bouncing when I nodded. “Sweet!”
I laughed as he bolted upstairs, into the room that had at one time belonged to his Great-Aunt Katie. We’d turned it into a music room shortly after moving to California and Jimmy’s dad had enjoyed it while he was alive.
“Corey, when do you have driver’s training again?” I asked, logging our two hours. Things were different out here, for young drivers. They don’t get their permits until 15 ½, and then six months later, they can take the driver’s test. Now, this is after 50 hours of practice and driving school, but it seems to be working.
“Monday,” he answered, settling behind the small kit. He tapped the bass drum, his favorite part and shook his shaggy blonde hair from his eyes. “How many hours of practice with adults do I have?”
I quickly did the math, looking down at the paper in my hand. My bifocals helped me focus on the smaller print (getting old sucks), and I looked up at my grandson again.
“Looks like over the last two months, we’re at about 30 hours, so in that sense, you’re doing fine. How is class going?”
He shrugged, already into a steady rock beat, working the double pedal Jimmy had recently purchased for him. “It’s fine. My instructor is nice and is calm when we’re all out driving. She thinks all of us are going to do fine on our tests when we’re sixteen, but I don’t know if I buy that. We’re still in the parking lot, but we’re heading out into town on Monday.”
I guess I should’ve gotten him into traffic. “Well, if you want a test run tomorrow, we’ll go up and down the street here, okay? You can circle our block and get used to driving around other cars.”
He nodded, though I couldn’t tell if he was committing or not. This kid is your typical teenager, of course, in that he’s a bit wishy-washy and doesn’t always know what he wants. Leaving him to practice, I went downstairs and got some heartburn medication. This was becoming an increasing problem of late, but the doctor said everything was fine. I was changing my diet a bit and having fewer spicy foods and that had been helping. Chewing the chalky tablets, I chased them with water and then smiled when the front door opened.
“Hey Jim,” I said, pulling him into a hug. He’s done well the last five years without his dad, though his eyes still look a bit haunted. He was the one who found him and the first year was pure hell. I thought we were going to lose him, but he pulled through and he’s been great since. “How was the photo studio?”
He shrugged, shaking his umbrella onto the porch, before he put it away to dry. “It was fun. I got to photograph a newborn who was awfully cute and very quiet. Her family was good, too, and overall, it was a great success. I only had them today, so I spent the rest of the time doing some editing and getting notices out to people to pick up their prints. How did the driving lesson go?”
I laughed a bit, listening as Corey continued to work on his jazz band music. “Do I have any new grey hairs?” I asked and Jimmy laughed, coughing a bit. He’s still on oxygen, a bit more than five years ago, and laughter still brings on coughing fits. “He did better than usual, and he’s getting his hours in no problem. But I still fear the day we take him onto the street. I told him next lesson we’ll drive around our block before we really get him into heavy traffic.”
“Good idea,” my husband said, kissing me. We’re still going strong at 73 and 67, and our sex life is still good. I’m sure you wanted to know that, didn’t you? Oh hush. “I hear he’s working on jazz band now?”
I nodded, moving us into the kitchen. It was getting time to start supper and I was getting hungry. “I still don’t know why Eliza won’t let him have a drum kit at home. How does he practice when we’re not home?”
“I’m working on that,” he promised, grabbing a cheese stick from the fridge. The snack was once used to ward off cravings; now, he just likes them. “She’s starting to realize that he’s pretty serious about this drumming stuff, and sees how much time he spends over here practicing. I told her he’s always welcome, but I worry he spends more time with us than them. She’s thinking about the kit and I told her I’d help her pick one out.”
Thankfully, Corey hadn’t overheard us, as he bounded down the steps. The storm was still raging outside, and thunder shook the house. Since he wasn’t used to storms, our grandson jumped, clearly trying to look tough when he was scared. Neither of us made a big deal of it, and I asked if he was staying for supper.
“If mom doesn’t care,” he answered, grabbing a cheese stick out of the fridge. I know he’s Eliza’s kid, but he’s the spitting image of Jimmy as a kid. The shaggy hair that he dies blond, the bit of chin hair, the height, you name it. “What are you making?”
I opened the cookbook we’d gotten from Eleanor and pointed to her enchilada recipe. “Call your mom and make sure it’s okay for you to stay.”
He quickly dialed her number, and I figured she’d answer, since her cell phone policy is pretty loose. The damn things still rule our lives and land lines are pretty well non-existent. Wireless internet is common and you no longer need a router in your home to get it. It’d kind of nice, since it’s free, but I still kind of miss the days of the routers. We keep a secure connection, but it can be tricky sometimes.
“She said it’s fine. She’ll pick me up at eight, since that’s when she’ll get off work.”
Naturally, he’s unable to resist the enchiladas. Really, I don’t think I know of one person who can resist them. They’re just so damn good and as long as you follow Eleanor’s recipe, you can’t mess them up.
“Want to help?” I asked him as Jimmy chopped up the vegetables for me. I had some chicken on the counter and my grandson nodded. “You can fill and roll the shells, okay?”
“Sounds good,” he said, engrossed in his phone. When he was done texting, he grabbed the tortillas from the pantry and counted out enough for a double batch. “Can I have a friend over for supper?”
I glanced at Jimmy, who shrugged. “Who’s your friend?”
“Gerald Morgan. He’s in jazz band with me.”
I knew Gerald, considering he lived two doors down and mowed our lawn. Jimmy nodded his permission as did I and Corey grinned, typing frantically into his phone.
“He’ll be down in about ten minutes. Thanks grandpas!”
Yes, it did take some getting used to, hearing us called grandpas; but it works for the kids. After all, that’s what we are, and while we worried what we might be called, it seems our kids have taken care of things for us.
“I hate rain.”
“Hello, Gerald, nice to see you, too,” Jimmy deadpanned, handing me the cutting board ten minutes later. “I take it it’s still stormy out?”
I laughed, as Gerald came into the kitchen, settling into a chair near Corey. “You might say that,” he responded, jumping when it thundered. These California kids needs to get used to storms. “I also hate storms.”
“Is there anything you do like?” I asked, glancing at him as I finished dicing the chicken and put it on to brown with the onion.
He glared at me, but laughed. “Sure. Your cooking. Mowing your lawn. But I don’t like rain or storms.”
I laughed a bit, knowing how teenagers could be. “Whatever, dude. We’re just glad you’re willing to mow for us. We’re far too old and frail to be doing it ourselves.”
The boys laughed at us, as I finished cooking the chicken and put together the rest of the filling. I let the boys fill and roll the shells, then poured the sauce over top and popped it in the oven, settling at the table with the boy. My chest felt a bit tight and I frowned.
“You okay, Jack?” Jimmy asked, as I rubbed my chest.
“I don’t know. My chest just feels kind of tight, that’s all. I had some heart burn earlier today but that’s nothing new.”
Frowning, Jimmy got up and left the kitchen, returning with his stethoscope. The medics in us are still alive and well, even if we’re not practicing, and I let him give me a look-over.
“Your heart beat is fine, so is your pulse and breathing. Let’s give it ten minutes before we head to the ER, okay?”
I nodded, trying relax; it won’t get better if I freak out. I’ve never had heart trouble before and the doctor said everything was fine just two weeks ago. I engaged in small talk with the boys and in time, I felt things loosening up.
“Well?” Jimmy asked, ten minutes later.
“I feel better now. Must’ve been related to the heartburn earlier,” I told him, but he looked guarded. “Something to keep an eye on.”
Jimmy nodded and I knew what that nod meant. We were going to more than keep an eye on things; he was going to watch me like a hawk.