THE FOUNTAIN OF RUTH By Karin Patton
Granny grew a tooth. And then she grew another.
Age spots shrank to freckles. Pimples punctuated her chin the same way they still cluster on mine. Hair that was pure white for as long as I could remember now sprouted red at the roots.
"Are you wearing mascara?" I asked, unable to recall Gran having lashes.
She shook her head no. Looked impish.
She smiled. Her two new teeth-one upper, one lower-looked every bit as adorable on this corrugated 90-year-old as in the gummy smile of an infant.
She motioned me closer.
"I found the fountain," she whispered.
She glanced around, then held up the gold and black can of Rockstar.
"Where on earth did you get..."
Then I remembered the case I put in the cart for myself a few shopping trips back. I must have forgotten to remove it when I brought her groceries by, as I do every Wednesday.
I reached for the can. She snatched it away, her movements were graceful, without a trace of the trembles that so recently plagued her.
"How can you be sure?" I asked.
She smiled.
Those teeth were so damn adorable.
"I can feel it." She splayed her hands across her chest. It might have looked as though she was feeling her own breasts had I not known that for the past few decades, those pendulums hung closer to her crotch than from where they first sprouted.
Are her boobs changing, too? I tried to look but couldn't quite tell. Despite the stifling heat, Gran wore her favorite sweater that featured a giant cannabis leaf, which she liked to insist was okra, not pot. I suspected she knew better. That she wore it to rile.
"That stuff is loaded with caffeine," I said. "Probably a dangerous amount for someone your age. It causes your heart to race, which might be making you feel younger, but..."
"I know," she said. "I know."
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Esta historia es de la edición September - October 2024 de Writer’s Digest.
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