Grandma picks out several pieces of fruit from the wire basket. We sit and eat our respective breakfasts in silence as the pert weather girl plots the course of the storm into which we intend to drive.
I do not intend to drive, I intend to passenge, pulled along by my grandmother’s gravity.
Slow rain begins to fall as she indicates with her hands my need to wrap it up, Girl.
I ask with my empty cup if I may get some more orange juice?
She says, you drink as much as you want now, but understand this: down the road I am not stopping so you can pee!
I attempt my most impassive gaze, like the people on the poker channel on the tv…no tells.
Will she or won’t she? I am betting she will. I stake my money (and my bladder) on the belief that down the road she will stop somewhere…
So I can pee.