A Room Full of Strangers

It was my brother's third arrest and a fierce battle was being waged over whether to bail him out again or allow him to spend the night in jail.

My mother was violently advocating for his release, alternately crying and cursing and breaking things while my daddy pondered whether or not there might be a lesson to a night in a cell. My grandmother sat in a corner chair, knitting placidly and making no comment. Vandalism! my mother screeched, No more than high spirits! My daddy frowned at her, Car theft is not just high spirits, Jan, he said sharply and she threw a half full beer can toward him with a renewed wail - it hit the wall behind him with a wet, metallic thud - I want him out tonight! she screamed. I was reminded of a scene from Alice In Wonderland, in the kitchen with the Cook and the Duchess and the Baby who turned into a pig. My mother turned to my grandmother and pleaded desperately - Nana ignored her, continuing to knit as if nothing at all was happening while my daddy paced the length of the living room, his pale, anxious face in an angry and rare scowl. Just be quiet for a minute, Jan, he snapped at her, Let me think. He turned to my grandmother and asked what she thought. Nana looked up at him, then at my sobbing mother, then returned to her knitting. I think, she said with a shrug of her shoulders, that he's where he belongs. This brought a fresh outburst from my mother and she collapsed into her chair with a high pitched whine of protest. Christ! my daddy exploded, out of patience and finally succumbing to a flash of temper, Enough dramatics! It's not helping!

I winced at this from a man who so rarely as much as raised his voice to make a point. He looked old and beaten, out of options and very angry. My hysterical mother, more than a little drunk and wild eyed with fury at being denied her way, continued to sob and beat her fists. Only my grandmother seemed to have any presence of mind, she methodically kept on knitting her way through this latest melodrama, content to let it play out on its own. I had no idea how she could remain so detached and untouched - I had seen her more emotional in a room full of strangers.

He's your grandson! my mother wailed.
He's a thug who got drunk from liquor he bought with a forged id, Nana replied mildly, Then stole a car and crashed it. And, she added, pausing to wrap up her needles and yarn and pack them into her carrying case, resisted arrest in the bargain. To my mind, it's time he learned something about accountability. I for one am washing my hands of this whole sorry mess and going home. Knitting in one hand and purse in the other, she slipped into her coat and boots, walked to the front door and opened it. Do what you want, she advised my slack jawed parents neutrally,
Good night. A rush of freezing air whisked in out of the dark night - it had begun to snow again I noticed - then the door closed and she was gone.

I left by the back door, not knowing or caring how things turned out, not bothering to say goodbye. I wasn't wanted or needed in this particular room full of strangers. I agreed with my grandmother and had nothing left to offer.